I sat up slowly and blinked a few times to better adjust to the assault on my senses. When I was finally able to open my eyes I discovered that was still in the cemetery, still sitting over Grace’s grave, but I was alone. There were no signs of Diego or his evil bottle of moonshine tequila, shovel, cooler, even the canopy he’d wheeled out the day before. The only sign he’d ever been there at all was the lingering hangover and the agony in my brain that felt as if an angry cat was using it as a scratching post.
“See you later, Grace.” I whispered, resting my hand for a beat on her plaque and giving it a few taps before pushing to my feet. I took a few steps but then my head spun, the graveyard swirling around me. I paused and leaned on a nearby headstone to calm the spinning. After a few seconds I felt good enough to continue but when I straightened it was the name on the headstone I’d leaned on for support that caught my eye. “No fucking way,” I said out loud as I ran my hand over the name engraved in the stone.
DIEGO MARTINEZ.
I rolled my eyes at myself. “It’s a common fucking name,” I explained to myself, which was totally true. In Southern Florida I couldn’t swing my cock without hitting at least three Diego Martinez’s. Then I read what was written below his name and I jumped back from it like it had shocked me. Maybe I’d suffered a lot more mental trauma by the hands of Chop then I’d realized because I was a few ‘the sixth sense’ moments away from printing out my own one-way ticket to one of those nice and cozy padded rooms with no windows.
Diego Martinez
Loving father, husband, grandfather.
Laid to rest in the grounds he cared for lovingly for over thirty years.
Now watching over his hard work from his place in heaven.
We celebrate his life.
May 5th 1944 - June 17th 2016
Delayed long term brain damage.
It was the only explanation for both the hallucinations and the pounding headache.
“Preppy...?” I loved hearing her say my name. I spun around to find the other person in the world who at times had me thinking I was going crazy. Because there, standing less than ten feet from me, wearing a strapless yellow sundress that flowed around her knees, was none other than the Doc herself, staring at me with a concern etched into her forehead.
“You by chance didn’t see a grounds keeper around here did you? Grey coveralls? Looks like the guy from the Machete movies?”
She looked around the empty cemetery. “No...should I have seen him?” she asked slowly. Her focus dropped from my face to the grass stains on my jeans. “Are you okay?”
I held out my hand with my palm facing her. “Hang on. Gimme a sec, Doc.” With my head still thundering I shut my eyes tightly and then open them again, sure enough Dre was still there, but since I was going crazy and all I didn’t trust my own vision and needed more evidence. “I’m going to ask you a question and I just need you to answer it for me okay?” I took a step forward and Doc flashed me a small white toothed smile, doing a shit job of hiding the concern etched into her black corneas.
“Okay...” she said hesitantly.
“Just tell me the truth, Doc...are you really here right now?” I asked still not believing that my girl was finally home with me.
Dre looked down to her feet as if she were checking out to see where ‘here’ was. “Yeah, I mean. I think so.”
“Just stay right there,” I ordered, not wanting to get my hopes up before I had solid evidence. I held out my arms straight, locking my elbows in a very frankenstein-esque stance. I moved forward slowly and didn’t stop until I smelled the lavender of her shampoo and my hands were resting on her shoulders. I squeezed my fingers, her soft skin was warm and very much alive beneath my touch.
“You really are here,” I whispered, tipping up her chin so I could get a better look at the freckles on her nose.
“I’m really here,” she said as if she really couldn’t believe it herself.
“You’re really here,” I said again, interrupting her and giving her shoulders another squeeze.
“Satisfied?” she asked, her eyes locking onto mine. The air around us grew thick and charged. Suddenly, touching her shoulders wasn’t enough.
When it came to Dre it would NEVER be enough.
“Fuck no. Not even close,” I admitted, resting my forehead against hers. “What time is it?” I asked.
“It’s time. Everyone’s starting to show up at the house, even Kevin’s coming,” she said, pulling me by the hand. I still wasn’t sure if the kid was my brother but he was enough of a delinquent to definitely give me reason to believe it was a possibility. “I have to go pick up my dad from the airport, but I’ll be back. You sure you want to do this? Meeting the parents is kind of a big deal you know,” she said, biting on her bright red lip.
“It is. And I’m totally sorry I can’t introduce you to my parents but I don’t know who my real dad is, King killed my stepdad, and my mother is a super cunt.”
“Duly noted.”
I nodded and she smiled brightly. I held onto her hand and let her lead me through the same cemetery I’d chased her through years ago. I didn’t know where we were going, just that she had something to show me, but I decided that Dre could be dragging me through the gates back to hell and I wouldn’t of cared.
I’d follow my wife anywhere.
“Oh, I almost forgot, you’ll need this,: she said tossing me something soft. I knew what it was before I opened my hand. “I think it’s time,” Dre said.
I unfolded my palm and ran my thumb over the pink and yellow plaid of the bow tie in my hand. I smiled.
It was definitely fucking time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DRE
My father twisted around in the passenger seat and with his mouth slightly agape he ran a palm over the the supple black leather in one slow appreciative motion of admiration like he was inspecting a stud horse. “You sure I can’t keep it? I mean, it’s not like he’d ever let you drive it. You’re a terrible driver. Remember when you ran over Mrs. Stephens cat?” My dad teased with a wink.
“Excuse me?” I asked, raising my voice several octaves in mock offense. “If you remember I’d JUST gotten my driver’s license that week! And not for nothing but I’ll have you know that cat was suicidal.”
“A suicidal cat?” my father asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“What else would you call it?” I lightly smacked the wheel. “That cat was mean as hell. And not to mention a hundred years old. And what black cat darts out across an unlit road in the middle of the night?”
“A suicidal one,” my father deadpanned, but his straight face only lasted for a beat before his smile reappeared and he began to laugh, low and loud. It was a sound I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed until right then.
It had been way too long.
“So OLD MAN, unless you want me to drive your side of the car into the causeway rails I suggest you be nice to your daughter about her driving skills,” I teased back. “And NO you can’t keep it,” I said, patting the dashboard. “You did a great job on her, Dad. He’ll love it and I promise that she’ll be in good hands.”
My father’s laughter finally subsided. “I sure hope so, darling.”
“He’ll love her,” I assured him again, but when I glanced over to him I realized that it wasn’t just the car he was talking about.