“I can be a pretty smart lady from time to time. Or so I’ve been told.” She takes another sip, in an attempt to hide her smile, I think. “What time is the funeral?”
“Eight.” I jolt. Realize I don’t know which cemetery I need to be at. Mom interrupted the call before I got that information. “Only I don’t know where. Excuse me,” I say and grab the phone off the kitchen wall. Dial Luna’s number.
Her mother answers. Luna isn’t able to come to the phone at the moment, but she tells me the family will be heading over to the cemetery together. Eight o’clock at Saint Louis number two, before it is open to the public.
“Luna will be happy to have a friend present,” she says and ends the call.
“Will you be out late?” Grandma asks. Her brows arch, and I sense there is some hidden question within the question I am failing to perceive.
“I don’t know. Luna is pretty torn up, and I want to console her if I can,” I say.
“This is the girl with the bokor problem, is it not?” Grandma’s gaze narrows tight on me.
“She was.” I settle my return gaze on her. “But the bokor collected his debt in the form of her father’s life.”
“Oh, dear.” Grandma presses her palm to her chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean? What do you know that I don’t?” I take a step closer.
Grandma turns from me, sets her tea on the counter, and takes a deep breath before returning her gaze to mine. “Remember when I told you a deal with a bokor meant he would own your mind and body?”
I nod that I remember. I remember everything about our conversation that day.
“Well.” She presses her lips together. “That agreement extends even into death. Those indentured to the bokor continue to work long after the soul should be at rest.”
“Are you saying their souls are unable to move on? Is Luna’s dad trapped in limbo or something?”
“Something.” She turns and heads for the other room. I follow. “Oh, dear. This isn’t good. Not good at all. I wish you would stay clear of that family. It will bring you no good.”
“Seriously, Grandma?” I grab her shoulder and turn her to face me. “How can you say such things when you know Luna is my friend, and she’s trapped in this situation by no cause of her own?”
“The bokor is no good, Belle. No good at all.”
“Maybe so, but if he has Mr. Flores’ soul trapped, then I need to help set it free.”
My eyes flicker to the clock. Crud. I need to go, or I’ll be late. Saint Louis number two is farther than I was thinking I’d need to travel. I spin and head for the courtyard, and my bike. “Don’t think for an instant that this conversation is finished. We shall resume right where we are leaving off when I return.”
“Anything you say,” Grandma calls at my back.
I storm into the courtyard, roll my bike to the front yard, and start pedaling across town. Out of the garden district to Canal Street. I then take that all the way to the freeway, where the cemetery runs parallel. Everything is wet, but thankfully, today witnesses an escape from the rain.
Since the cemetery is broken into three parts and spans three entire blocks, I need to make my way to the far opposite side where Luna’s family plans to enter.
The entire ride, I can’t stop rolling Grandma’s words around in my head. Those indentured to the bokor continue to work long after the soul should be at rest.
I lock my bike to the utility post nearest the entrance and jog to catch up with Luna. An escort, a priest, and six men carrying the casket lead Luna and her family to the place where her dad’s body is meant to forever lie inside the maze of the dead. Luna’s mom walks a step behind the escort and priest. She carries a large bouquet of roses, and their aroma sweeps through the following party with each tiny, visiting breeze.
A total of fourteen people, counting Luna, follow in a procession between the large and small cement homes of the deceased. Yesterday’s rain has left the air heavy and humid. And at the early hour, the scent of damp earth and cement is prevalent. It conjures memories of the day Miri exploded one of the cemetery tombs, sending cement chunks flying at me and Mom. That was the day after the fire.
None of those memories, the fire, Caleb, an exploding tomb, are things I wish to entertain at present.
Come on peppermint tea, do your thing. Calm my crazy.
Luna walks at the back of her little group with her head down. I fall into step beside her and grab her hand. She jumps in a spin toward me, her hand flying to her lips. Her family members glance back at us and then return their attention to their forward motion.
We walk the path worn in the grass, making sure to step around mud puddles.
“Last night,” she says with a gasp. “I was so worried. What happened?” She grabs my arms, holding my attention. I tilt my head, inferring we should keep up with the funeral party. She agrees, keeps walking, but steals many glances my direction.
She clings to my hand, pulls me tight against her side.
“I didn’t think you’d make it. Seriously, what happened last night?” she whispers.
“An unbelievable tale that I will share with you later, I promise. Right now, it’s about you and your family.” I squeeze her hand.
Her lips push into a pucker of a frown. It’s a sign of frustration, but I know she’s happy to see me, nonetheless, because her cheeks have warmed, and her frown occasionally
