Mundahlia (The Mundahlian Era, #1) (2 page)

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Rini

1

Saturday

February 26th, 2011

I peered out of the window of the moving car to study the hellish sky. Dark and stormy clouds blocked any evidence that the sun was still working its shift, and vicious winds howled as they rocked the compact car gliding smoothly across the road.

I moved a hand to the necklace that embraced my neck—a gift from my grandmother who insisted all her grandchildren called her “mommy Gloria.” The tiny golden locket, about the size of a nickel, is the last bit of something I have left to remember her by—my mommy Gloria.

She died when I was a few years younger after losing a lengthy battle with cancer, and her loving face, always propped up with a smile no matter the situation, was slowly beginning to blur itself from my memory.

The ride to another city with Celeste, my favorite cousin and practically my sister, was quiet. Only the mumbles of a faint radio, soft rolling thunder, and rain, as droplets dove into the windshield, were in ambience.

Celeste had allowed me to stay with she and her husband George for a while. Just until this ongoing fight between my parents subsided. It was an idea we had all agreed upon. Maybe some time away is just what I need? To clear my mind from all the drama. And trust me there is plenty of it.

Are you tired of fighting?

Do you need to re-spark that flame that has burnt out?

A couples retreat is just what you need!

Those were the words bolded on the front of the pamphlet my mom had picked up from a gas station near our home. This is why I was on the road to Austin. Home of the Longhorns, Sixth Street and the Texas State Capitol. I was going to have to start my life again, while my parents leave on a four month long couples retreat cruise around the world to try to rekindle their ever so tedious marriage.

The pamphlet, which had a picture of a jubilant couple kissing in front of a luxurious cruise ship said that they would temporarily confiscate all technological devices for the remainder of the cruise, and place them inside lockers so the couples wouldn’t have any “unnecessary” distractions during their intensive counseling. It’s not like I wouldn’t have contact with them for the whole four months, they promised to send me postcards every now and then from countries that they go to along the way, and also promised to bring me back some souvenirs. But even so, that didn’t stop my “rebel” mother from sending me a quick text.

Mommy Dearest (5:01pm):
Your father and I are getting on the ship. Be safe and on your best behavior. Love you! We’ll see you in July. Don’t forget t

And, they got her. I could tell with the unfinished text she had more than likely sent before handing over her phone. I labeled her
Mommy Dearest
in my contacts, not because she’s an alleged abusive mother, but because when she throws her fits—it’s award worthy. Once, when I was about six, she found my childhood friend and I playing doctor in my room. She screamed bloody murder when she saw us with our clothes off inspecting each other and called his mother then kicked him out of the house. After that, she acted as if she were going to have a heart attack because
I
had made her upset. I think that’s probably why I never had a boyfriend. Scratch that, I
know
that is why I never had a boyfriend. Well, at least one that’s lasted longer than a week. Ugh, high school. No comment.

It was a little late to be switching schools, I’ll admit. But I would rather do that than sit at home and hear my parents yell at each other about how one makes the other miserable. It was as though being high school sweethearts had gone sour with time. Hopefully they resolve this thing or throw in the towel. To me, I had already accepted the idea of divorce. Sad, yet at the same time, better if it meant that they would be happier. Don’t get me wrong, if this cruise works and I get to keep both my parents without the awkwardness of shifting holidays and meeting possible “stepparents” once they started dating again, then I’d be one happy camper—it’s just, I’d give anything for it to be over so they could go back to being themselves.

When I saw how many miles were left on a green road sign we passed, I sighed and reclined the passenger seat to lay down.
Great, two hours left with Mrs. Quiet.
What happened to the party girl cousin I remember? The one who would get home at five-in-the-morning with her shoes in her hands and her dress inside out.

“You’re going to love Austin, Rini,” Celeste said, adjusting the speed of the windshield wipers as the rain began to pour even harder. “We have a lot of scenery and the schools are great. There is always an art show or other festivities going on downtown too.”

“Oh, really?” I questioned, returning my gaze to the passing trees—green with the spirit of the coming spring. I could just imagine all of the trees roots soaking in all this water and
ah-ing
as they got their thirst quenched. It hadn’t rained like this in several months. A drizzle here and there, but never a storm.

“And don’t worry, there
is
a mall too. Your mom told me how much you like to shop.” That wasn’t
entirely
true. I love to shop, but I also needed a place to go while my parents fought, and the only place I could think of going was to the mall a few blocks away from my house. I’d spend the days after school watching movies with my friends that were a grade level above me at the small but cozy theater, playing games in the stained-carpeted arcade that stank of cheese and sweat, or even volunteering at the local micro bookstore, rearranging all the books on the shelves. The manager didn’t care, it was never done anyway—and I’d even get an extremely good discount on books. I’d bring home a different one nearly every other night. Saving them up for when the fights began and I needed to leave mentally for a few hours. Books were my sanctuary when Celeste left and mommy Gloria died. A way to escape the noise of slamming doors, shattering glass, and the occasional curses that composed my daily life after my parents marriage went downhill. Neither of them cheated. They just—got tired of each other, I guess.

“Cool,” I uttered, coming back from my thoughts.

“Yeah,” Celeste’s face danced with expressions. I had almost forgotten she’d started talking. “You’re already a Junior right?”

“Senior.”

“Oh,” Celeste looked away with a tad bit of embarrassment. “Four years apart already, huh?” she finished quietly.

“Yep. It’s been forever.”

“Well, aren’t you happy that it’s already your last year of high school? Come on, after this you are done. Don’t you have like three months left anyway?” The ringlets in her dark kinked hair blew in the air conditioner.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, sinking farther into the seat.

“You guess? Rini, it’s your senior year! You need to do something that you’ve never done before.”

“You mean like get drunk, dance on table tops, and kiss random strangers?” I said, trying to poke at her past. “Sounds fun—count me in.”

“I am
over
that part of my life. I’m a grown woman who is happily married now, thank you very much! Don’t make me reconsider this arrangement and drive you back to Del Rio so you can stay with
my
parents.” She was serious, or so the look on her face had shown. “How would you like to spend four months in a house full of glass figurines, and watch Spanish telenovelas all day!”

“It was a joke!” I said, trying to lighten things up. I shuddered the thought of Tia Linda’s weird obsession with animal glass figurines and old Mexican dolls, away. Especially the image of Tio Benito walking around the house all day in nothing but socks and drooping tighty-whities. Instead, I focused on her semi-recent marriage. “By the way, how is Marine George?”

“Why do you call him that? It makes him seem like-”

“G.I. Joe?” I snickered.

“Watch it.”

“Okay, sheesh.” I sat up and pulled the lever to adjust the seat back to its upright position.

She continued, “He’s fine. Taking a day off work to get things built and ready in the nursery.”

“How
is
the little one?” My mom had told me a couple of months ago that Celeste was expecting. I had seen it first hand when she came to pick me up this morning. She looked like she had swallowed a whole melon and it stayed still, unsure where to go next.

“Still cooking.” Celeste rubbed her noticeable round belly. “The doctor said he’s going to be really big.”

“Aww,” I gushed. “Just like his mommy.”

“Rini!” Celeste warned. “One more rude comment and it’s straight back to Del
Rio for you!”

“I kid! I kid!” She was clearly angry, because she raised the volume of the radio and huffed. Geez. Talk about mood swings.

“This damn rain!” she muttered to herself as she squinted at the road through the glasses she used only to drive. “Can’t see a damn thing!”

I retrieved a book—one of the many I was sure to bring—from my purse, and cracked it open—smelling the pages first—then picked up reading where I had dogeared the corner. Ah, books!

...

The rain had let up half an hour back when we arrived in Austin. To my surprise, Celeste lived in the outskirts, or country part of the city, which wasn’t really in the city of Austin anymore, but that’s what she associated it as. The last bit of sun was hidden behind sky high trees that surrounded us in seclusion—making it almost pitch dark if it weren’t for the lights of her two-story farm-style house. It must get pretty freaky out here.

I stared at the single muddy road that we had turned onto about ten minutes back. A few miles to the right were the streets that take you to the main city, but on the left, the road meandered on into an abyss of mystery.
Creepy.
“What’s over there?” I pointed, while fetching my luggage from the trunk of the vehicle.

Celeste flipped her hair over her shoulder to scope what had caught my interest. “I don’t know. People live down there, but really all we ever see is their cars coming and going. They’re very secluded.” Celeste continued toward the house. “Come on, let’s head inside. There’s a cold front coming.” I could already feel it making its descent.

The inside of the house looked as if it belonged on the cover of a magazine. Fresh cut flowers were arranged in a large striped vase in the corner, and the crystal chandelier hanging above us was reflected in the glossy marble floor. Clearly not what you’d expect from a farm house, but this was her, always wanting luxury.

“Wow. It’s nice, Celeste,” I said, shutting the door and eyeing up the place I would call home—temporarily.

“Thank you. Make yourself at home.” Celeste threw her purse on a small round end table and headed for large wooden double doors at the end of the grand room. “I’m going to go check on George in the kitchen,” she said before disappearing into the room.

A small fire flickered in the fireplace by the living room where I’d chosen to set my luggage. I had taken the lazy route and carried all three of my jam packed suitcases to avoid going back out by myself.

Pictures rested on tables and shelves all around the area. I picked one up from a shelf above the mantel of the lit fireplace and stared at the captured moment of my past. I was still an infant, and Celeste was about seven years old. We were nestled next to mommy Gloria on a maroon colored couch smiling at each other.
I don’t even remember this.
When Celeste moved away four years ago we ended up losing touch over time. It’s great that now I get a chance to reconnect with my “sister” for these next few months.

After scanning a few more pictures, it dawned on me. I remembered that I had left a box behind in her car. I put the photo of Celeste’s deceased Chihuahua, Manny, down—probably facing backwards, and scoured her purse for the keys. The inside of her bag smelled like a heavy floral scented perfume and spearmint gum as I searched each of the many zipped up compartments.
When I finally found them, I swung them around my finger and stepped out into the enveloping darkness, perfectly fit for a horror movie.
Why would Celeste live way out here in the boondocks?
I thought. The beginning brisk wind made me shiver, so I wrapped my arms in my chest for a smidgen of warmth.

Upon arriving, I pulled open the handle on the door and searched for the box of books and movies I had set in the backseat.

I guess on the way to Austin, the box seemed to have shifted and gotten jammed in the space between the front and back seat, making it almost immobile. “Yeah, that’s freaking fair!” I said to myself. Who was going to hear me way out here in the middle of nowhere anyway? I positioned a foot on the edge of the car for extra leverage, and with a mighty jerk, the box slipped from between the seats and flew out of the car—with me alongside it. My torso twisted in the air and I crashed onto the cold, hard, and wet cement—stomach first. The air was instantly knocked out of me in one forceful rush. A sharp pain and
wanting-to-hurl
stinging in the back of my throat.

I got up quickly and wiped some mud and gravel away from my knees and hands. Even though it was too dark and secluded for anyone to notice, I still felt embarrassed. Both pain and fear lingered over me as I shuddered the thought of being far away from help if I were to ever need it. I slammed the vehicle door shut, blaming it as an accomplice to my injury—even though it was really my fault, and got to my knees with my now empty box, picking up my four month supply of packed books and movies that were now sprawled across the lawn.

“Need help?” an inscrutable male voice sounded.

I flinched as a pair of dark brown boots came into view in front of me, stepping into a small puddle. I craned my neck to the all too-dark figure, who’s face remained hidden within the shadows. At first, I thought it was George. But the brawny body shape was unfamiliar, taller, and somewhat younger. “Oh, no thank you. I can do it on my own.” I tried not to stare as I imagined all the horrific things this shadow figure could do to me. “Really it’s just a few things. No big deal.” In other words,
I really don’t need your help, please get away from me creepy guy!

“Then can I help you with that cut you have on your knee?” He pointed. “That fall must have hurt. Sounded like it did at least. You sure hit the floor hard.”

My face grew hot and the embarrassment persisted.
He was watching me?
“Oh,” I said slowly, my voice uneasy. “You saw that?”

“Yup, I saw
that
,” he held back a laugh. It was soft, nice even. “Just let me see your cut.” He reached his hand out farther to my leg.

“I don’t have one.” I leant to the side, dodging his grasp, and covered my knee before his fingers could reach my skin. My fingers brushed over a warm, sticky area. I felt the pain as soon as I saw the dark blood drops forming from a cluster of scrapes. “Oh. I guess I do, but it’s fine.” I wiped away the blood and continued putting some nearby books and movies back in the box, a little quicker than before. “It’s just a baby cut,” I added. “No big deal.” I wanted to get back inside—immediately. I should have just left the
damn
box there until morning.

“Well,” the mysterious stranger set his hand on my leg. “That little baby cut could end up getting infected,” he examined, then reached into his pant pocket. I could feel the warmth and moisture from his palm as he moved my knee closer to the illumination of a nearby pathway light to get a better look. He pulled out a tiny brown bottle of liquid and a bandage. “Then you’d have a full grown
adult
problem there.” In the little light there was, I could see a smile form across his attentive face.