Death Takes a Holiday (6 page)

H
OME WAS A FOREIGN
concept when I first flew over the Coronado Bridge eighteen years ago. My previous eight years had been, to call it something nice, nomadic. The longest we ever stayed in one place was ten months. For the most part we moved every six, mostly around the Southwest: New Mexico, Texas, Utah, and finally Arizona. Mom took bartending, waitressing, and even stripping jobs wherever she could find them. Of course she’d then meet a guy, sometimes move us in with him, then when it inevitably ended we’d pick up and move onto the next “adventure.” For those eight years I was trailer trash, and now I live in a mansion. Life is so weird sometimes.

After Mom’s swan song, Nana brought us back to San Diego with her. The first time I saw that bridge was two days after the gas stove incident. Mom’s body was underneath us in the cargo hold on her way back to her hometown. I don’t remember much about that week, only snippets like the bridge. I thought the color was so pretty and wondered if the people driving on it were worried they’d sink into the water below. The worry must have shown on my face because Nana kissed my forehead and held my hand until we landed.

“We are beginning our decent into San Diego International Airport. Please fasten your seat belts and turn off all electronic devices. Thank you.”

I haven’t flown commercial in months, and even though my new job allows me to be able to splurge on first class, it’s still not a multimillion dollar private jet. After one of those, everything else is the bus.

We land without incident. I worm my way through the crowded terminal all the way to baggage claim. Nana is nowhere in sight. The woman is the only person in all of America without a cell phone, so I don’t know if she’s held up in traffic or right beside me. I am
so spoiled now. Usually I just walk off the plane with my heavy suitcase, which lately Oliver carries for me. I could pack a brick wall and it’d be like carrying a feather to him. Since I never know how long I’ll be in one place now, packing light is not an option. He doesn’t mind being a valet and I’m not one of those Über-feminists who gets offended when men pull out chairs and carry my heavy things. It’s just good manners. Since my friend with the super-strength and the multimillion-dollar jet are both back in Kansas, I’ll wait patiently for my bags and heft them to the car myself. I suppose I—

“Oh. My.
God
!” a familiar voice squeals to my right.

A wide grin stretches across my face as I turn.

April Diego, my best friend for almost twenty years, stands a few feet away with a matching smile. If she wasn’t the sweetest, sassiest, most accepting person on the planet, I’d have to hate her. People are always mistaking her for Eva Mendes and me for Eva Mendes’s assistant. She modeled all through high school until Javier got her pregnant a few months after our high school graduation. Out went the catwalks of New York and in came cosmetology school and spit-up, but being April, if she ever minded, it didn’t show. She’s a phenomenal mother to Carlos, Manny, and Flora and doting wife to Javi. And she does it all with perfect hair.

Next to her, Nana squints at me. I take after her. We’re the same height with squat, sturdy legs and large everything else. Our ancestors were of hardy peasant stock. At sixty-nine she looks good. Thick, wavy gray hair cut to her shoulders. Wrinkles in the proper places over tan skin but not noticeable from far away. Cute, slightly upturned nose and thin lips, both of which I inherited. She’s what I’ll look like in forty years. I can live with that.

Never the wilting flower, April literally pushes her way through the crowd with a skeptical Nana close behind. Those toned arms wrap around me, hugging me so tight I think she might be part boa constrictor. I inhale the scent of Obsession perfume as I hug back. She releases me only for Nana to take her place.

“Hello, Honey Bea,” Nana whispers. I almost puddle in her arms.

“Hi, Nana.”

“We almost didn’t recognize you!” April says enthusiastically, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.

“Really? I’ve only been gone nine months.”

“You’ve lost so much weight! You look so good!” April tends to talk in exclamation points.

“I do?”

“You do,” Nana says. “You look fantastic.”

I guess I’ve lost about thirty pounds since March. I’m still by no means skinny but I can pretty much buy whatever I want and look halfway decent in it. I had no intention of losing weight, but the need to run for one’s life on a regular basis is a great motivator to work out. Being a size eight is just a happy byproduct.

“Thank you. I found a great gym.”

The three of us line up at the belt with me in the middle. April beams and entwines her arm with mine. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me. If I didn’t call Nana Liz for her cornbread recipe I wouldn’t have known!”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did! And the kids are excited. They’re working on a banner right now! Javi’s already bought the
carne asada
for the barbecue tomorrow.”

“A barbecue in December? I must be back in Southern California.”

“Was it terrible in Kansas? I’ll bet it’s all cold and snowy. I hate cold and snowy!”

“It was both those things when I left,” I say. “I never knew it could get so cold. The other day there was a negative windchill.”

“Well, you’re home now,” Nana says.

“And we’re having a heat wave. We can go to the beach every day if you want!”

“I have missed the beach,” I say as I grab one of my bags. The other is close behind.

April’s mouth drops open. “
That’s
your bag?” It’s just a regular black suitcase, though the pink LVs save it from total boredom. “It’s a Louis Vuitton. They’re like a thousand dollars each!”

“Really?” Nana asks.

“I can afford it now.” I pull out the handles and walk away with my family behind me. “You think I moved to Kansas for my health?”

“How much do you make?”

“April!” Nana says.

“It’s okay,” I say as we walk toward the exit. “A lot.” Yes, the life of a monster hunter is lucrative, and it’s all take-home too. I don’t have rent, I have half a dozen cars at my disposal, and I pay nothing but credit card bills. So yes, I splurge on ridiculously expensive suitcases.

“Are they insane?” April asks. “You get that for setting up daycare centers?”

“It’s not as easy as you think.”

We step outside into the perfect weather San Diego is known for. It’s in the mid-seventies, sunny, blue skies, with a slight breeze coming from the ocean. April takes my arm again, resting her head on my shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here! I have missed you
so
much!”

“We talk on the phone twice a week!”

She raises her head. “It’s not the same and you know it. Have you missed me?”

“Horribly. Painfully.” I touch Nana’s shoulder. “Both of you.”

We reach Nana’s old white Saab, and I toss my suitcases in the trunk. Nana and I climb into the front and April in the back. She chatters on about the latest gossip as we pull out of the lot. She’s made it her duty to keep me informed about everything she learns at the salon. A lot of our old classmates pop in. April knows who has gotten fat, cheated on, married, and divorced. Quite a few meet all of the above categories.

“ … and do you remember Caleb? Your crush du jour in high school?”

“How could I forget?” Though I have. There are just too many men as it is to occupy my mind.

“He disappeared! Can you believe it? His parents even called in the FBI. He just vanished. Weird, right?”

Not really. “Totally. I hope he’s okay.”

“Who knows? What a world we live in, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

Nana pulls up to the parking lot booth to pay, but before she can I give the cashier a twenty. “Beatrice, you didn’t have to do that,” Nana says.

“You’re doing me a favor by picking me up,” I say, getting my change back. Nana’s lips purse in disapproval, but she drives onto Harbor Street which runs along the edge of the city.

“So, Nana Liz was kind of stingy on the details. I thought you couldn’t come home for Christmas,” April says.

“My schedule cleared. They figured they could survive for two weeks without me.”

“Well, good! I was beginning to worry.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know,” April says. “You disappeared in the middle of the night? We haven’t laid eyes on you since? You know my overactive imagination. I thought maybe the government abducted you or something.”

There’s no way she can know, but I tense regardless. “That’s ridiculous,” I chuckle nervously.

“I know, but still! You vanish and never come home. Not even for Thanksgiving.”

“I have to
earn
my salary,” I say.

“We’re just glad to have you home now, Beatrice,” Nana says, ever the peacekeeper. “And you’re here for two whole weeks, so we’ll all have plenty of time to catch up.” Her cool, soft hand squeezes mine.

“So, April, how are my godkids doing?” I ask.

For the rest of the ride April gushes about her three kids: their classes, extracurriculars, and the holiday pageant in eight days. Our friendship is perfect. She likes to talk, and I don’t. I half listen as she rambles on about the snowflake costumes she has to make as I take in the city.

Like all cities, San Diego has its share of problems like homelessness, gangs, and condemned buildings, but I still love it. We pass the Maritime Museum, an old black-and-white ship like something Orlando Bloom would sail. Soon we’re in the heart of the city with the gray Midway aircraft carriers a few blocks from the convention center with its blue glass and white awnings. I am confident enough to admit I have attended the famous Comic-Con held there every year. For those four days every year, it’s as if the city has been invaded by aliens, Goths, and the just plain weird. And this from a person who can move things with her mind. The red MTS trolley passes as we wait next to Petco stadium where the Padres play. My ex-boyfriend Steven had a season pass, so I’ve been in there way more than anyone with ovaries ever should.

A few minutes and red lights later, we leave the skyscrapers and boutiques behind and enter the “community” of Stockton, where Nana has lived for close to fifty years. There was a time when it was a nice community, but in recent years it has turned into a crime-ridden ghetto. When Brian and I arrived it was in transition. The little Mom and Pop stores along Market Street were still in business, still had money to paint their fronts, but about half had bars on the windows. Now the few that are open have bars, gates, and water damage. The signs are in Spanish and there are few clerks who speak English. My Spanish is okay but not enough to ask my dry cleaner to remove wine from a cotton/poly blend skirt.

The homes in the area haven’t fared any better. The one-floor, ranch-style homes made of adobe or concrete all have bars on the windows and dying or overgrown grass. Nana held out on the bars as long as she could, but she relented after the second break-in. At least she hasn’t gotten the latest neighborhood accessory: chickens. Clucking and crowing can be heard in about a third of the back yards.

Compared to the other homes on the block ours is, well, a mansion in Kansas. The lawn is a lush green and surrounded by bushes to camouflage the chain-link fence. She specifically chose the black bars to match the red clay color of the walls. The only thing we’ve ever been able to leave outside without it getting stolen is the turquoise dream-catcher hanging from the awning.

Nana pulls into the driveway, and I get out. As I turn to the right, the Holy Cross Cemetery fills my vision. Yes, a large, multi-acre cemetery was my playground growing up. April and I would run around in there hiding behind the gravestones or stone crypts. Sadly, it was also the setting of my first kiss with Tommy Millet. When I first moved here I was convinced that ghosts and ghouls would climb out of those graves and attack me in the middle of the night. Strange how right I was. It seems my life has always been surrounded by death. But in the daylight it’s rather pretty, especially during the holiday season. Families bring poinsettias, garland, and even Christmas trees to leave for their loved ones. Even the hearse parked there now has tinsel around the back.

“
Hola, bonita!
” a woman calls to me. Mrs. Ramirez, my next-door neighbor of almost twenty years, waves to me. She barely breaks five feet and is as round as an apple. She’s also as sweet as apple pie and was like a second grandmother to me.

“
Hola
, Mrs. Ramirez,” I say. “
Como estas?
”

“
Muy bien
. Come home to visit
su abuela
?”

“
Si. Por dos semanas
.”

“Well, don’t you forget to visit me,
no
?”

“Never.” With a smile her way, I pull out the handles of my suitcases and walk up to the front door, where Nana is on lock three of five. When she opens the door the smell of baked cheese wafts from inside. Yummy.