“Well. I’m not sure how to ask this…”
“Let me give you a hint: think of the question, then say it out loud. Does that help?”
“Ah, a fellow smartass. I love it.”
He smiled, his goatee framing his pinkish-brown lips that were so soft looking I wanted to reach out and—
“Is there something on my face?” he asked, touching his mouth and cheeks with his dirty fingers.
“No, oh, crap, now you have grease all over yourself.” I reached around him, grabbed one of the clean shop towels on a shelf next to his desk, and started wiping his face. I was doing a pretty good job, too, until I noticed his expression: uncomfortable shock.
Well, that’s just great; now he knows I’m a total nut-job.
“Sorry about that,” I muttered, instantly dropping my hands to my sides. I looked at the ground, kicking my foot a little, twisting the shop towel and seriously contemplating making a break for it. Instead, being the chicken I really am, I just stood there wishing I could evaporate into the air.
“It’s okay.” He walked over to a mirror hanging on the wall, “Mind if I use that?”
I looked at the towel in my hands like it was a snake that somehow slithered in when I wasn’t looking. I tossed it to him fast, like it was on fire. He caught it easily, in his big, strong hand with those long fingers –
There I go again.
“Whatta you think?” he asked, turning from the mirror and motioning toward his now-clean face. “Better?”
“Yeah.” Jeez. I hope there won’t be permanent brain damage from whatever this is.
“So, now that you’ve had plenty of time to think of your question, are you ready to ask it?” he teased.
“Yes.”
“Great. Fire away.”
“All right, so, she came to me and told me her grandmother’s spirit—“
“Oh, is that all? You want to ask me about her abuela’s spirit appearing every night since her accident?”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Not bad. Not bad at all.
“Sure, that’s what I wanted to ask you about.”
“In my family, they say things like that are ‘messages from the next life’. Nothing to be scared of, just—a news story, delivered by a reporter from the other side.”
Nicely put.
“So your family has it?”
“Has what?”
“It. The Spirit Mark.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, sorry. That’s what I call it. It’s kind of like a gift—or a curse, depending on your perspective—where you can talk to spirits. You know, ghosts.”
“My mother had it. And her mother, before her, my abuela. It’s pretty common in our culture, talking to spirits. We don’t see it as shameful or ‘crazy’, like most of you do.”
“That’s refreshing.”
“Do you have it? The—what did you call it?—Spirit Marker.”
“Spirit Mark. And yes, I have it.”
“You don’t seem very happy about it.”
“Well, it’s been more of a curse than a blessing for me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Kind of a long story. I don’t want to bore you.”
“How long is long?”
“Um, it’s been with me my whole life, as far back as I can remember. More than 30 years’ worth, anyway.”
“You don’t look old enough to say that.”
I blushed. Which I never do. “I’m old enough.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
We looked at each other for a moment too long.
“Hey, boss?”
Esteban’s head twitched, like someone who abruptly woke from a daydream.
“What?”
“Sorry to interrupt, but we need some help on the Ford out here. The pickup?”
“Sure, sure, okay, I’ll be right there.” He waved the guy out of the room, looking distracted.
“I can just come back another time, if you’re busy.”
“I have a better idea: Go to dinner with me.”
I actually felt my mouth drop open.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, I just thought maybe we could talk about that mark thing—“
“Sure, I’d love to.”
He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing in the tiny office. “Great! What time should I pick you up? And where do you live?”
“I guess, maybe, seven-ish? Or eight, if that’s too early.”
“No, seven-ish is perfect. Not seven, because that’s too early. But seven-ish is exactly the time I had in mind when I asked.”
Yep. A fellow smartass. This should be amusing, if nothing else.
“Okay. Well, let me give you my address.”
“Just text it to me. Here, give me your cell phone,” he said, reaching for it. I handed it over, a little too willingly, and it slipped out of my hand.
“Whoops,” he said, expertly saving it from certain destruction on the floor.
“You have good hands,” I said, then froze. Wow, that was a Freudian slip if there ever was one, I thought, terrified he might catch it.
“That’s what they tell me,” he answered, winking at me. Yep, he caught it. Damn.
“Okay, so, seven-ish o’clock? I’ll text you the address.”
“Sounds great.” He walked me to the door and waved as I drove away.
“I guess it went better than you thought it would,” Jamal said from the back seat.
“No thanks to you,” I snapped.
“Hey! Don’t blame that mess on me!” he said, “If I was running the show, it would’ve gone a lot smoother than that, foxy lady.”
“Well, I got a date out of it.”
“I know. And in the words of Jimmie Walker, that’s dy-no-MITE!”
“Careful, Jamal, you’re dating yourself.”
“Someone needs to. Can’t seem to find any foxy ladies to boogie down with me on this side of things.”
“I meant—just, never mind. I need a new dress. Wanna go shopping?”
“Like you need to ask.”
Chapter Six
“Come on in!” I yelled down the stairs.
“You sure?” Esteban yelled back.
“Yes! I’m almost ready, just finishing my hair!”
“Okay!” I heard the screen door open and slam closed. I made the ten-thousandth mental note to myself to get the spring fixed on that stupid door, so it wouldn’t slam anymore.
“Why so much makeup?” Jamal asked, looking at me in the mirror. It was creepy, the way I could see him, but the mirror didn’t reflect him. Like something out of an old B-movie vampire flick from the late 50s.
“Because I don’t want him to see my bad skin,” I said, scowling at him.
“I can dig it. No need to get all those wrinkles pushed together.”
I swung my hand to smack his arm, and got nothing but air.
“You’re lucky I can’t hit you. Pig.”
He laughed at my insult, and proceeded to look me up and down, like one of his ‘girls’ back in the day.
“Do I pass inspection, sergeant?”
He snapped to attention, saluted me, and said, “Sir, no sir!”
“That’s ma’am to you, private.” I stuck my tongue out at him, for good measure.
“You look like a million dollars, baby.” He winked and walked away.
“Where are you going?”
He stuck his head back in, “To check out your new man. Where else would I be going?”
“Hey! You leave him alone. He’s a nice guy.”