“Tell us about your trip,” he said to change the subject. “How was Greece?”
“It was gorgeous, was it not, my love?” Giorgio asked his wife, who blushed. Giorgio and Mary took turns describing their accommodations, the visits to Giorgio’s family, the clear blue water of the islands, the boat they’d sailed on, the meals they’d enjoyed.
Gabe let the conversation wash over him, grateful to Giorgio, who was solid, full of love and patient as time. Plus, he was magic with a lamb chop. Gabe ate the last bite, then leaned back in his chair.
Before Giorgio, Gabe would cook supper for his mother and the girls a couple nights a week. He missed that, he realized. His birthday wasn’t far away. He always cooked a family meal then. Afterward, he’d start a new tradition, maybe dinner at his house once a month.
After supper, they climbed into Gabe’s van to go to the cemetery, each carrying a memento for the grave. The vase Gabe had had engraved rested beside him. They were quiet on the drive. The sky was gold and pink with sunset, but there were dark clouds and the air smelled of ozone. Rain was on the way. Unusual for March.
The cemetery was old and small, tucked into the barrio, colorful with flowers, trinkets and painted saints.©There was one other car and a cab parked on the narrow lane, and he spotted a family standing around a grave.
The first few years, Robert’s friends came to the cemetery to honor him. At the funeral, Robert’s friend Mad Dog, new in the Doble, had muttered about revenge, a piece shoved into his waistband. Gabe had gotten in his face, made him swear not to retaliate. He’d obeyed out of respect for the Ochoa name, but he’d held a stone-cold hatred for Gabe ever since.
Now he ran the Doble.
Gabe put the desert poppies his mother had brought into the stone vase and watered them at a standing faucet. Mary studied the fresh copy of Robert’s school photo she’d brought to replace the sun-faded one in the silver frame. “He would be thirty-one. What a fine man he would have been.”
“But see what a fine man you still have.” Giorgio nodded at Gabe.
“You have always been my rock,” she said to Gabe. “If only Robert had had your strength and good sense. You looked out for him.”
But not enough. Not nearly enough. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked out over the grass. The acres of graves always hit him hard. All these people dead and gone. What had their lives meant? What had Robert’s meant? His own?
When Gabe gave his boys a place to sleep, a number to call, a loan, a job reference, he hoped he was making up in small ways for failing Robert. Was there more he should do?
Sensing his distress, Trina reached up to run her fingers through his hair. “Look at this mess. Can’t you hear your split ends crying? ‘Help us. End our suffering.’”
“Cut it out,” he said, smiling at her effort to cheer him. His sisters had been his joy during those hard years. They still made him grin.
They started toward the stand of mesquite trees that hid Robert’s grave, Gabe leading the way, the marble vase cool and heavy in his hands, followed by the twins. Giorgio held Mary close and they walked more slowly.
Gabe made the turn around the trees, startled to see that a woman knelt at Robert’s grave. She’d laid flowers down. They were rust-colored snapdragons—the same flowers Robert used to bring to their mother.
Hearing them approach, the woman turned. It was Cici. He should have recognized the flyaway hair. “What the hell are you doing here?” he said, burning with fury.
“Gabriel!” his mother said from behind him, thinking him rude.
“It’s Cici, Mom.” He kept his eyes on the interloper.
His mother gasped.
“You need to leave,” Gabe said. How dare she invade their private tragedy?
“I came…to…g-give respect,” Felicity stuttered.
“Respect?” Gabe’s mother said. “You left him to suffer in jail. Where was your respect then?” She advanced toward Cici.
Gabe caught her arm. “Easy, Mom.”
“You dare to come here? Boo-hoo-hoo. Poor me. My boyfriend was killed.”
“Leave. Now,” Gabe said again, but Felicity seemed frozen in place, her face dead-white, her eyes wide and wet.
“When I visited him in jail, he only asked for you,” his mother went on. “‘Where is she, Mom? Have you seen her, Mom? Has she called?’”
“We…moved… I couldn’t… I was… It was…” She was struggling to speak.
“He was just a toy to you. A toy you threw away. He was never the same because of you. Always with gangbangers after that. And mean. Bitter. That was the end of him and you caused it!”
Gabe’s mother dropped to her knees in the grass, sobbing. Giorgio kneeled and put his arm across her shoulders.
“Don’t cry, Mom,” Trina said, crouching down. She clutched a purple teddy bear Robert had won for them at the fair. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m so sorry,” Felicity said. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just…” She gave him a helpless look. What? She thought he would tell her what to say?
He couldn’t bear to see his mother crumpled on the ground, the way she’d been those first few months. Felicity had brought it all back, damn her.
Furious, he scooped up the flowers and thrust them at her. “Just go. You’ve done enough damage.”
“I’m sorry for the pain I caused,” she said, a few flowers slipping from her trembling hands. “And I’m sorry for your loss.” She gave him a look so anguished he felt an unwelcome stab of regret, then she stumbled across the grass, trailing snapdragons as she went. The waiting cab carried her away.
Gabe dropped beside his mother. “She’s gone now.”
She lifted her tear-streaked face. “Why did she come here? What is she doing in Phoenix?”
“It’s the anniversary, Mom.” He wasn’t about to mention that she had a job at Discovery, that he was working with her. “But forget about her. We’re here to honor Robert.”
Giorgio put the vase of flowers on one side of the headstone. “Perfect.” he said. “Look, Mary, at how perfect.”
“I’ll put the picture in.” Shanna took Robert’s photo from their mother’s hands and put it in the frame, while Trina placed the teddy bear.
“Take a look, Mom,” Gabe said, but she was too lost in grief to do more than glance at the mementos. Rain flicked Gabe’s cheek and the breeze picked up. “The rain’s coming. We should go.”
“I never wanted to see her again,” his mother said.
“You won’t have to,” Giorgio said, helping her to her feet.
