The funeral slowly broke apart. Without thinking, Dori started for the knot of people surrounding the family. She vaguely heard Meg ask what she was doing, but kept moving in case she came to her senses and chickened out.
"Excuse me," she repeated like a mantra as she wound her way deeper into the crowd.
She found Vicente's son shaking hands and thanking people for coming. One of his grandsons held his silver flask.
Dori walked right up to him, ignoring the line of mourners waiting to greet him. He looked at her with surprise, taking in her gaping mouth and hair blowing crazily in the wind.
"Hello," he said.
She opened her mouth and then shut it before she blurted out everything she knew. "Hi," she finally said just as her silent staring got awkward.
"How do you know my mother?"
Dori's mind went blank and then she heard herself saying, "I- I'm here for my grandmother. She's sick."
"Oh and who is your grandmother?"
"Azucena Orihuela."
He smiled politely. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Please send her my wishes for better health."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Dori said, unable to tear herself away. "Your mother seemed like a very special woman."
He took the hands of the woman standing next to her and nodded at Dori's comment.
"I'm Dori," she said, thrusting her hand at him.
The crowd was starting to notice that something strange was happening. He glared at her, and the old lady gave her that look that Dori was muscling in on her man.
"Ceferino Campbell," he said, more puzzled than anything. He looked to his grandson to get rid of her.
"Did you know Vicente Sorolla?" Dori asked.
His face went blank. He lifted his chin and looked down his nose as his father had often done to her. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
"No one. I mean I-"
The grandson moved towards her and she held up her hands in defense. "Sorry, I shouldn't have- Excuse me."
Dori quickly turned on her heel and nearly slammed into a woman using a walker. She wormed her way out of the crowd, walking as fast as she could without running. As she stepped on headstones and nearly twisted her ankle on a plastic floral arrangement, the stares of the mourners clung to her back.
Meg caught up with Dori at her green Fiat parked at the base of the hill. "What on earth did you say to him?"
"Let's go. I'll tell you in the car."
The Fiat beeped when Meg unlocked the doors. They ducked in and before Dori clicked her seat belt, the tiny car buzzed out of the cemetery.
"I got his name," Dori said, still breathless from her flight. She rubbed her arms, pebbled with chills. "He's Vicente's son. He looks just like him."
"How do you know?"
"Oh. I uh-" For a moment, Dori considered trying to skirt around the truth about Vicente.
"Never mind. It doesn't matter," Meg said, disappointed.
"Let's drive to the tidelands. I think I'll have the guts to tell you by the time we get there."
As they drove, Dori thought how she could, for lack of a better word, resurrect Vicente. Maybe she could find a real psychic. But then Grammy's friend hadn't seen him when he'd literally stood in her face.
All kinds of crazy ideas went through her head. Perhaps she could find out where Ceferino lived and write him a letter. Or, maybe she could invite him to the house and see if Vicente would reappear.
Meg took them through the old Westside barrio into the marina. They pulled into a small park where the Sweetwater River emptied into the bay. The wind pushed against the door as Dori stepped out of the Fiat. She stood at the edge of the rocks that tumbled down into the gray green water. Dori closed her eyes, picturing Vicente and Anna on the sand, way back before this land had been paved and fenced in.
This is where it all ends, Vicente had said to her.
Dori opened her eyes when she heard Meg walk to stand next to her. She watched a sailboat bob in the choppy water. Maybe Vicente had disappeared because Anna had come for him. He might already know.
She uncurled her fists and let her arms fall at her sides. "I'm telling you this because you seem pretty open minded."
Meg wisely stayed silent as Dori told her about the night Vicente greeted her at the kitchen door, including her phone call to the police, all the way up finding him in her backyard last week. When she was done, she forced herself to turn and look at Meg's reaction. "So do you think I'm nuts?"
"Yes. Because you could've told me months ago and I would've believed you." Meg smiled at her. "I come from a country that crawls with ghosts."
"But do you talk to them on a regular basis?"
"I never told you about my gram. She knew my grand dad was dead when he appeared to her at the foot of her bed. She said he stood there just like as he had when- Well you know." She took a deep breath. "He told her, 'bye.' And then he was gone."
Dori nodded. A year ago, she would've had some cynical thought that gram was off her rocker, or it had been the wishful imagination of a grieving woman. But now she was different and feeling foolish for having hid Vicente from her friend.
"Now that you know Anna and Vicente have a son, you can't just blurt it out to this old man and his family," Meg said. "What if he doesn't know he had a different father from his brothers and sisters?"
"But he knew Vicente's name. Maybe she told him before she died."
"When did you mention Vicente's name?"
Dori explained how her encounter went down, and Meg kicked at the dirt.
"I can't let Vicente be forgotten and unknown. He has a son and grandkids and maybe great-grandkids."
Meg shook her head. "You have to let things be. Think on it: if you told him and his family that the dead man haunting your house, whose body was in your backyard, is his father, how would you make him believe you?"
"We could do DNA tests."
"And how will you get Vicente's son to give you his DNA sample? Will you snatch his toothbrush in the dead of night?"
Dori's embarrassment was burned up by her irritation. Meg didn't understand.
"Come off it, Dori. You did not fail Vicente. You found Anna and you found his son. That has to be enough."
"But it can't be enough that I'm the only one who knows," Dori said.
Meg stiffened with indignance. "You forget me, your partner in crime. I bear witness, too."
Just when Dori was starting to get good and angry, she had to say that.
"When they release Vicente's remains to me, I want to bury him as close to Anna as I can."
Rather than say she had finally come to her senses, Meg slid her arm through Dori's as they were buffeted by the wind. "I'll come to the funeral and bring flowers for both of them."
Chapter Thirty
For insurance purposes, Dori carried a lemon haystack cake from George's World of Cakes up to Grammy's door. The dogs peeked through the window and then let out a chorus of excited barks when they saw her. Grammy shouted at them to shut the hell up, and then she yanked open the door. When she saw it was Dori, she put her fist on her hip.
"I know you're mad at me," Dori said. "But I figured if I got shot again, it would be too late for me to say sorry."
Grammy tried to keep her mad face on, but her lips twitched. "You want tea or tequila with your slice of pie?"
Dori followed Grammy inside. The Maltese Falcon played on TV. Grammy's iPad was propped by her easy chair.
"So what's this I hear you spreading lies that I'm sick and dying?" Grammy shouted from the kitchen.
Dori set the box on the table. The day hadn't ended and already word spread faster than a preschool flu epidemic. "I went to Anna Vazquez Campbell's funeral."
A drawer slammed. "What were you doing there?"
"Vicente."
Grammy appeared in the doorway with plates and forks. "Oh. And?"
Dori took a deep breath and then sat down.
"That bad, huh?" Grammy set the plates on the table. "Have you had dinn
er yet?"
"It's in the pink box."
Grammy opened the box as Dori proceeded to tell her everything. They washed down the cherry pie with tequila-spiked tea.
When Dori finished, Grammy leaned back in her chair. "Well, that's one helluva circumstance. You think they'll find his family?"
"If they can identify him, but I doubt they have any of his DNA records from 1932."
"So you'll take care of him."
Nodding, Dori scraped up the crumbs.
"You're like your grampy, you know. He kept his word till the end."
Thinking of that night she'd turned her back on Vicente, Dori wasn't like Grampy at all. She pushed her plate away. "Do you know Ceferino Campbell?"
"Not really."
"Do you think he knew?"
"Who his real daddy was?" Grammy tilted her head, staring out the window. "Hard to tell. They lived in Chula Vista, but his sister married a guy from my neighborhood."
"Who was Rick Campbell?"
"Far as I knew he worked for the railroad. I was just a kid so I didn't pay no attention."
Dori wondered what it had been like for Anna to live so close to all those memories and sleep alongside the man who had known Vicente. Had she ever walked up to Dori's house, looking for him? Had she known his spirit walked those halls, chained to her for all time?
Before the questions pulled her down, she scooted her chair back and then carried her and Grammy's plates to the sink.
Grammy sighed. "You're selling your house. I've been getting calls from everyone about it."
"I can't stay there after we found him like that."
Grammy nodded.
Dori made an attempt at levity. "You should see the inside. My realtor went a little crazy."
"Yeah?"
Dori didn't want to, but she told Grammy she'd take her on a tour of the rooms that no longer echoed with dust and shadows. Within an afternoon her realtor named, Gwen, had filled up the bottom floor rooms with antique furniture. The dining room table was set with dishes and real silverware. Potted palm trees filled in the corners and a clock ticked away on the mantle.
The hallway and the living room had been given the same treatment. Curtains had been hung, period style lamps sat on tables next to comfortable sofas and wing back chairs. They'd even placed andirons and screens in front of the fireplaces.
The furniture and accessories gave the impression that someone could just write a check and then plop down with a good book.
"Where'd you put your stuff?" Grammy asked as Dori rinsed the plates.
"They put it in storage for now. I only have my bed upstairs and my little office in the back."
"Well, at least you got to be there a little while."
Dori nodded even though her chest tightened at the thought that one day she'd close the door behind her for good. She dried the plates and placed them back in the cupboard. She filled up the teapot and put it back on the stove.
Returning to the dining room, she almost sat back down but instead she stopped and looked down at her grammy.
"I'm sorry about forgetting Grampy's anniversary. I won't let that happen again."
Grammy blinked and then sat back, startled by Dori's blatant apology. In their family there was the unspoken agreement that it was best just to act normal and not acknowledge whatever started a fight.
But then Grammy nodded. "Thank you, mija. But I know you love him. "
"And you." Dori put her hand on Grammy's shoulder. Grammy grabbed her hand and squeezed. They agreed without saying that life was too short for hard feelings.
On her way to work the next morning, Dori headed east on 18th Street. The sky was a tender purple and the defroster roared its breath against the mist that clung to her windshield.
She drove through the old Westside barrio. The houses that still remained sagged behind chain link fences, squeezed between auto repair shops and tile warehouses. Most of the old families had left; their names and lives erased by time.
Instead of turning north on Harbor Drive towards Downtown, Dori jerked the wheel and the tires squealed in protest as she turned left on Hoover. She slowed as she drove by her mom's tiny childhood home crouched next to St. Anthony's Church.
This was the last thing she'd do for him, Dori told herself as she searched for the house that matched Vicente's description. There it was, the last on the paved street before it became a dirt road that dipped down into the gully. The roofline barely peeked over the tops of overgrown trees.
Dori swung around in a U-turn and then parked. She stepped out into the hollow silence of dawn and surveyed the street. This was Olden Boys territory, and even though some of her cousins and their kids were affiliated, she kept a keen eye on the street.
As she walked alongside the crooked and rusted iron fence, she caught glimpses of Anna's house through the tangle of shrubs and vines.
Wind swept up the hill, rustling the tree overhead. Dori stepped up to the gate. When she touched the iron rosette, she turned and looked across the street. She could almost see a teenaged Vicente standing in his shabby but clean clothes, hoping for a glimpse of the girl he loved.
She tried the gate latch and rust particles rained down. The hinges squawked and groaned as she shoved it open just enough for her to slip through.
Remembering Vicente's description of roses in the garden and crisp lace curtains, the house now bore little resemblance to the grandest home in the barrio. Dori walked up the path, ducking under the grasping arms of the dying trees. Dead rose bushes stuck up from the ground like broken bones. Flower boxes clung beneath the tall windows, some of which were boarded up.
Dori should've felt sorry for the house. But it was fitting for what this place had been to a girl whose innocence had been sold by her own parents.
She walked around the perimeter, then stopped and looked up at the second floor window that faced the mountains. Deep in the pit of her stomach, Dori knew that had been Anna's view of the world. She turned to the sun, which burnished the edges of the rain clouds in pink and gold. Anna had found her freedom and from what people had said at the funeral, happiness, too.
Dori walked away from the falling-down house, smiling for Anna. She had done enough and now she, too could be free.
"Hey! What the fuck you doing here, hyna?"
She swung around and there was the chola from the cemetery. "I'm looking at this house," Dori said, counting four hard-core boys, each with tattoed tear drops on their faces, backing up the chola.
They stared at each other, no emotions crossing their faces. One move and they'd be on her. Dori would never make it out through the front gate. She might make a run for it down the hill. But they'd probably nail her with a rock or a bullet and when they ripped her to pieces, no one would come to the rescue. Not if they wanted to sleep safe in their beds at night.
Dori held her hands out to her sides. "Well?"
"I heard you fucked my lady up," one of the guys said, breaking from the group to approach her. The pack tensed, waiting for his signal.
She held her ground. He had no weapon that she could see, which didn't mean he didn't have one. "She came after my grandma."
"Who was calling her a bitch." He moved into her personal space. If she backed off, the others would smell fear and circle around her.
Dori kept her eyes locked with his as his chest bumped against hers. He hadn't brushed his teeth this morning. "I ain't gonna let no lawyer do what a man's gotta do."
She said nothing.
"Just cut her up," the chola yelled.
Neither Dori nor el vato loco here so much as blinked. Whoever struck first was gonna strike fast and with maximum power.
"Did she tell you what she was doing to her mother?" Dori said with one last hope to get out alive.
His eyes flicked to the side and then back on hers. "Bitch, what you talking about?"
"The old lady in the car. The one with the scarf around her neck. Your girl here was this close to back handing her."
"What?" He turned away from Dori. "You didn't tell me that!" he yelled at the chola.
The chola's smug expression turned to fear. "She's lying, mijo. You gonna believe her over me?"
He swung back to Dori. "What's your name?"
"Dori Orihuela."
His eyebrows lifted up. "Chuy Orihuela related to you?"
Dori resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "He's my cousin."
"And you say she was disrespecting my moms?"
"She was. I told her to stop and take her home."
He stared at her and then yelled, "Shit, woman!" He walked back to his group. Now the boys were looking down at the chola. "You was messing with my moms again?"
"You told me to take her and she was giving me attitude!"
"Yeah but-"
"Hey, it's cool," Dori called out before he struck his woman.
"Mind your own damn business and get the hell out."
A normal person wouldn't wait to be told again. But Dori wasn't going to walk off and let four guys beat on one woman. "You're not beating on her. Not in front of me."
He turned back to her. "You want a turn, foo?"
"Look, listen," she said, adopting her cousin's parlance. "You want cops here taking you down?"
"I'm lettin' you go cuz I owe mi carnal a favor."
"Fine but if you fuck her up, what do you think she'll do to your moms when you're in jail?"
Now she had him weighing his options. But she couldn't put him in a weak position in front of his homies so she added, "Let her walk outta here and when I'm gone-" She held up both hands. "I won't see nothing. You see what I mean?"
His lip curled into a grin. "Yeah, I hears you." He turned to his lady. "Get the hell out, hyna. You better run."
The chola nearly slipped on the loose dirt in her hurry to escape. Dori expected she'd be getting a different answer when she called the lawyer listed on her subpoena papers.
"We're cool, right?" Dori said, giving him the last word.
"Yup, we cool." When he jerked his chin that she was dismissed, Dori nodded with respect. When Chuy found out, she would never hear the end of it.
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