Blake
I could breathe, really breathe. Deep satisfying breaths. I closed my eyes and let the oxygen flow into every cell in my body, filling them and energizing me in a way I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Mateo loved me. I felt like I had nothing to fear anymore. I was still a mess, still raw and wounded. But my physician sat beside me, and I knew I’d recover. His presence and goodness were my miracle drug. How quickly things could change. It was a frightening thought. Could they change back just as quickly? I laid my head back against the leather headrest in the fancy truck and focused on what was good and right. Mateo was quiet beside me, lost in thought, but his hand still held mine. I was tethered to it. Was it possible to go through life without ever letting it go?
About fifteen minutes into the peaceful drive, the car began to slow, and I opened my eyes. Mateo looked over at me, pulled my hand gently to his mouth and softly kissed it. I shuddered and then blushed, embarrassed by my reaction. It was hard, after so many months of feeling pain and trying to disguise my vulnerability, to suddenly feel so happy and try not to hide any emotion. I felt exposed, but not in a bad way. I trusted him. It was just such a strange new sensation, and I was having trouble adjusting to it.
We stopped in front of a big solid wooden gate that slowly opened, revealing a beautiful modern Tuscan-style house. The Austin skyline was visible in the far distance, lights twinkling in the tall buildings like stars. Mateo pulled in front of the garage to the left of the house and parked. I reluctantly released his hand and rubbed the still-warm spot he’d kissed. I climbed out of the truck and then froze when I saw what occupied the left side of the lawn.
“No way! You have your own soccer field?” I jumped down and walked toward the miniature field. Mateo shrugged.
“I have two brothers and athletic parents. We like to play together.” He jogged over to the nearest goal and picked up a ball, booting it to me. I trapped it, and he grinned.
“You know, I’ve never seen you play, Soccer Boy. How ‘bout a little one-on-one?”
“How ‘bout we wait until we aren’t stuffed? I don’t think I’m capable of much running right now.” He picked up the ball I had kicked back to him and tucked it under his arm. “Tomorrow?”
“Chicken,” I replied. “And how are you stuffed? I’m still hungry. That was such a small serving of food.”
Mateo chuckled and took my hand. “It was a huge serving of food, and you ate every last bite. But I’m glad you’re still hungry. I have a surprise for you.” We walked around the house and onto the back patio. The covered space was stylish and comfortable with a fireplace and outdoor kitchen. Plopped in the middle of the all-weather sofa was the most adorably fluffy chocolate-colored dog I’d ever seen. He jumped up when he saw us, running to Mateo’s feet and sitting expectantly. Mateo reached down and scratched his ears.
“Doodles, this is Blake. Blake, Doodles.”
I laughed and reached down to pet him. “He’s cute. Does he run with you?”
“Only to chase a tennis ball. I’m afraid he lives quite the life of leisure around here.”
Mateo walked to the back door and opened it, motioning me in. A woman rose from the couch and approached us, smiling warmly. She was petite, in startling contrast to Mateo’s tall frame, and ivory-skinned, but other than that there was no mistaking she was his mother. Her slightly curly dark hair, cut into a stylish bob, her piercing blue eyes and her kind expression were all him. She looked at him adoringly for a second before turning her eyes on me. A wave of unexpected sadness washed over me. Momma, I miss you so much. I gritted my teeth and blinked. Hold it together. Mateo’s hand found mine and squeezed it. Was there anything he missed?
“Blake, this is my mom,” he said, his eyes not leaving my face. “Mom, this is my Blake.”
Mateo’s mom’s head snapped up to look at his face at the same time I did. She seemed surprised but not upset. He had said his Blake. I did belong somewhere. Mom and Dad and Brody were gone, but I wasn’t lost and alone anymore. The thought calmed me. I pulled my hand free of Mateo’s and reached it out to shake his mom’s already extended one. Mateo’s hand found its way to the small of my back, a soft casual touch reassuring me of his presence.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Reyna. Your home is beautiful.”
“Thank you, Blake. It’s a pleasure to have you here. And please call me Meg.”
She motioned us farther into the family room. The colors of the room were mostly soothing, soft spa blues, with splashes of brighter fun colors. Playful art decorated the walls. The overall effect was fun and comfortable. I relaxed even more, sinking into the overstuffed couch. A man entered the room then, speaking Spanish into a cell phone, and I was instantly charmed. In his black pants and shirt, his shoulder-length hair tied up in the back, he looked so much like a Mexican hero I halfway wondered if he had his mask in his pocket. He hung up his phone and approached us, greeting Mateo in Spanish and then looking at me.
“Blake, this is my Uncle Hector. Hector, this is Blake. She’s a bit of a sucker for the Spanish language, so please refrain from using it around her. I don’t want your machismo distracting her from me.”
I blushed, embarrassed for a moment, before thinking of a comeback. “I thought you told me Hector was your dog. The one you go running with who can never keep up?”
“What? Oh, you are asking for it, muchacho.”
Hector was over the couch in one bound, narrowly missing Mateo, who instantly sprang up from his seat and rolled, landing in a tucked position across the room. He was laughing, his body tensed for Hector’s next move.
I knew my mother would have been horrified at such activity in her living room, but Meg was smiling and rolling her eyes good-naturedly.
“Come on, Blake. Let’s exit the battleground and go to the kitchen. I hope you saved room for dessert.”
She took my hand and guided me out of the playful chaos. Hector and Mateo were taking boxing jabs at each other now, intentionally missing but talking a lot of smack.
“Boys are always boys, no matter how old their outer shell gets. Mateo is my third son. When he was born, I gave up hoping for some calm and balance in the house and just learned to embrace and love them for who they are. That doesn’t mean, however, that we have to sit in the middle of that. And they do know,” she spoke louder now, directing her voice back toward the sparring men, “that if they break anything in there they will live to regret it.”
Meg gestured for me to sit down at the bar, and Mateo materialized beside me, his hair disheveled.
“Thanks,” he said sarcastically, but his eyes twinkled. He turned toward Meg. “I’ll get dessert, Mom. You sit.” He gathered plates and forks and glasses, whistling as he did.
Meg sat beside me at the bar. “I’ve had to smell this all day. I thought you would never get here.” She bounced on her chair like Benji did when he was excited about something.
Mateo laughed. He set a cake dish in front of us, removing the lid and revealing a single layer chocolate concoction.
“Simmer down, Mom. It’s just a cake.”
“My favorite cake in the whole world, and you only make it for me once a year, so this is an unexpected treat.”
“You made this?” I asked him, surprised, as he cut a piece for me and covered it in a creamy sauce.
“Before you get impressed, you should know it’s one of the only things I can make. I’m not real good in the kitchen.” He put a piece in front of Meg.
“That’s not true,” Meg replied. “You’re very talented in the kitchen, just mostly in the consumption of food, not production.” She placed a bite in her mouth. “Mmmm. You haven’t lost your touch.”
I sat, staring at the cake in front of me, nervous. Mateo had made this, and I wanted to have the appropriate response. But what if I couldn’t taste it? Should I fake my enthusiasm and spare his feelings? No, I decided. I never wanted to mislead him in any way. But I also did not want to disappoint…
“Hey.” His voice was soft in my ear, his hand resting casually on my shoulder. “It’s just a piece of cake. All that matters to me is that you consume those calories. I don’t care if you like it or not. I won’t take it personally.”
Was he a mind reader? I watched him in awe as he turned away, cutting a piece of cake for Hector and chatting with his mom, his eyes carefully avoiding me. He’s giving me privacy. How silly that I need privacy to take a bite of chocolate, but somehow I did, and he knew. I placed a bite on my fork and slowly put it in my mouth. It tasted like… chocolate. Rich and creamy and delicious. I began chewing with more enthusiasm.
“You okay?” Again, his voice soft in my ear, his arm encircling my shoulders. I realized with some embarrassment that I had tears running down my face.
“It’s just really good,” I mumbled, taking another bite and trying to hide my face behind my hair.
“Don’t worry. Mom had the same reaction the first time I made this cake for her. Cried like a baby.”
“I did.” Meg laughed, handing me a tissue. “Mateo made it for my birthday when he was eight. It was pretty awful, but it was the first time any of my boys had made anything in the kitchen for me. You should have seen the mess. All over the kitchen. All over Mateo. Even the dog was covered in cocoa powder. And there he stood, proudly holding his partially collapsed cake in the middle of that mess, such an adorable expression on his face. I burst into tears over his thoughtfulness and then ate every bite of that awful cake. Practice makes perfect. It does help when you don’t forget to add sugar.” She ducked Mateo’s gently thrown dishtowel. “I’m just sayin’…”
This is my new happy place, I realized, as I sat there savoring every bite of the rich, fabulous chocolate. Mateo’s arm did not leave my shoulders. He stood beside my barstool, talking and laughing with his mom and Hector as I ate. Meg finished her piece of cake and then placed her hand gently on my knee. Her eyes stayed on Mateo’s face, but she seemed to be sending the signal that she was there for me. Mateo must get his compassion from her. I was both grateful for and saddened by her sweet maternal touch. Hector sat on the other side of Meg, giving up just halfway through his piece of cake.
“Mijo, that is too rich for me. How do you eat a whole piece?”
“Nothing is too rich to a true chocoholic, Hector,” Meg replied. “You are just a wuss. Or maybe it’s that you’re not a chocoholic.” She sighed, as if that was a terrible thing to wish on someone. “I guess that just leaves more for me and Blake.”
She spoke my name proprietarily, as if Mateo’s claiming of me had allowed her to do the same. I’m happy. I don’t ever want to leave here. This is a good and safe place. Something deep inside of me relaxed.
Then Hector spoke, and my hastily claimed contentment shattered.
“So, Blake, what do your parents do?”
The tension in the room was immediate and intense. I froze. Mateo tightened his hold on me until I almost couldn’t breathe. Meg gasped. Though the sound was barely audible, Hector caught it and immediately looked both confused and chagrined. If I hadn’t been suddenly overwhelmed by sadness, I would have found his What did I do? look comical.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, looking down and struggling for composure. After all, we couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room forever. This was part of who I was, how I was, and I wanted Mateo to know and understand all of me.
“I think it’s time I filled in some background information on myself.” I looked at Mateo, stared into his concerned eyes, trying to gain strength. “I don’t want to have any secrets from you,” I whispered. Meg and Hector silently rose, trying to make a discreet exit.
“No, please stay.” I loved Mateo, and this was his family. I wanted a family. I suddenly wanted this family.
“I want all of you to hear.” Was that asking too much? Was it okay to unload some of my darkness on these nice people? I bounced my feet on the rung of the barstool, nervous and uncertain. “Unless of course you don’t want to.”
Meg rose and hugged me. “Of course we want to, Blake. We want to be here for you.” Her eyes were as intense as Mateo’s. “Why don’t we move back into the living room where it’s more comfortable?” She led the way and Hector followed, still looking confused.
I didn’t move at first, until Mateo gently lifted me down from the bar stool, his eyes questioning mine. “You sure? You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. I don’t want you reliving anything hard.”
“No, I need you to hear this. Just be patient.” I had been able to tell the whole story only once, and then only with the counselor Joe and Mary dragged me to. “It may take me a while.”
“I have as long as you need. Don’t worry.” He took my hand and led me to the big cushy sofa, where he sat and tucked me in next to him, one arm around my shoulder and the other holding my hand. Meg and Hector had already taken chairs opposite the couch.
I took a deep breath, which shuddered as I exhaled. Could I do this? I had relived that night, like a constantly looping scene from a horror movie, in my head for months. I couldn’t find the off button. At first I hadn't wanted to. I'd wanted to suffer, to feel all of the pain. When it had gotten to be too much, I’d learned to look away, distract myself until I had to look again. But I couldn’t turn it off.
Lately, since Mateo, I’d been better at the distractions. No, that wasn’t right. He wasn’t a distraction. It was like he'd stepped in front of the screen, and I could no longer see it. I sometimes forgot it was even there. And now I needed to look at it full force. And I did need to. If I didn’t face it, I couldn’t turn it off. And I wanted to turn it off, to end the horror show and concentrate on the good memories. It was time.
“I… I’m not sure where to begin. My parents, they were… well, we were really close.” I stopped and cleared my throat before continuing, my hands shaking in Mateo’s firm grip. “I had a brother once.” I was speaking in disjointed thoughts. It was the best I could do. I hoped they could keep up.
“Brody was born when I was nine. My parents had tried so hard to have another baby, and then he came. He had Down syndrome, but we thought he was beautiful and perfect. We loved him so much. He had a heart defect also, and when he was three, his heart simply stopped beating.”
A strangled sob escaped my throat. Mateo was stroking my arm. I could feel his eyes on my face but I did not turn to look at him. I concentrated on the pattern of the area rug, trying to make myself numb so I could continue.
“We were even closer after that. It was a hard time, but Mom and Dad were such fun, loving people, full of joy. They were so determined to have a happy home. For each other and for me. And we did.”
I closed my eyes for a minute, remembering the love and laughter of my home. It hurt to remember. It emphasized the loss. How could such good people meet such a horrible end? The whole world was tainted because of it.
“The night they… well, I mean earlier on the day they died, we’d all played hooky. Dad had skipped work, I had skipped school, and Mom had cleared her calendar, and we had spent the day doing our favorite things together. They were just like that. At the end of that day they gave me my Mini. It was still a couple of weeks until my birthday, but Dad said he couldn’t wait. It was such a good day. I had gone to bed listening to them talking and laughing in the living room. The next thing I knew, the house alarm was blaring, and I could hear screaming. I remember running down the hall, expecting to meet my dad and for him to tell me everything was okay. I wanted that so badly.”
My voice trailed off to a whisper. I squeezed my eyes shut, my whole body tense, goose bumps rising on my arms. I could see that whole scene of the living room as if it were right in front of me. My parents’ bodies on the floor. The open back door. And something else. There was something else there, but I couldn’t remember. I had tried for months, haunted by the knowledge that there was a missing piece of evidence, a memory I had so repressed I couldn’t recall it. This thought tortured me. If I could remember, maybe the killer could be caught.
“The rest of my memories of that night are kind of a blur. It’s like I’m seeing so many scenes at once. I can’t remember all of it, and when I try it’s like there’s something significant evading me, but I can’t get a clear picture of it. I remember the stereo was playing. I remember the back door was open, letting in cold air. I remember my parents’ bodies, lying beside each other on the ground.” My voice had dropped to a whisper.
That image was so painful. I had danced around it for months, embracing the pain of it and then retreating when I couldn’t look any more. There was absolute silence in the room while they waited for me to continue.
“Their arms were, well it was like they’d been positioned. There was blood, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I tried to find a pulse on them. I remember feeling very afraid. And then I go blank. The next thing I know, Coach Joe is at my house, kneeling by my side, trying to coax me up.”
When I closed my eyes, I could still see the whole scene…
There were police everywhere. I was lying on the floor in between my parents’ bodies and holding their hands. There was blood on me, and the paramedics were trying to get close enough to see if I was injured. The police were yelling at them to not disturb the scene of the crime. Then there was this horrifying screeching sound. One of the paramedics actually held his ears. The other put his hand gently over my mouth, and the sound muffled, and I realize it was me.
“Then I go blank again. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in Joe and Mary’s guest room, my room now, in clean pajamas. An orphan.” The last word I say so quietly that only Mateo hears it. He squeezed me yet tighter, and I turned to look at him. There were tears in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he kissed the top of my head. Meg sat slumped in her chair, crying softly. Hector looked like he was concentrating hard on something, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes narrowed.
“Who did it, Blake? Were they caught?” Hector’s words came out quickly, surprisingly harsh.
“No, it’s still being investigated, but the leads are cold. After three years of playing pro football, my father had become an attorney. A prosecutor. He probably had some enemies, but everything he was involved in has been gone over, and nothing has turned up. The police think it was an attempted burglary, gone awry when the alarm went off. But nothing was taken. And why were they killed and I wasn’t?”
I shuddered, remembering how I used to wish I had died along with them. I didn’t wish that now, but the pain of their deaths was so intense I could barely breathe. I was glad Mateo’s arm was wound tightly around me. It reminded me of why I wanted to try.
“The only real clue they thought they had to go on was the weird positioning of my parents’ bodies, but they never uncovered any leads on that.”
Hector was staring at me, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Mateo jerked up, his eyes wild. It sent a chill down my spine. Hector’s next words were spoken quietly, his accent barely noticeable as he carefully enunciated. “How were the bodies found?”
Meg, startled by the question, glanced from Hector to Mateo and back again. The color drained from her face.
“They were lying side by side,” I whispered. “Their right arms were straight up, and their left arms were straight out to the side.” I had messed that up when I had crawled over them, sobbing and trying to find a pulse. But I had remembered it and described it to the homicide detectives. “It was almost as if they were forming…”
“Two Ls. Holy crap,” Mateo said, cutting me off. Meg sucked in air and put her hands on her cheeks, her eyes open wide. I turned to look at Mateo, startled, and his face scared me. Fury raged on it. He looked scary, capable of dark, frightening things. His eyes met Hector’s and communicated something. Hector nodded once and then came to kneel beside me. He placed one hand on my shoulder.
“I’m very sorry for your loss. We’ll find out who is responsible and why, and they will pay. I promise you.” He rose and quickly left the room, rapidly dialing his cell phone.
“I’m confused,” I whispered. Why were they reacting this way? What did they know?
“I’m sorry, Blake. We don’t mean to confuse you.” Mateo’s expression softened as he looked at me, but his eyes remained intense. He looked at his mom and then up at the ceiling, before finally looking back at me.
“Remember when I told you there was much you needed to know about me?”
I nodded. I’d never seen him look so serious, so aggressive. I sensed my presence was all that was keeping him on the couch. He was tensed for a fight.
“We do need to have that conversation, but not tonight. You look completely drained.” His hand brushed across my face, wiping tears and pushing my bangs out of my eyes. His touch was surprisingly gentle, considering the look on his face. “Let’s just let it suffice for now that we might have some information for the police. But we need to do a little investigative work of our own first. Can you trust us with that? I promise I’ll explain more when I can, and when you’re in a better state of mind to listen and process.”
I nodded again. Of course I could trust him. He was my lifeline. I would do anything he asked of me right now. And he was right. I was spent. Lack of sleep, reliving emotional trauma, sugar crash… they all seemed to be combining to wash over me like a powerful sedative. I doubted I could stand up if I tried.
“Mom, would you bring Blake a pillow and a blanket?”
“Of course.” Meg rose and left the room, returning a minute later with the requested items.
Mateo placed the pillow in his lap and then softly forced my head onto it. I pulled my legs up onto the couch and lay down on my side. Meg tucked the blanket around me before leaning over and kissing me softly on the cheek. A sense of déjà vu washed over me as I was tucked in like a small child. This was nice. I missed this. Mateo still tightly held my hand in one of his. His other hand stroked my head. The last thing I remembered before sinking into oblivion were his eyes staring into mine, an unspoken promise in them.