“Shrine.” She took the Jesus figurine, rosaries, and prayer cards straight to her room and arranged them. It would be easier to sort everything if she put the items away as soon as their place became clear.
“What are you?” She held up the pasta-covered circle, turning it in her hands. A memory quickened. “My macaroni monstrance!” Vanessa’s step was light as she carried the liturgical object d’art to the dresser top. Granny had convinced the priests that more children would go to the service to adore the Host if they could take part in the preparation in some tangible way. Vanessa’s monstrance had been used the first and only time the practice had been allowed. Parish opinion turned against the children’s artwork, declaring it tacky, which was far worse than if they had called it heresy.
Back at the table, the square object was strangely light and hard. She unwrapped it carefully, and gasped as the patterned, garnet-hued pressed glass met her eyes. Uncle Larry’s World War I shrine! Patina covered the details of the tiny figures of Mary and St. Anthony, but they, along with the silver case, gleamed with the caressing care of years. Uncle Larry—her mother’s great uncle, actually—had returned home from the War, opened a hardware store, and proceeded to feed the entire extended family as well as several locals during the Great Depression. He would open his pocket shrine when he blessed the meal, and they never ran short of food in all those long, lean years.
The story was told so often when she was small that the shrine was inextricably bound in her mind with mealtimes. To her five-year-old mind, the figurines held holy spices that made food taste good and stretch as far as it needed to feed everyone. The first time she saw the shrine, Vanessa was disappointed that the figurines were not salt and pepper shakers as she had childishly assumed.
Vanessa could not believe that Aunt Clotilde had given this pocket shrine to her. She rubbed her fingers over the tiny saints, feeling the sepia, ticking, and flannel that surrounded the bygone miracle of Uncle Larry’s table. For a moment, it was not strange that such little things could feed people, and she almost recalled how Jesus made a habit out of proving the pattern.
“Why did she send this?” Vanessa laid aside the pocket shrine and sifted through the tissue at the bottom of the box. “No note.” But everyone in the family must have wanted the shrine. It had been given to one of the relatives in Granny’s will, Vanessa was certain.
Maybe the envelope of clippings held a clue. Vanessa pulled out the thick wad of papers and fanned them across the table. They were horoscopes, all of them of her birth month. Some of the words were underscored with blue ink, but there did not seem to be a note among them. Vanessa checked the envelope again, feeling along the creases inside. She pulled out a sticky note that had been pressed to the bottom.
“Vanessa, your mom sent these. She reads your horoscope every day, says it’s how she can look after you. She wanted you to have Uncle Larry’s shrine, too. Your Gran left it to her. Call your old Aunt sometime. Love, Clo.”
Vanessa held her breath. It was just like her mother to mislead her and give her a priceless gift at the same time. But still. She read Vanessa’s horoscope every day. Vanessa sighed and stacked the horoscopes into a pile. She placed them with the other holy objects on her dresser.
Chapter Thirteen
The Plan
Vanessa missed that week’s Fructus gathering due to work. When she arrived, Paula comforted her wounded pride from the launch party incident by pointing out a new photo in the staff room. Brian’s face filled a page, with instructions writ large in Ruben’s hand to “Cock Block this Married Man.”
“Ruben wrote that?” Vanessa laughed.
“Once we explained to him what had started the commotion, yes, he sure did,” Paula smirked. “I thought you’d better see it before his mama comes to visit. He’ll no doubt pull it down then, to avoid offending her sensibilities.”
“Sounds about right,” Vanessa shook her head at the handsome face in the photo, then turned to her friend. “Thank you, Paula. I guess you could tell I need some cheering up.”
“Listen. It is not over till it’s over, Vanessa. Javier seemed like your true love. Maybe he is. Don’t give up yet.”
“I just feel so empty,” Vanessa looked down at her shoes, simple tan leather flats. They were the shoes she had worn to the launch party. She blinked her eyes to clear them and looked up. “Like my hands are empty.”
“So put something in them,” Paula squeezed her upper arm and looked at her with compassion.
“I guess you mean I’d best get back to work,” Vanessa cleared her throat and turned to leave the break room.
“No, ma’am, I did not,” Paula stopped her with an outstretched arm. The gesture was so maternal that Vanessa felt a cold reserve under her ribs melt. She pulled in a slow breath and searched Paula’s face. Paula gazed back at her with firm mercy. “Vanessa. You know your own ways now. I watched you all this time we’ve known each other stumble aimlessly, like you were half asleep or half frozen. But from what you’ve told me about your time with Javier, and what I have seen in your countenance, I can tell that you have changed. You say your hands are empty. So hold on to grace. You have all those beautiful things at home. Next time you feel yourself freezing up or going numb, you pick up one of those things and carry it with you.”
Vanessa let a tear fall, and she breathed in Paula’s wisdom. She sighed and tilted her head, her eyes dancing. “Even if it’s a glow-in-the-dark Jesus statue?” she asked with a smile.
“Especially then,” Paula hugged Vanessa to her. “Now, let’s go sell some booze and earn enough tips for me to buy new boots next week. The fall lines are already being released, and I hear all that leather calling to me.”
Paula’s advice proved helpful. Vanessa had carried the pocket shrine with her all week, squeezing the tiny saints when she felt despair crushing in. When Sunday arrived, Vanessa decided in favor of bringing Jesus instead of the portable shrine to the Fructus meeting. She had fallen asleep in the wee hours as she watched his glow fade. He was so fascinating that she forgot to be sad.
“You look pale, Vanessa. Have you been eating?” Perla squeezed her face and kissed her.
“What’s with your little friend there?” Percy asked. Vanessa had bailed on their foraging sessions that week, but Carla had told everyone about the shrine the previous Sunday. “Is he for the shrine, or something else?”
“Penance,” Vanessa smiled halfheartedly, “but also the shrine.”
“So, you’re taking this shrine thing pretty seriously, aren’t you?” Squeak said, looking up from her crochet to quirk her eyebrow at her friend.
“Yeah, hermana,” Gabi pointed to Jesus. “You must have spent hundreds of pesos on that work of art,” she added between bites of pastelitos. “These are good, Mom. Where did you get them again?” She grabbed another little pastry off of the plate Marian was passing along the room.
“Old Havana. They’re made with real lard.”
“Food por la cabeza,” Carla pointed to her temple. “But not for me because of the wheat. I get to eat the quinoa cookies.”
Vanessa swallowed a bite before waving her cookie in the air to interject, “Hey, that’s no reason to complain. These are great! Did you come up with the recipe, Marian?” Marian was on her summer sabbatical, which was a fancy way church people talked about ministers taking long vacations.
“Yes, I did,” Marian smiled. “And you,” she pointed to Carla in mock offense, “ought to stop complaining about what you can’t have.”
“Sí, mi amor. I like the cookies. Thanks,” she squeezed Marian’s hand before the other woman made another round, allowing Gabi to pile her plate high with pastries and cookies.
Vanessa, Squeak, and Percy sighed at the same time. Percy smiled and said, “Jinx! I’ll only release you if you tell us why you sighed. You first, Brigit.”
“I was thinking that could be us in twenty years,” Squeak nodded toward Carla and Marian, blushed, and crocheted faster.
“Me, too,” Percy squeezed Squeak’s shoulder. “You, Vanessa?”
“Javier called me that before he dumped me. Mi amor.”
“Did he dump you?” Perla asked gently. “Or has he maybe just been busy this past week?”
“He dumped her ass,” Gabi yawned. Her eyes focused on Vanessa, and she changed tack when she saw her friend wince. “So where’d you get the Jesus, hermana?”
“You’ll never believe it. After y’all left, my mom called to ask if my aunt should send me Granny’s old shrine stuff, and I opened the door, and there it was on the porch already.”
“It’s a sign,” Perla nodded. “This shrine is a way forward for you.”
“What? Like she can just rub Jesus’s belly and have Javier swooning over her again?” Percy grinned impishly and grabbed the Jesus off the table. “Let’s try it!”
“I wish I had my banjo,” Squeak said, laying aside her crochet to stand up by Percy, “or a shekere. We need a nice strumming rhythm for this sort of enterprise.”
The women sat down their various pastries, coffees, and handcrafts, and joined Percy under the aloft Jesus.
“Go on, mija. Rub Jesus’s belly.”
Vanessa complied, then snorted a huge laugh.
“It’s working!” Perla feigned gazing at a vision, trying not to smile. “I see him coming back to you while the banjo plays.”
“That’s not a banjo. It’s an opera singer,” Marian laughed, squinting at a speck mid-air.
“No. It’s lucha libre, bitches,” Gabi snickered, not even pretending to look beyond.
“He’s going to pop the question, and then let you pop his cherry, not necessarily in that order,” Squeak kept a straight face, but she patted a soft rhythm on Jesus’s robe.
“Okay. Let’s do it,” Percy said, nodding as though confirming a received message.
“What?!” the other women yelped at once, lowering the Jesus.
“Let’s get Javier back for Vanessa, with a banjo and opera and lucha libre,” Percy looked around the circle of women. They remained silent for several moments. Finally, Perla broke the tension.
“I don’t see it,” she said. The other women made little sounds of agreement and started to move back toward their seats. “No!” Perla interrupted, grabbing their hands to keep them near. “I mean, I don’t see the plan working, without a glass harp.”
“Are you serious?” Vanessa hugged Jesus to her chest. The greenish reflection onto her chin made her look haggard.
“Yes!” Percy enthused.
“I’ll play my banjo, Perla will play glass harp, we’ll round up an opera singer, and then what? Gabi wrestles him to the ground and forces him to get back with Vanessa?” Squeak’s voice dripped sarcasm.
“Paula’s daughter sings opera,” Vanessa volunteered.
“Well, three out of four, then,” Marian said. “But I don’t think Gabi will be doing much wrestling in the near future, so we’ll have to find another way forward to include lucha libre.”
“Wait. Why won’t I be wrestling, Mom? I’m supposed to kick Ally’s butt in next month’s grudge match.”
“That’s three weeks from now, mija. Even you will know by then why you can’t be wrestling for awhile,” Carla said gently.
“What are y’all talking about?” Gabi looked frightened as she searched the knowing faces around her. “Is it because I’ve been so sleepy? I’m not dying or anything. I’ve just been feeling sick and tired. Probably fighting something.”
“Gabi, my dear one, have you not noticed any other changes in pattern this past month?” Perla brushed hair away from Gabi’s face.
“Will someone please tell me what they are talking about? Vanessa?”
“I have no idea,” Vanessa shrugged, causing Jesus to bump her in the chin.
“You’re pregnant, Gabi. Knocked up, preggers, with child, in a family way,” Squeak said. “I noticed last week when you hated the smell of coffee, and your mothers tell me you have other signs as well.”
“Aw. Whoa,” Gabi looked at her abdomen. “I thought I was just stressed out when I skipped this month.” She touched her lower belly and smiled. “Wait. I’m pregnant!”
“We think so, mija,” Carla hugged her daughter and kissed her noisily on the face.
“You and Ruben!” Vanessa said, realization dawning. “But I thought you had all those condoms.”
“I guess they didn’t work,” Gabi smiled sheepishly.
“We’re going to be grandmothers!” Perla beamed to Carla and Marian.
“And we’ll be aunties!” the other women chimed in.
“Too bad about our big plan for Vanessa, though,” Squeak said through a smile.
“How so?” Percy asked.
“We no longer have a luchadora at our disposal.”
“Then who’s going to kick Ally’s butticles?!” Perla looked distraught. Ally was one of the few people whom Perla could not abide.
“Vanessa, of course,” Percy grinned mischievously. “We’ll put her in a wrestling mask, introduce her song, and make sure Javier is there to see her avenge her name and her honor.”
“It all sounds medieval,” Squeak said. She rolled her eyes, but a grin showed that she was eager for the plan to succeed.
“What will we call you, Vanessa?” Marian grinned. “It should have something to do with redeeming your relationship, maybe something exotic sounding.”
“La Redentora?” Carla offered.
“The redeemer? Sounds like a bad praise song. No,” Marian shook her head. “Any ideas, Nessa?”
“Why not call me Banjopera? That’s the musical style we’re going for, after all. There’s no way Javier would mistake me for someone else with a name like that,” a small, hopeful smile crossed her face.
“Do you think you can train Vanessa and arrange for her to take your place?” Marian asked softly, smiling at Gabi tenderly.
“Yes. And I know Ruben will be okay with the substitution,” Gabi said, still looking astonished.
“Good, then that’s Vanessa sorted,” Percy grinned. “Now, let’s talk about the news of the day. Gabi’s having a baby!”
“I have to tell Ruben!” Gabi gasped. “Give me your phone, Ma,” she held out her hand, and Carla handed over a smartphone. “Let me hold Jesus,” she demanded. Vanessa complied. “Okay. Here goes.” She dialed.
The women held their breath as a tinny, Filipino-accented woman’s voice came across the line. Gabi answered the woman in Spanish. Carla noticed that Gabi used the formal mode of address as she greeted the woman and asked for Ruben.
“His Mamá,” Carla whispered.
A deep male voice rumbled through the phone. Gabi spoke quickly, this time in English, telling Ruben the news in her usual straightforward way. “You knocked me up,” she said, the smile sounding in her voice.
The eavesdroppers grinned as they heard the whoop of delight from the other end of the conversation and saw that Gabi was too happy to even pull the loud phone from her ear. She agreed to several statements the group could not hear. Then the two rattled off plans to meet after Fructus. Ruben’s mother came back on, firing off a long string of congratulations and instructions in Spanish. Gabi ended the call and looked around.
“Well?” Marian asked.
“Ruben’s picking me up. Oh, and we’re also getting married. He said he was going to ask me soon anyway. His mother and sisters and grandmother want to plan the wedding for as soon as possible; they want to have us all over for dinner tonight, and also they want to know if you can eat Jell-o, Ma, because they know you have a sensitive estómago.”
“So, good news, then?” Vanessa asked.
Gabi broke into a huge grin. “Very good news, hermana. Holy santos! I’m getting married and having a baby!”
“I’ll get working on the baby clothes for you,” Vanessa hugged Gabi’s shoulders, then looked at her friend seriously. “I am going to need my Jesus back, though.”
“Huh?” Gabi had forgotten that she
was holding the statuette. “I thought you didn’t want the concrete Jesus.”
“Ahem,” Vanessa raised her eyebrows and nodded toward Gabi’s elbow, where Jesus was tucked in like a newborn.
“Oh. Here you go,” she handed Jesus over to Vanessa. “Why are you carrying him around, again?”
“To give me something to hold when I feel empty.”
“If all goes well, Vanessa, you will have something much more interesting to hold before long,” Percy smiled.
Gabi raised her eyebrows at Percy’s bold allusion.
“Well, then we had best make sure all goes well, Squeak cast a questioning gaze around at the other women, who nodded their assent.
Vanessa held Jesus in the center of the group. One by one they placed their hands on him, smiling. They looked at Vanessa and nodded.
“Banjopera!” Percy shouted.
“Banjopera!” the others echoed.
Chapter Fourteen
Banjopera
Ruben was solicitous of Vanessa’s preparation for the match. He let her flex her shifts for training and donated a generous sum toward the uniform she was sewing for herself.
“Remember, Nessa, you have to win this thing. Gabi will kill me if you don’t, and then she’ll kill Ally, and our orphaned child will be taken from her when she goes to prison,” he looked at her earnestly, holding out to her a handwritten sheet of instructions from Gabi.
Vanessa smiled at Ruben’s guilt trip attempt and took the paper. Among cradle Catholics, guilt trips were best seen as signs of affection. “Well, we can’t let that happen. I’ve already bought the silver spoon for your baby’s christening.” She decided not to go into details, that the spoon had been the lone precious metal object in a box of estate sale castoffs.
“Will you all have enough space to set up on the stage?” Ruben’s “you all” sounded oddly formal, a Southern ornament on his lilting Filipino accent. Hearing it made Vanessa smile.
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