No Witness But the Moon(103)
“Oh?” Luis stiffened.
Vega saw the picture in his head of that fruit stand. Two hopeful men off to find their fortune in El Norte. And a teenage boy who never got the chance. “I’d like you to name the program ‘Miguel’s Place’ after Hector’s son.”
“Miguel’s Place. Okay. And may I ask what you get out of this, Detective?”
Vega felt something drain from his chest. A heavy weight he’d been carrying since the night of the shooting. It wasn’t gone. It would never be gone entirely. But he could live with this ache. Maybe even learn from it. When he opened his mouth, he had only one word to offer Luis. The one thing he was hoping for.
“Peace.”
*
The biggest gifts they all gave each other that season didn’t come from a store. Adele gave Vega Diablo.
“My client took a live-in position and gave the dog up,” said Adele. “I had a feeling she might. But don’t worry. Sophia okayed Diablo moving in with you. So long as you bring him down for frequent visits.”
It was the best gift anyone had ever given Vega. The dog made himself at home, taking over both the couch and three-quarters of Vega’s bed. The house didn’t seem lonely anymore with Diablo there to keep him company and go on runs around the lake with him.
Vega assembled a collection of his mother’s photographs for Joy, along with a note that took him a whole day to compose about all the ways she made him proud, “tattoo and all—just don’t get another.” Now that classes were out for the December break, Joy drove up often, spending more time with her father than she had since she started college. The shooting had brought them closer together. Vega wasn’t sure how or why but maybe Greco was right. Maybe something good really could come out of something bad.
Vega waited until a night when he and Adele could be alone in his lake house to give Adele her gift. They had already unwrapped a few silly trinkets and keepsakes for each other with Diablo sniffing and licking every one. They sat by the glow of charred logs in Vega’s big stone fireplace with Diablo at their feet. Then Vega took out an envelope that he’d wrapped in shiny red and green foil and handed it to Adele.
“It’s not a real gift,” he said shyly.
“It’s a gift certificate?”
“Uh, no. Open it.”
Inside the envelope was the initial paperwork to start Miguel’s Place, along with a check for $35,000 to La Casa to begin the funding.
Adele stared at it. “You got Luis to endow a program?”
“Yeah. In Hector’s son’s memory. For children like Yovanna and the boy you told me about who was living at Chez Martine.”
“Omar.” Adele touched his sleeve. “I can’t believe you remembered his story. Jimmy, this is amazing. How did you get Luis to—?”
“Let’s just say, this will put some demons to rest for both of us.”
Adele put the envelope down and leaned into him. Vega felt her lips, pillow soft against his unshaven cheeks. A heat rose within him that he’d forgotten existed. It flooded all the empty spaces that had been floating around inside of him. All the loneliness and yearning. It filled them with an urgency and passion that made him hold tight to Adele, hold tight to this moment.
Outside, the trees danced in the December wind and the night settled in heavily for the long siesta. Vega welcomed the darkness beyond because here, between them, within them, he felt only light.
Acknowledgments
This novel would not be sitting in your hands right now if not for a very special group of people who made it possible.
My thanks first to Norma Roldan and her daughter, Lisseth Valverde, who shared with me the ten years they spent apart while Norma worked in the United States and Lisseth grew up without her in Ecuador. I’m indebted to them for their honesty and insights, especially about the difficulties they faced once they were reunited.
Thanks also to John Christy, a former Aurora, Colorado, police officer who wrote a wonderful memoir, Sine Fratres: an officer involved shooting. John’s book and his gracious emails gave me a first-hand glimpse into what Jimmy Vega might experience after a shooting.
This book would have strayed badly if not for two very dedicated men who gave up so much of their time and energy to keep me honest. The first is Lt. James Palanzo of the Westchester County Police whose gut instincts are always right on target. The second is fire investigator and storyteller extraordinaire Gene West, who can take any ridiculous situation and turn it into something plausible and riveting. Gene—from my first book to this, my sixth, I could not have done any of it without you.
I would like to thank the incredible cast of people whom readers never see. My first reader, Rosemary Ahern, whose enthusiasm and story sense always guide me to my better self. My agent, Stephany Evans, and my editor, Michaela Hamilton, both of whom always have rock-solid judgment. And the entire staff of Kensington Books who have gone all out for the series: Michaela, of course. But also Norma Perez-Hernandez, Morgan Elwell, the sales and publicity staffs, and Steven Zacharius who has thrown so much support my way.
My thanks most of all to the people who have to live and/or listen to me through the ordeal of writing a book: my husband, Thomas Dunne, my children, Kevin and Erica, and my dear friend, Janis Pomerantz. Thank you, as always, for putting up with me.