“SO WHAT’S THIS?” VERLAINE LAY IN HER BED, HER BIG, shaggy cat curled at her feet, as Nadia snuggled next to her and Mateo set the flower-bedecked tray in front of the newly returned patient.
“This,” Mateo said, “is the very best Day of the Dead brunch the kitchen of La Catrina could create. Not that the Day of the Dead and brunch really go together so much. But hey, it’s a celebration.”
“That it is.” Nadia still felt utterly exhausted; she hadn’t known it was possible to be so tired. Tiny nicks, cuts, and spider bites still stung her legs. Her throat remained raw and tender from the smoke last night. But what did any of that matter? Captive’s Sound, and everyone in it, remained in one piece. Elizabeth’s evil plan, whatever it had been, seemed to be defeated. Verlaine was back home, still kitten-weak but obviously on the mend. And she and Mateo—
Well, there were plenty of reasons to celebrate.
Verlaine was enjoying being the center of attention for once. “Let’s see. We have a Tex-Mex omelet, some pancakes that look like—Mickey Mouse?”
“Those were me,” Nadia hastened to add.
“—and this.” Verlaine held up a small brilliantly painted skull, not unlike the cheery skeletons that played guitar and danced on the walls of La Catrina. “What is this, a souvenir?”
Mateo said, “Lick it.”
After a moment, Verlaine gave Mateo a look. “You’re lucky I trust you.” Then she held it to her mouth, gave it an experimental taste, and brightened. “Oh, it’s sugar!”
“You guys don’t know much about the Day of the Dead, do you?” Mateo said. He took his place on the bed with them, on the other side of Verlaine. That meant that he and Nadia weren’t next to each other—and right now even a few minutes away from Mateo felt like too long—but Nadia knew as well as he did that what mattered most was making Verlaine feel safe and loved. Though that strange emotional distance remained, suggesting that whatever Elizabeth had done to Verlaine remained as powerful as ever, Nadia remembered how she should feel about Verlaine, and she was going to hold true to it. Mateo continued, “The Day of the Dead is when you’re supposed to go to the cemetery and visit your dead relatives.”
“Lilies, black, yada yada,” Verlaine said.
But Mateo shook his head. “No. It’s a cheerful day. A great day. You don’t go there to cry; you go there to celebrate. To remind yourself what you loved about the people you lost, and have fun with them like you used to when they were alive. People bring chocolate and pan de los muertos and sugar skulls like this one.”
Nadia thought about it. “So all the happy skeletons on the wall of your dad’s restaurant—”
“Exactly.” Mateo grinned. “In Spanish, la catrina means ‘the rich woman.’ I think the name was originally to kind of make fun of Grandma. But the skeleton of a rich woman with flowers in what ought to be her hair—that’s one of the figures people celebrate on the Day of the Dead. Like all the other ‘happy skeletons.’ They’re reminders that we all die, but even death isn’t the end. Not if people remember you, and remember the love you had while you were still here.”
“I still think it’s kinda morbid,” Verlaine said, but she nibbled on the edge of the sugar skull anyway.
Seize the moment, Nadia reminded herself. Better to have loved and lost. At least you can remember. Even remembering Mom didn’t hurt as much any longer.
And, as she looked across at Mateo—grinning at her over Verlaine’s head—Nadia knew the only way you ended up with any love to remember was by daring to love right now.
She didn’t intend to waste any more time.
Smiling brilliantly, Nadia said, “I think it’s beautiful.”