“Mom.” Luna straightens, turns toward her mom. Mrs. Flores is sitting on the sofa, tissue in hand, staring at a muted television. The television is set between two windows with views of the street. Which means, the men watching the house can likely see her, but she can’t see them because of the time of day and the reflection on the glass.
My innards squirm.
Luna’s mom twists in her seat to look at us but doesn’t say anything.
“We’re going to go to my room.” Luna tugs me toward the hallway.
“I’d rather you not,” her mom says, bringing us to a halt. Luna turns back, and a tiny crease presses between her brows. “I’d rather we all stay together. There is power in numbers, and I can’t protect you if I’m too far away.”
My mind blinks. Luna’s mom knows much more than she is saying.
“Protect me? Seriously, Mom.” Luna’s back jerks stiff. “We aren’t leaving the house.”
“I know,” Mrs. Flores replies. “But there is a back door near your room.” Inferring someone unwanted could enter through that door.
“Fine.” Luna’s shoulders drop, and she pulls me to the farthest end of the dining table.
I give a gentle tug to her hold and nod toward the windows. She frowns and stares at me, clearly not understanding my silent message.
“People are watching the house,” I whisper.
She shivers. “Understand,” she says. “Let’s close the blinds.” I agree and move to the closest window while Luna moves to the first window in the seating area. “Let’s close up so that all the looky-loos drawn by the paramedics aren’t staring at us through the windows.”
“Good idea,” her mom says.
Luna twists the blinds to a close and moves to the next window. I arc my hands around my eyes and gaze out the window. I can just make out Michael sitting in his car. His attention veers to the blinds Luna is closing, then shifts toward me. I wave, letting him know I’m alright. He raises a hand in response.
I close the blinds by the eating area. When I turn around, Luna is staring at me, her eyes weighted with shadows and crimson. She approaches. Pulls me to her form and hugs me firm. “Thank you for coming. For being here for me.”
“That’s what we do for the people who matter in our lives,” I say.
She steps back and gazes at me, her expression unreadable. She drops into a chair and wipes her eyes.
A knock sounds at the door and she startles. Jumps to a stand.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask. She nods that they are.
Her mother slowly rises and walks to the door. “Who is it?” she calls through the barrier. She must approve of the answer because a moment later, she’s unbolting and opening the front entrance.
Two men in black vinyl jackets stand in the doorway.
“Mrs. Flores?” one of the men asks. She nods and her lips pull into a string-tight line. “We’re sorry for your loss. We’re here for Mr. Flores.”
My gaze snaps to Luna. “He’s still here?” As in, a dead body is somewhere in the house. She sniffles twice and nods.
My chest presses, constricting my ability to breathe. I’ve never before seen a dead body. I don’t want that stat to change tonight.
Luna’s mom steps aside and points toward the hallway. “He’s in the first bedroom.”
“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll take good care of him. We promise.” The two men enter the home. The one rolling the stretcher heads straight to the front bedroom.
Luna’s hand flies to her lips, and she spins away, putting her back to the men and the rest of the house. I slip in front of her and wrap my arms around her. Allow her to dip her face into my shoulder.
The second man collects Mrs. Flores’s signature on the paperwork. “As you’ve been informed, everything has already been handled. You may contact the home for any specifics regarding a view and burial.” He hands her a business card, spares me and Luna a quick glance, and then hands Mrs. Flores a second card. “Bokor Chuks sends his regards.”
I gasp, my hand flying to my lips. Does this mean the bokor’s influence and control reaches through the legitimate medical community?
She thanks him and steps back, stands at the far end of the living room, both of her hands press to her face in prayer style. The man joins his partner in the front bedroom.
Creaks, clatters, and kerthumps come from the bedroom. A zip and a grunt, and the men reemerge, maneuvering between them the gurney holding Mr. Flores. They move through the house, out the front door, and straight to the dark grey van awaiting at the curb.
Having turned back to face the room, Luna follows at a sluggish amble. I move at her side. Mrs. Flores slips out onto the front porch, waits and watches the men load the gurney. Maybe it’s a morbid curiosity regarding the process of death, or it’s a nagging need to confirm a loved one is truly gone and won’t sit up and start yelling for help. Whatever the case, the three of us gather on the stoop in silence until the van drives away.
I glance to my brother, still sitting in the car. He glances at me but makes no motion to hurry me along. My gaze wonders to the dark spaces across the street, searching for signs of the lurking men I witnessed earlier. I catch sight of the burning end of a cigarette.
Mrs. Flores drops a hand on both of our shoulders and leads us back into the house.
“What now?” I whisper to Luna. “Do you need to follow them? Go somewhere to set up the next step?”
“That’s all there is,” her mother responds. “There is nothing more to do today. Tomorrow, I will call the mortuary and get the specifics regarding his burial.”
My head jerks back. “You aren’t planning the burial yourself?” I bite my lip. That was a rude question to blurt, especially at a time
