Closing her eyes, she listened to the symphony of the wind rushing over the bus, the passengers breathing heavily or snoring as they slept, and the rumble of the bus' engine. In the old days, before she had been killed, she would have been munching on chips and drinking a diet soda. But she hadn't had food in days now and drink had little or no appeal to her. She was starting to miss food. The texture, the taste, the satisfaction from consuming something delicious. But food was too easily supplanted by blood now. It was warm, thick liquid that tasted divine as it filled her and renewed her. The memory of the taste of food was beginning to fade from her. It made her sad.
The sound of the air brakes stirred her from her reverie. She looked up to see the station coming into view as the bus slowed down. With remarkable ease and talent, the bus driver maneuvered the lumbering vehicle up into the station in Eastland. As the lights came on and the brakes whooshed, people stirred awake and began to move.
Amaliya grabbed up her bag and headed down the narrow aisle as fast as she could before she ended up at the end of the line. She easily beat out everyone disembarking. The bus driver sat silently in his chair rubbing his eyes as the passengers departed. She wondered briefly what it felt like to be tired. She didn't feel physically tired anymore.
As she came down the high steps, she caught sight of her very tall cousin. Whereas her mother and Mae had married men of good old German and Polish stock, the third sister, Sergio's mom Susan, had married Ruben Guerra. Sergio was tall, stockily built, with dark skin and curly black hair, but with striking Germanic facial features and green eyes. He stood looking very solemn, with his arms folded over his chest, until he saw her, then he smiled with relief.
Rushing to him, she knew he would sweep her up and hug her. And he did, crushing her tight, and kissing her cheek. She held tight to him for several seconds, then drew back, trying not to cry her blood tears.
“You okay?” he asked softly, and grabbed up her bag.
“Yeah, I am now.”
“You're dead, you know,” he whispered. He slung his arm over her shoulder and guided her toward his big Ford truck.
“I saw that in the paper,” Amaliya confessed.
“Gawdawful picture of you,” Sergio mused. “Which I guess is a good thing. No one has recognized you?”
She shook her head and was relieved when he unlocked the truck and opened the door. “Does Grandmama know?”
“No, no. I kept her entertained all evening making an enormous feast for us. I even lied and told her Cynthia and the munchkins might join us,” Sergio said, referring to his wife and children. “Anything to keep her away from the TV until the late shows come on.” He slammed the door shut once she was inside, cutting the conversation short. He walked around the truck and climbed in on the other side. Starting it up, he said in a low voice, “What happened?”
Amaliya rubbed her face and shook her head. “I don't want to talk about it. I'll just tell Grandmama that I have to go away for awhile and not go into details.”
“Something really bad happened to you,” Sergio said in a grim voice.
He was just a year or two older than her, but his maturity pressed down on her. He had a dad vibe that she didn't know how to take. “I think I deserve to know what.”
Shrugging slightly, she looked out the window, then decided to tell him the abbreviated truth. “I was attacked. And the person who did it buried me in the forest and I got out.”
“Shit,” Sergio exclaimed in shock. “Shit! You were buried alive?”
“I went back to the dorm room, packed and left,” she continued, leaving a whole huge chunk of the truth out. Like the fact that she was really dead.
“Does your Dad know?”
“I went straight to him to ask him for the truck so I could just disappear for awhile. So, yeah, he knows,” she sighed.
“He didn't give you the truck, huh?”
“Nope. Aunt Mae had to get her two cents in.”
Sergio shook his head and turned out onto the highway. “I thought it was bad enough when I heard that Pete Talbert had a heart attack, but this beats all.”
Amaliya quirked an eyebrow. “Pete had a heart attack?”
“Yep. They found him in a hotel room. He was pretty close to death, but he's okay now. At least they think it was a heart attack. Who knows.” Sergio drove with his arm propped up on the edge of the window, his strong fingers gripping the wheel tightly. “They called Felipe to let him know since they were old buddies since we were all kids. I remember how bad a crush Pete had on you. We used to tease him about it all the time whenever we visited ya'll out there.”
Amaliya sighed guiltily. “I didn't know.”
“Enough about Pete. Who the hell attacked you? Did you see them?”
Amaliya thought of the Professor and his charming smile. “Yeah. But I don't want to talk about it.”
“Amal, seriously, you gotta go to the police. I know you're scared and just want to run away, but you gotta-”
“I can't,” she said firmly. “I can't. Okay?”
Sergio shook his head. “You're so damn bullheaded.”
“Yeah, so? It's a family trait.”
With a sharp, nervous laugh, Sergio nodded. “True. True.”
The drive to her grandmother's home was not too long. The old family homestead was nestled close to DeLeon. The house was at least one hundred years old. Grandmama's family had come from a small town on the border and moved North when she was a little girl. Amaliya's grandfather was from Abilene and he had fallen for her grandmother at first sight, or so the story went. Her mother's family had been suspicious of the German immigrant at first, but finally let them marry in what Grandmama called a “big Mexican Catholic wedding.”
Together they had Mae, Susan and Marlena, Amaliya's mother. Susan was Sergio's mother and she had died young, too. Only Mae seemed to have their grandmother's longevity built into her DNA.
Sadly, Amaliya wondered how long she would have lived if not for being killed.
The house was immaculate and most of the windows were lit up. The light pouring out of the windows illuminated the well-tended yard full of statues and beautiful flowerbeds. Behind the house was a garden full of vegetables and some fruit trees. Her grandmother's huge statue of the Virgin Mary standing near the fence made Amaliya's eyes burn and she turned away sharply.
Shit!
She had not considered how very Catholic her grandmother was.
“So, we just tell Grandmama that you were upset by what happened at the campus and that you are heading out on the road to recover, right?”
“Yeah. But I'm sure the cops will make it out here eventually or at least call to question her, don't you think?”
“No clue. They haven't talked to me. Evidently, they just talked to your Dad and our cousin-whore.”
“He likes to forget that Mom's side of the family exists, except for Mae and Kelly Ann.”
“That's cause he's an ass.”
Sergio drove the truck up the driveway. He parked it under the carport that had been added to the old house twenty years before.
Their grandmother's Lincoln was tucked away in the garage that was built off to the side. She rarely drove it anymore. Their tiny little grandmother could barely see over the steering wheel, let alone maneuver a car as big as a boat. She still kept it gassed up, the registration current, got it inspected yearly, and did all the regular maintenance on it right on time. Which was ironic, considering she never drove it except to back it out of the driveway, then pull right back in. To keep the engine fresh, she said.
A blue light in the front window showed that she was still up and watching her late night shows. Probably with a bowl of popcorn sprinkled with chili with a dash of lime spritzed on top, and an ice tea, decaf of course, at her side on an end table loaded down with photos, mementos and little knickknacks.
Sliding out of the truck, Amaliya looked at Sergio as he got her bag out of the back. She wanted to tell him the whole truth, but even she was having trouble believing it. Ignoring the Virgin statue with all her might, she prepared herself for what lay inside the house.
Sergio unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “Grandmama, Amaliya is here!”
“I can hear you. I'm not deaf,” came her grandmother's accented voice.
Amaliya suddenly wanted to cry.
Stepping onto the front porch, she steeled herself. She moved forward and found she couldn't enter the house. Startled, she tried to step over the threshold, but could not push her way in. It was as if an invisible wall was in front of her.
“Come on,” Sergio said.
“Come in, come in,” her grandmother said, waving to her from her lounge chair in the living room.
The unseen wall was gone abruptly and Amaliya stepped into the house, feeling a little shaken.
Struggling to get out of her chair, Grandmama slapped away Sergio's attempt to help her up. “Come here and hug me.”
Amaliya deftly avoided the shrine to the Holy Trinity and the Virgin Mary in the front hall and rushed to her grandmother. Her skin was pricking and she felt nauseous for the split second she was within a few feet of the holy relics. Reaching her grandmother, she flung her arms around the tiny little woman with the black hair shot through with silver and the keen hazel eyes.
Squeezing her tight, her grandmother gave her several hard kisses on the cheek, then drew back to look at her.
“You're too thin,” she decided. “And I don't like your hair black. I liked it blond.”
Sergio began to laugh and set the bag down on a chair. “Nice welcome, Grandmama.”
“Shut up, you,” the old woman said with a twinkle in her eye, then drew Amaliya down to kiss her cheek again. “Are you sick? You're very cold.”
“I had food poisoning,” Amaliya lied quickly as she remember what Sergio said about her grandmother preparing food.
“Ugh. It's that horrible fast food.” Grandmama headed toward the brightly lit kitchen. She was clad in jeans and a t-shirt with the Texas flag on it. “I made good food. Good healthy food.”
“Tamales aren't healthy, Grandmama,” Sergio corrected her.
“Who told you to lip off,” came the sharp reply.
Amaliya and Sergio looked at each other and giggled.
Following the old woman into the very clean and tidy kitchen, Amaliya sighed at the delicious smells in the room.
“I got spicy chicken tacos, pork tamales, the rice is ready and the beans almost are.”
Amaliya grinned as she watched her grandmother at the stove, stirring the big pot of beans, and trying to reach to the back to pick up the skillet full of Mexican rice.
“I'll get that,” Sergio offered quickly.
“Okay, nieto,” she answered, surprising her grandchildren. She usually denied help. She pointed to the counter. “Right there.”
Throwing down a pan holder for Sergio to set the hot skillet on, she turned and uncovered a bowl with fresh tortilla dough in it.
“You'll eat this and feel much better,” her Grandmama assured her.
Amaliya sighed and wished desperately that she could eat.
With utter sadness shot through with a strange joy, she watched her grandmother's tiny hand roll, pound, and flatten out a fresh tortilla before throwing it onto the griddle to cook.
A weird sort of silence filled the room as Amaliya and Sergio watched the old lady deftly make tortillas. Her wrinkled fingers easily plucked the tortillas up off the griddle and flipped them until they were perfectly done. Soon a whole stack of the fluffy white tortillas was wrapped in a fresh kitchen towel and put on the table.
This was the way it had always been when she visited her grandmother. She would sit in silence as her grandmother putzed around cooking a feast for her, then as soon as the elder woman sat down, the conversation would start as they ate.
Showing how well trained he was, Sergio pulled out a couple of glass bottles of soda from the refrigerator and popped them open. Her grandmother had a fetish for the Coca Cola from across the border and Sergio or Felipe would bring her milk cartons full of the refillable glass bottles. They also brought other exotic flavors that Amaliya was never particularly fond of.
“They still make it with real sugar. Not corn syrup like here,” Sergio said, handing Amaliya a bottle.
“I didn't know that.” She took a small swig and nodded to him.
“Good.”
A large photo of their German emigree grandfather and his tiny Mexican bride loomed over the table and it made Amaliya feel watched over. She felt relatively safe and comfortable at last except for one thing. It was hard to feel better when her skin was crawling because of the religious artifacts strewn around the house. It made her feel like there were ants under her skin.
Sliding into the chair across from her, Sergio nursed his own soda.
Their grandmother finished warming up all the food and began to carry it to the table.
“Okay, now you eat and feel better.”
A huge plate filled with food was set down before Amaliya. The smell was amazing, but she didn't feel hunger. She wasn't even sure if she could eat it. She picked up a fork and poked gingerly at the steaming pile of ranchero beans. Across from her, Sergio ate with relish.
Carefully sitting down, favoring her arthritic hip, her grandmother gave her a thoughtful look.
“Eat.”
Amaliya hesitated and raised the fork, one bean stuck firmly to the tines.
“Grandmama, this is good,” Sergio said, scooping up a bunch of rice and beans and part of a piece of chicken with a bit of tortilla. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth with relish.
Her grandmother's eyes were quite intent as they gazed at her granddaughter. “Amaliya, eat. You look pale and your skin feels cold.
You need nourishment.”
Hesitantly, Amaliya pushed the fork into her mouth, and the bean settled onto her tongue. Very slowly, she shifted it between her teeth and chewed.
Her grandmother smiled with satisfaction. “You need to eat.”
Amaliya nodded and swallowed. At least she tried to. The bean refused to go down. The more she tried to swallow, the more she gagged. Finally, she gulped as hard as she could and immediately began to cough. The chewed bean hurtled out of her throat and hit the wall.