Stay a Little Longer

by Dawn Lanuza

  “You seem happy,” Lucian started.

  “I do?” Caty asked, looking at him with her eyes half closed.

  “What’d you drink? You’re all bubbly.”

  She shrugged. “Jordan juice.”

  “Are we finally tapping that?”

  Caty laughed some more at what Lucian was insinuating. Really, laughing was fun, and she wanted to keep doing it. “No.”

  “Why not? He’s all flirty when you’re around.”

  “Just because,” she asserted. I don’t want to, her mind answered but never said out loud. The more she thought about it, the more she understood how simple it was. She was not with anyone here in New York because she did not want to be.

  “Are you really okay?” Lucian asked, pulling Caty out of her thoughts. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What makes you think I’m not?”

  His eyes widened, as if it was so obvious and she couldn’t deny it.

  A shrill sound made them both jump. It was a phone ringing, and Lucian stood quickly to check his.

  “Not mine,” he announced. Jimmy called, “Not mine!” as well.

  Caty nodded but stayed on the couch.

  “Are you going to answer your phone?”

  She frowned. There was no way she was in the right mind-set to answer a call. It was either her mother or her boss, Hans, who sometimes called her on Friday nights or weekends because he needed his assistant even on her time off. Lately, though, the calls were only from her boss. Her mother had fully adapted to texting instead of calling, so she rarely called.

  “I’m on sabbatical.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since today!” she exclaimed, and started thinking about how her boss would react to that. The ringing stopped, and it was quiet again, except for Mariah belting it out.

  Jimmy came back to the living room with a mug.

  Caty simpered, “You guys take such good care of me.”

  Lucian laughed. “Oh no.”

  “I’m not kidding,” she insisted. “I’m so happy we all live together. Let’s live together always.”

  Jimmy pulled her up to a sitting position and handed her the mug. “Sure. Let’s live together always.”

  Caty blew on the coffee just as the phone started ringing again.

  Lucian frowned. “All right, I’ll answer it. This is just going to drive me nuts.”

  Caty’s brows furrowed. “Could be Mom.”

  He shook his head, walking over to Caty’s room. “She would have called me by now.”

  Caty agreed. It wasn’t the first time her mother had checked up on her through Lucian.

  “Where do you keep it?” Lucian shouted.

  The thing was that since her last call with Elan, Caty had stopped using her phone completely. She rarely carried it, even at work, which ticked off Hans. Lately, she seemed to be doing a lot of things that annoyed him. Forgetting to switch to soy milk for his morning coffee was an even bigger mistake, especially since Hans was lactose intolerant.

  Caty dragged herself out of the couch, walked to her room, and went straight to the drawer where she hid the phone. Right on cue, it started ringing again. She reached down through the balls of socks and grabbed it.

  The screen showed an unknown number, so she wasn’t sure if she should answer. But it was from a familiar country code that made her think about the worst possibilities—emergencies, accidents—so she did.

  “Hello?”

  “There you are!”

  She recognized her brother’s voice. “Whose number is this?”

  “I changed my number. You should have known that, ’cause I texted you about twenty times already, but looks like you’re not talking to anyone.”

  Her head tilted. “What happened?”

  “No, what happened to you,” Kip insisted.

  “Nothing,” Caty stretched her legs, relaxing. It had been awhile since she had talked to her brother, and right this very second she realized how much she missed him. “I’m unplugging. How are you guys?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “And the town?” She heard him hesitate. Weird. “Anything going on there? A dog baptism?”

  “Not quite,” Kip answered.

  “Just say it.”

  “Not sure how you’ll feel about it.”

  “One way to find out,” Caty yawned.

  “It’s . . . Sarge,” he said, his voice softer.

  “Oh.” She straightened her back. If it was Sarge, then it should be good. “What did he do this time? Open an acting school? Fund the production of a poorly cast play?”

  “Well,” Kip didn’t sound amused. “He died.”

  Caty jolted. “Oh. No.”

  She wasn’t a fan of Sarge, and she thought that most of the town wasn’t too fond of him either. But what would San Juan be without him? Sarge, who always found a way to make parties bigger than they were.

  “Yeah, it was sudden,” Kip continued, explaining that Sarge had suffered a fatal heart attack at home. He was old, but he always seemed healthy. He lived for the town gossip—and Caty thought that was his secret for keeping fit and staying young.

  Caty listened, the words jumbling in her head. She covered her face with her hand and actually, really, felt the loss.

  “So we’re having a big funeral next weekend,” she heard Kip say. “We’ll take out his yacht and spread his ashes over the sea.”

  “Whose idea was that?” she asked, even though she already knew. Sarge, of course it was Sarge.

  “Casa Isabella is booked after. They’ll be showing Sarge’s movies and serving his favorites.”

  Caty smiled and felt a pinch in her heart as she imagined how it would all go. San Juan deals with funerals quietly, but this was Sarge Reynoso. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  “You what?”

  She didn’t know exactly why either, but she knew then that she wanted to see her mother, maybe tell her about the string of bad days that she’d been having. She wanted to hang out with her brother, watch a movie or go for a drive. The more she thought about it, the more she felt decided.

  “I’ll book my flight, and I’ll be there.”

  fifteen

  What’s the protocol when a person you didn’t particularly like—and everyone knows it—dies? Nobody invited her to Sarge’s funeral. Although Caty assumed that everyone in town would show up anyway, she felt as if people were wondering why she was there.

  She had just arrived from New York the night before, and now she was about to go out on one of Sarge’s yachts with her mother and brother. Everyone was wearing expensive black clothes and somber faces. Her brother offered his hand, and she took it with relief. Unlike her, the town loved Kip. He was everybody’s son, no matter how much ruckus or trouble he caused. They had always shrugged it off—Kip being Kip.

  “I’m gonna be sick,” she announced as they boarded the yacht.

  Her mother tucked a strand of Caty’s hair behind her ear, soothing her. “You’ll be fine.” That was her mother’s idea of comforting her children. You will be fine; just fake it for a little while.

  “Isn’t this unsanitary? Spreading ashes in the ocean? What about the fish? What if they eat it?” She cringed at the thought of eating fish nourished by someone else’s ashes.

  Kip smothered a laugh, and she glared at him. “Why can’t we do a normal burial?”

  “Because this is what he wanted,” Kip pointed out. “Everything in this yacht is what he wanted. Including you.”

  Caty winced. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “If he could get the whole town on the yacht, you know he would have loved it.”

  “Maybe I should just wait at Casa Isabella.” Caty bit her lip and looked as the crew prepared to leave the dock. She looked around the yacht, and at
the people on it. It wasn’t a big crowd, mostly Sarge’s patrons who were closest to him.

  She felt completely out of place.

  She thought about leaving, but then the anchor lifted, and they were off. She didn’t want to cause a scene more than what her coming home had done. It took the last of her savings, and she knew she wouldn’t be flying back home spontaneously anymore.

  When Kip had called, she’d realized how much she missed home—if this was even home.

  Jimmy booked her flight while Lucian helped her pack. It was all a blur, and only now that she was staring at the horizon did she understand how poignant the moment was.

  Sarge was dead. San Juan as she knew it wouldn’t be the same anymore.

  In her periphery, she saw Madeline heading toward her. She had a black pashmina wrapped around her shoulders, and huge, dark sunglasses covered half her face. Of course, Caty had known that Madeline would be here. She was Sarge’s prodigy, and she seemed to be truly grieving.

  “Don’t do it,” Kip said before she could take a step forward.

  “Why?” she answered.

  “I don’t know—it just doesn’t seem like a smart idea to piss Maddy off. Especially when she can throw you right out into the ocean.”

  Caty smirked. “She can’t take me. Her arms are too tiny to pick me up.”

  Kip laughed, and she joined in, but it didn’t take long for others to glare at them.

  Kip smiled at them politely before making his exit. “All right, but in case you need backup.”

  She squeezed his hand and knew he had her back. Caty turned to her mother, who was watching Madeline approach. “Mom, can I have a minute with Madeline when you’re done greeting her?”

  Her mother looked surprised but agreed. She welcomed Madeline with two kisses on the cheek. “Maddy, darling, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Villamor,” Madeline answered, clutching her arms at her waist. “He was the best mentor.”

  Caty’s mom smoothly added, “I’m sure you’d like to chat with Catalina.”

  Madeline’s lips tightened before she turned to Caty. “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Caty’s mom turned and left quickly.

  Caty felt a lump in her throat, but she swallowed, took a deep breath, and faced Madeline. She was like a Modigliani painting come to life. Wearing a black dress with dark lips pinched tight, she was lovely, even for a grieving mentee.

  What should she say first? I’m sorry? How do people comfort each other at funerals without sounding like a broken record? She stood quietly and didn’t say anything for a moment until she couldn’t stand the silence.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Madeline remained motionless, as if she had earplugs in and hadn’t heard anything. She was basically a still life painting planted in front of Caty.

  “Sarge was . . . well.” How could she put Sarge into words? “He was always the life of the party. He would have loved this, though he might have said the music was too slow.”

  Madeline was still doing a stellar job of remaining stoic.

  “Okay, so, nice to see you.” Caty took a step back.

  Madeline cleared her throat. “Would you come by the house after?”

  “What?” Was she serious? Are they going to be friends? Are they going to bond over this?

  Madeline removed her sunglasses and showed that she had been crying.

  “Better if you’re not too late.”

  Caty was stumped. Had they had this conversation before? Had she missed something?

  “I’d like to redecorate our basement, and your stuff is in the way,” Madeline said stiffly, raising an eyebrow.

  “You want me to help you clean up?”

  “Your luggage,” Madeline spat.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  Madeline’s mouth twitched. “Do it before my husband arrives.”

  “Where is he, anyway?” She craned her neck. She had been wondering . . . Not that she was chasing him anymore.

  Did she love Otto? Maybe. She had loved the idea of having him, had even been obsessed with it. Maybe he was even her first love, the man she imagined all men should be when she was still a teenager. He was charming and attractive, and he seemed to be fond of her, even before things got romantic. It had just been . . . zap. Like being struck by lightning.

  But in hindsight, she realized, being struck by lightning also meant getting burned.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Madeline’s eyes flashed.

  “That’s no—” she struggled to explain. Did everyone forget that she had been a friend of Otto’s too? Before she screwed it up and fell for him? “I was just wondering, for you. I don’t know—don’t answer that.”

  “You know, when you left, I thought that would be it, problem solved. But you’re not the only problem.” Madeline’s lips curled, finally wiping away the sad look on her face. “There will always be someone else. Not prettier, not better, but loose enough.”

  “Hey!” Caty knew she’d raised her voice. Everyone seemed to turn toward her, and she caught Kip’s eye. She shook her head.

  Madeline put her glasses on, settling back to her stoic face. “Pick up your shit, or I’ll burn it.”

  Caty took a deep breath. “I’ll have someone pick it up.”

  Madeline answered, “He comes home tomorrow.”

  “Well, thanks for the information, but you can relax, okay? I’m not going to see him again, unless we meet accidently on the street or something.”

  “I’m not worried about you.” Madeline turned away. “He’s already preoccupied with some girl from the city.”

  Despite herself, she actually felt sad for Madeline. “Oh, Maddy.”

  “Men are all the same,” she concluded, as if she had learned a hard truth. “Right? Doesn’t matter if you’re together, doesn’t matter if you’re married. They’re all just gonna do the same thing, right?”

  Madeline was shaking, obviously trying not to explode by telling her more. It must be hard for her to admit that her picture-perfect life was anything but. Caty dared to reach for her hand. “Maddy, no.”

  She pulled her hand away, of course. In her eyes, Caty was one of them. Caty understood, but at that moment she wished Madeline could believe she was not the enemy.

  “I’m sorry he did this to you,” she said.

  Caty had known Otto since she was a child. Once she would have said, But that’s just him, as if that was an acceptable reason for his behavior. Now she knew it was a shitty excuse and an even shittier thing to do.

  Caty wanted Madeline to know that Otto was a grade A jerk, and that there were better people out there. People who wouldn’t cheat, who wouldn’t make her feel left out and replaced, people she could believe in and trust.

  But she understood that this was still new and fresh for Madeline and nothing she could say right now would be received well.

  Madeline stepped back. “Fine, I’ll have my driver drop off your stuff.”

  She walked away, and Caty realized that would be best. From a distance, her brother kept an eye on her, as he had promised.

  The rest of the funeral was strange, but it was what Sarge had planned. They spread his ashes; the people grieved and told stories, ate some food, and drank some wine. Caty had been looking around the group, trying to recognize the faces. She remembered some, others not so well. She kept searching, hoping for . . . something, or someone.

  They watched the clouds turn from orange to pink to violet. She savored that feeling before they had to return to shore, to the town and its people, to their own lives, without Sarge.

  “That was . . . nice,” Caty said.

  “Your father would have loved that,” their mother said.

  Kip grimaced. “No. Dad hated being on the water.”
r />   “I meant the sunset, not spreading his ashes. God, no.”

  Caty laughed; she felt a bit lighter in spite of the somber mood. She looked on as everyone got into cars and started out for Casa Isabella, leaving the port empty. She realized that she liked being here because of her family, but she’d always felt like she never truly belonged in San Juan. She was always looking for a way out, to get somewhere else, to be in a place where she felt more like herself.

  Standing next to her family, Caty knew that being home was never really about where she was. It was about whom she was with.

  Her life suddenly felt like the empty lot, stripped clean and barren. She had no idea what to do next, and judging from Hans’s dismay about her sudden absence, she wasn’t positive she’d have a job when she got back to New York. How hard could it be to replace her?

  At least she still had Lucian and Jimmy.

  And her mother and Kip.

  She had some people who did stay with her. The ones you didn’t scare away, she thought and then shook off that idea.

  Her mother was already in the back seat when she called to Caty, “You all right, honey?”

  “Yeah,” Caty answered, and joined her in the car.

  They drove through familiar roads, places she used to play in, the school she went to, the street she and her friends rode bikes on, her dad’s old office, that place where all the town parties were held.

  Caty had stopped feeling homesick for San Juan a long time ago, but watching the scenery go by, she finally understood that all along, she’d been yearning for a home.

  sixteen

  Elan would’ve taken his mother home right after mass, but she had a birthday party to go to. So he watched her talk to her friends before they left for the party. Gia left as soon as the mass ended to fetch Abby from her playdate. She’d told him they could keep meeting on Sundays to spend more time with their mother.

  He didn’t insist but was glad to hear it, knowing full well that his sister was mostly parenting alone until her husband returned for a few months. Then he’d go back to his work on a freighter, traveling all over the world.

  He heard his mother and her friends talk about him, even if he was standing right there. Elan was used to his name coming up every time an old friend’s single daughter was coming to visit. He would usually smile and shrug it off.