Tristan, recognizing a blessing when hearing one, motioned for everyone to go. They all moved toward the door, but Josie would not budge. Her eyes were glued to Monica’s lifeless body.
“Josie, we’ve got to go,” Tristan urged.
She nodded and gave in to his pulling.
“Thank you,” Josie whispered to her friend as she was dragged out into the night.
21. Rille
Grooves in the moon’s surface that resemble canals or canyons.
The sound of banging on the front door was almost lost in the cadence of thrashing rain against the house. When Daniel Fallbrook opened the door, it only took seconds for him to assess the situation.
“Bitsy! Get my bag!” Daniel yelled from the front porch.
He grabbed Tristan and pulled him inside, sitting him down at the breakfast table. Bitsy’s casual linens were swept aside as Tristan placed his injured arm on top of the cool oak. Josie and Alex filled the other two chairs and watched Daniel tend to his wounded son.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Close range, twenty-two,” Tristan answered.
Daniel removed the T-shirt tourniquet from Tristan’s arm and cut off the sleeve of his shirt with kitchen scissors. Bitsy raced into the room carrying his medical bag, her silk gown fluttering behind her like wings.
“Tristan, sweetheart,” she cried. “Are you okay?”
Her trembling hands made the sign of the cross as she hovered over the two most important men in her life.
“It went clean through,” Daniel answered. “I’ll just clean and suture it. You should be fine,” Daniel said.
“Oh, thank God,” Bitsy whispered.
It was then that she noticed the other two people in her kitchen. A large, shirtless man sat at her table. Water dripped down his muscled body in the most distracting way. Any other time, she would have reminded him of proper manners when it came to stages of nakedness at her breakfast table. But she figured she could overlook his indiscretions considering the circumstances. Next to him was a beautiful, sad girl. Her hair was slick and wet, fat tendrils sticking to the bare skin of her face and throat. Her arms circled around her body.
“My God in heaven! McKenzi Delaune, is that you?” Bitsy asked.
Josie glanced at Bitsy before her eyes immediately snapped back to Tristan. She didn’t need to see the woman before her to know what she looked like. Josie knew the curve of her cheek and the way her smile fell to one side like her son’s. She knew the sweep of her hair and her Cupid’s bow lips.
“Bless her heart. She looks like she was eaten by gators and shit over a cliff,” Bitsy muttered.
Daniel and Tristan both looked up, wearing matching expressions of shock.
“Oh, stop looking at me like that! Grandmother Ducote always said ‘shit’ was a lady’s curse word.”
Josie’s body stiffened as she tried to take a breath. Though her lungs were burning, her body would not cooperate. Voices were murmurs of whirring sound mixed with the racing beat of her own pulse. She felt dizzy and weightless, numb and on fire at the same time. She wished the pounding in her head would stop. She wished that every time she closed her eyes she didn’t see Monica’s body lying at her feet like some kind of sacrifice. She wished it had all been a dream.
Finally Josie sucked in a deep breath, its elements giving her body just what it needed. With its exhale, the air left in a wailing sob, a scream that seemed silent in her own head. Bitsy embraced Josie. She ran her hands over the girl’s hair and placed a kiss on her wet head.
“We didn’t know, baby. We didn’t know you were out there all alone,” Bitsy said.
Tristan felt comforted knowing that his mother was looking after Josie. But he wished his father would hurry so that it could be his arms around her instead of Bitsy’s frail and shaking limbs.
Daniel finished with Tristan and wrapped the wound with a bandage. Tristan bent his elbow and flexed his arm as if trying it out for the first time.
“Dad, check on Josie,” Tristan said. “She may be in shock.”
As Daniel took a seat next to Josie, Tristan followed. He knelt in front of her, the water from his jeans creating a new puddle on the tile floor. Daniel checked her vital signs and asked her simple questions, which she responded to robotically.
“She’s responsive. Just needs some dry clothes and rest.”
“Where is Monica?” Bitsy asked.
Josie’s eyes snapped closed and she let out another cry.
“She’s gone. She’s dead,” Josie said. “And it’s my fault.”
“No, it’s not. She saved you,” Tristan said.
Tristan slid Josie into his lap and he held her until their breaths became synchronized. One by one, Alex, Bitsy, and Daniel left the room. Alex said nothing as he passed. He simply squeezed Tristan’s shoulder, letting the gesture say everything that he couldn’t. I’m sorry. I’m here.
Tristan’s legs were numb, his feet prickled with pins. The kitchen cabinet dug into his back, but he would not let Josie go. When she finally fell asleep, he carried her to his room and held her through new nightmares.
Two days later, Josie was finally feeling human again. Tristan’s parents had been very sympathetic and accommodating. Bitsy seemed eager to cook for and entertain her houseguests. Josie felt cared for and safe in this place. She wanted to carry that feeling with her always.
Josie made her way down the curved wooden staircase and smiled at what she found there. Tristan and Alex were embraced in a hug. The two had grown closer through this ordeal and she was happy for it. They both meant the world to her.
“It’s been proved relationships that begin with a shared traumatic event never last,” Tristan said, smiling.
“Relationship? I don’t wanna marry you. Not my type, papito,” Alex answered, pinching Tristan’s cheek until he was swatted away.
“You sure we can’t take you to the airport, hon?” Bitsy asked.
“Nah, I got a cab,” he said.
Josie cleared the bottom step and slid between the two men.
“Aye, mami. What am I gonna do now, huh?”
“You could stay here, you know,” Josie hedged. “Start over.”
As an adult, Alex had always been free to come and go as he pleased, answering only to his mentors on the streets. The one day that wasn’t his was Sunday. On the Lord’s Day, his mother insisted that he attend church and visit with his brothers and their families. In the past, Alex had always loathed those days, feeling trapped by the traditions and customs of a dying generation. After this experience, he’d learned the importance of afternoon barbecues and quality time with loved ones. He would never take them for granted again.
He knew Josie didn’t have any of that back in San Diego. So while he was going to miss her, he understood her wanting to stay here. This was the only family she had left.
“Nah, you know this city can’t hold me.”
Josie nodded and threw herself into his arms. Her feet hovered above the floor as he swayed back and forth before setting her back down to earth.
“Thank you, Alex, for everything. There’s nothing I could ever say that wo—”
“No worries, Jo,” he said, smiling. “Take care, mocosa.”
A horn honked outside, and in an instant he was gone.
Josie sat on the end of Tristan’s bed and eyed the designer bag at her feet. It seemed to stare up at her and demand attention. Inside were clothes, two pairs of shoes, toiletries, makeup, and this month’s Elle magazine—probably purchased at the airport. It was all Josie had left of Monica Templeton.