Six Feet Over It (25 page)

“
Ransom?
What is going on?”

“I don’t
know
!”

“What are they going to do if you don’t—if it’s not enough?” Elanor looks toward the house. “This isn’t good. All those guys. What about Ana?”

Oh God.

“No,” she says. “No, I’m sure it’s okay. Dario’s with her. It’s … just don’t show them all of it, in case they want more. Start with—Here.” She pulls out some fives, a wad of twenties. “Got anything bigger? Put it on top.”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

There are fifties. Some hundreds. We stack a bunch, roll it all into a cash sausage, and snap a pink rubber band around it.

“Feels good,” she says. “It’s got heft. Right?”

“I don’t know!”

“No,” she says. “It’s good. It is.”

“How do you know how to do this?”

“Movies. It’s homeschool, not solitary confinement. Cripes!”

“You think?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yes. Put it in your sleeve.” Some color is flooding back to her face. “Let’s go.” She opens the passenger door.

“No! No way.”

But she’s out. Fearless.

“Elanor,” I beg, “get back in the truck. Please!”

“I’ll just stand there and say nothing; they don’t know how much I understand. I’m another pair of eyes, a witness. Let’s
go.
”

“No.”

“Let me help you.”

“No!”

“Leigh, it’s the middle of the day next to a bounce house; it’s not like we’re skulking around the seedy underbelly of Tijuana hiding from the border patrol. Let’s
go
!”

True.
Still.

“Also,” she says, “Danger is my middle name.”

She swings the door shut and marches through the chain-link gate. I run to catch up and pull her back to the curb.

“We’ll stay on the sidewalk,” I pant. “Out in the open. Yeah?”

She nods. Firmly astride in the boots, arms crossed. Pissed. Glaring at the doorway lackeys. All four feet, ten inches of her.

I stand beside her in my jeans, both of us boiling in the sun, trying to look intimidating. Or at least not terrified.

The doorway jerks laugh.

We wait.

Kids arrive for the bounce house party. Music starts up. Madonna.

Elanor stifles nervous laughter. “This is ridiculous,” she murmurs. “If we get ourselves and Dario out of this alive … I don’t know what.”

“We’ll do something fun,” I say. “I promise. Anything you want. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Samuel is on the porch. “Well?” he yells over Madonna.
“¿Tienes el dinero?”
He narrows his gaze at Elanor.
“¿Quién es este?”

“This is my sister,”
I say in Spanish.
“Our father is a police officer, so keep your hands where I can see them. You’ll get the money when we see Dario.”

He and the Jerks exchange bemused looks. They laugh, raise their hands.
“Los padres de todo el mundo son policías.”
Samuel smiles.

Yeah, I’m sure everyone he knows does claim their dad is a police officer, probably because he’s always trying to pull illegal crap on people. I am so sick of this guy.

“¿Dónde están Dario y Ana?”
I yell back.
“¡Vamos a conseguir este programa en la carretera!” Let’s get this show on the road!

In the periphery, Elanor’s mouth drops open.

“What?”
I hiss.

“Your Spanish is amazing!”

“Están adentro,”
Samuel calls. He beckons us into the house.
“Entra y vamos a hacer esto.”

Inside the house? With you, Samuel?

Elanor clutches my arm.

“No,” I say, everything in me desperately straining to be calm.
“Absolutamente no. Lo hacemos afuera, aquí, que los sacó, te mostraré el dinero, lo hacemos todo juntos. Como dijiste.” Everything outside, both at once, just like you said.

Adriel leans from the doorway, whispers to Samuel.

“Hey!” Elanor shouts. She grabs my sleeve, pulls the cash out. “Look!” she says, holding it above her head. “We’ve got it. There’s a lot here. It’s legit!”

“Legit?”
I am light-headed.

But all three guys look up. Elanor nudges me, eyes wide.

“Yes!” I yell. “
¡Los trae afuera!
It’s yours if you want it. Just bring them out.”

And then, before my spinning head understands what she’s doing, Elanor peels off one of the hundreds from the rubber-banded bundle, wads it up, and throws it at the men. Like tossing a stick to a fetching dog.

My heart stops.

Samuel strolls casually where the bill lands on the white rocks. Picks it up. Uncrumples it. Passes it to the Jerks.

He stays rooted in the shade of the porch. Considers us for several very long seconds. He and the Jerks whisper to one another. Madonna is yammering about having a holiday, and kids are laughing, shouting in the bounce house.

Samuel folds the hundred into his shirt pocket, then disappears once more inside the house.

We barely breathe.

And then Dario is here. They are here.

They come blinking from the dark recesses of the house. Samuel’s hand is on Dario’s shoulder.
Don’t touch him,
I want to snarl, but I wait. Elanor and I wait.

Ana—who must be Ana—is holding Dario’s hand.

My chest clenches tight, then floods entirely with unbelievable relief, like that surreal moment the doctors said at last Kai would not die.

He is here. They are here. They are not dead.

Elanor’s hands are clutched over her chest, but her face is carefully blank.

Ana is only slightly taller than Elanor, just as tiny. More beautiful than I’d dreaded. Delicate, lovely face, long hair twisted up in a messy bun. She looks so tired; they both do.

Samuel stops at the chain link.

“¡Aquí está,”
he says, falsely cheerful,
“tal como prometí!”

I don’t remember him “promising” anything, but
“Sí,”
I tell him.
“Gracias.”

Dario sees Elanor. He is clearly startled. His eyes find my face.

What?
I want to say.
What should I do?

“Así.”
Samuel smiles.
“¿Vamos a cambiar?”

“What?” Dario says. “What are you exchanging?”

Oh, I’ve missed his voice.

Elanor gives him one firm shake of her head.

Ana closes her eyes. She holds Dario’s hand tighter, her hands that made my skeletons. My Emily.

One last wave of adrenaline swells.

“Dario,” I say evenly, low. In English. “Is Ana okay? Are you?”

He nods.

“Because we can call my dad. You know—the
police officer.
”

“No,” he says. “Nothing.”

All right, then.

This
is what I’m doing about it.

“Samuel,”
I say,
“así es como bajará Quédate donde estás. Dario y Ana van a venir aquí a la acera, y te daré este dinero encima de la valla. Vamos y nunca volveremos. ¿Lo tienes?”

The words just come. Every grave we’ve ever dug, every word of every conversation, every part of speech and grammar dissection Dario has painstakingly taught me has led to this one ballsy monologue. Sarcasm, slang, maybe none of it translates, or maybe some makes it through because Dario and Ana look stunned, but most important, Samuel clearly understands I’ve decided, I am
telling
him, how it’s all going down.

And amazingly, it does. Every word. Just as I say.

Dario and Ana step through the gate to the sidewalk, I swing it shut behind them, and Elanor immediately puts her tiny body between Dario and Ana and the fence. Samuel stays put.

Over the chain-link fence I hand him the icing-on-the-cake cash. Most of a year’s worth of hands held, tissues offered, Yorks eaten, graves sold, dug, tended, and buried.

Samuel lifts a few edges of the bills. Smiles. Nods.

I toss the truck keys to Elanor.

“Elanor,” I say, eyes still on Samuel. “Let’s go.” She ushers Dario and Ana across the street and into the truck. Madonna serenades us appropriately with “Like a Prayer.”

I back slowly toward the getaway truck, watch Samuel count the money, watch him watch me watching him.

He laughs.

“Oh, wait!” he suddenly calls.
“¡Señora, espera un minuto!”
He yells back to the Jerks. Adriel steps back in, then out the door, and tosses something to Samuel, who steps to the gate.

“Aquí,”
he says, tossing the thing to me.
“Es la bolsa Ana.”

A bag. Ana’s bag.

“Gracias.”

I run. Climb up into the truck and give the bag to a grateful Ana nestled beside Dario, who is smooshed in next to Elanor. I yank my seat belt on and pull away from the curb.

“Hey!” Samuel shouts from the white rocks.
“¡Señora! ¿Quién te enseñó hablar español tan bien?”

I roll the window all the way down, right foot poised over the gas pedal, the truck idling quietly.

Who taught me to speak Spanish so well?

“¡Tu madre!”
I shout, and slam the pedal down, and we are gone, a trail of dust and “Like a Virgin” in our wake.

“Leigh,” Dario says, stern. “Really?”

I am so punch-drunk with relief that I maybe shouldn’t be driving. “Oh, come on!” I say. “You love it!”

WE ARE LOST.

I miss the Highway 91 exit, blow past the I-5, surface streets now. Why does everything look so maddeningly the same?

“Elanor,” I yell, “you’re the world’s worst navigator! What are you
doing
? Where are we?”

The map is whipping around in the loud wind because the truck is equipped only with what Grandpa calls “Dual 65” air-conditioning: both windows down, at sixty-five mph you’ll get some air. Nice.

Dario and Ana are just sitting here silent, eyes forward.

“Um …” Elanor fumbles with the giant folded sheets of roadway. “Anaheim? And I could be wrong, but—” She peers out her window. “Isn’t that the Matterhorn?”

“You are high on DayQuil.” I sigh. But I squint into the pale violet haze of smog hanging low over the ever-increasing traffic.

A snowcapped peak reaches up, high above the concrete all around us.

“What time is it?”

“Almost half past,” she says.

“Past what?”

“One.”

“One what?”

She eyeballs me over Dario’s lap. “Are
you
high? One, one o’clock!”

Twenty minutes. We were doing hostage negotiations with minimum-wage cash in broad daylight in the middle of a residential street for only twenty minutes.

I could have sworn it was hours. I’ve aged years in that twenty minutes. Wait,
twenty minutes
?

“Elanor.”

“Yes.”

“I need to get out of this truck. We need to park. I think I’m having some kind of …”

Dario snaps out of his daze. Ana puts her hand on my knee. “Leigh,” she says. “Are you okay?”

Wow. Perfect English. Of course.

“I don’t know,” I admit. The adrenaline is draining fast. My head hurts, there’s nowhere to park on these stupid streets, so many red curbs, a million honking cars, billboards and freeway overpass signs directing me too many ways, the sun pulses down into the windshield.

“Take a breath,” Elanor says, very calm, face down in the map. “Listen to me. There’s a parking lot coming up. A really, really big parking lot, very easy, we’re almost there, can you make it?”

I nod.

“Okay,” she says, “so wait just a second and … turn. No, here. Okay, left … and here, left again here and … right here, we’re here, just go, go forward, go straight.”

Straight into Disneyland.

“Sixteen dollars!” Elanor yelps. “Holy crap, are you kidding me? To
park
?”

Happiest Place on
Earth.
Seems like a bargain.

I pass a crisp fifty to the attendant from the dwindling stack in the envelope, take the change, and slide the ticket on the dash.

Elanor hangs her head out the window.

“Our whole lives, Balin and I have cut out magazine pictures of the rides for hint collages for my parents. They never gave in, and I know it’s so awful and commercial and plastic and bad for the environment and the princesses are sexist, gender-normative hookers with daddy issues, but I can’t help it, I can’t believe we’re here! Even just the parking lot. I never thought I’d get this close.”

We circle the rows again and again until—

“Oh,” Elanor chirps. “Hooray, those people are leaving, do you see? Go, hurry, go, get that one!”

It’s even near a tree. Shade. Thank God.

I turn the engine off.

Quiet.

We all close our eyes. Lean our heads back against the Last Supper.

We are safe.

They are here.

They are alive.

Ana’s hand is still on my knee.

“Feel better?” she asks.

I turn to her.

Even tired, oh my God, is she beautiful.

“Do
you
?” I ask.

Ana nods.

“It was mostly waiting,” Dario says. “But they wouldn’t let us leave. I worried what they were going to do if you hadn’t come. How much did you give him?”

“Some.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “We had no idea. Our guy in Mexico said it was his friend’s house. I’ll pay you back, I promise—”

“No,” I groan. “Please, the money’s not … It isn’t mine. It wasn’t mine.”

Dario frowns. “Whose was it?”

“No one’s. It was for this. Meant for this.”

“Leigh.”

“Dario.”

I get a huge eye roll. “You’ll get it back.”

“It wasn’t mine. Get over it.”

And now my brain has held it together as long as it is able, because apparently it is time for me to cry. Again.

Dario stares.

“Yeah, you like that?” I choke. “It’s all I do now. It’s awesome. Hey, El—”

Elanor passes me the last of the Denny’s napkins. “Don’t worry,” she tells them. “It’ll be over in a minute.”

“Sorry,” I sob. “I’m sorry …”

Ana puts her arms around me.
“Pobrecita,”
she murmurs, “you’re just tired.”

Humiliating. She and Dario have been dodging death for days, weeks, traversing the desert on foot, hiding from the border patrol, dealing with stupid Samuel and God knows what else, and
I’m
crying? Ugh.

“All right, we need to stretch our legs before Leigh drives anymore,” Dario announces. “Fresh air, we need water, let’s find a fountain.”

“A what?” Elanor says.

“Fountain, a drinking—faucet?”

“Gross,” I moan. “Let’s just go eat somewhere. I need lemonade. Root beer, something.”

Dario sighs.

“What?”

Ana squeezes my hand. “They took everything. My bag they let me keep, but all the money, anything worth selling, everything else …”

“Except the rings,” Dario says. “We hid those. I won’t say where.”

Ana rolls her eyes.
“Dario.”

“The rings!” Elanor squeals. “You’re
married
! Let me see!”

Wide silver bands Ana made, then sewed into a panel in the bottom of the bag. She rips the seam, pulls them out. A matched pair.

“They’re beautiful,” I say. Truthfully.

“My parents are sending the wedding money people gave us,” she says. “It will come soon, but not right away. I’m sorry. …”

“People!” I pull the rest of the icing-on-the-cake cash from the Pre-Need envelope, from Meredith’s seashell bag, still hundreds left. “Will everyone pay attention to the words I am saying to you? This money is not mine; it is ours. And I am begging you, please, help me help myself. We’ve got to get rid of it. Seriously. Please.”

“That makes no sense,” Dario says.

“Who is in charge here?” I say. “Who is driving?”

“Who
taught
you?”

“Someone annoying.”

“Kids,” Ana says, “enough!”

Elanor raises her hand. “I have an idea.”

“Fantastic,” I say. “What?”

“Well,” she says, “I mean, we’re at a place that sells drinks. And other things.
Expensive
things that use up lots of cash, and also it’s a good place to walk. For leg-stretching. You know.”

“Interesting,” I say. “That is a very interesting idea.”

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Okay,” I say, “who here has
not
been to Disneyland?”

“Leigh,” Dario says.

“I’m just asking.”

“I have not,” Ana volunteers, “and I understand that is something to be pitied.”

“It
is
to be pitied,” Elanor confirms. “It really is.”

“Well,” I say, “I have. But only once. And I was two years old and it was with my Gramma, so I don’t think it counts.”

“Leigh,” Dario says again.

“What?”

“We’re going home.”

“I know. Of course we are. Just one more quick survey: Who here is really tired?”

Elanor’s eyes are saucers.

Dario’s hand goes up. He looks on the verge of passing out in the perfect Disney parking lot landscaping.

Still, I am in charge.

“Three hours,” I decide, “not a minute more, I swear! We can do Pirates and Space Mountain and the teacups and we’ll
still
be home before eleven.”

“Leigh.”

“Dario,” Elanor says, so happy she is on the verge of flight, “this is American democracy in action, and sadly for you, you have been outvoted.”

“Querido,”
Ana says, and pulls Dario’s face to hers. I look away. “You can sleep the whole ride home.”

He demonstrates being married and gives in.

We buy four one-day passes, a giant bottle of water, four Mickey-shaped chocolate-dipped ice-cream-on-a-sticks, three mouse-ear hats with our names embroidered on the back, hooded Disneyland sweatshirts, and a gender-normative rhinestone princess tiara for Elanor. And we walk across the drawbridge into Sleeping Beauty Castle to make the best use of three hours and the last of the Cake Icing Grave Money any of us could ever have imagined.