Z Children (Book 2): The Surge (29 page)

“When
have I ever tried to possess you, Consuela?”

“You
haven’t, but all the guys I’ve been with before have. Danny in high school—he’d
wanted to marry me as soon as graduation was over. He wouldn’t wait. Even when
a person finally finds the right partner, even when none of the same shitty
things exist within the relationship that you’ve experienced in the past, you
still walk around with this chemical, emotional imprint. You push the memory of
the bad stuff onto the good partner, the true love. I just needed to hear you
say that you could wait.”

Part
of me wanted to be irritated. It felt like she was toying with me, playing a
game with my feelings. Consuela had never been like that though. And when she’d
brought up Danny—the guy most of the girls drooled over, athletic, built,
charming—I knew she was being in earnest.

I
thought about what to say back to her. We sat in silence for near ten minutes.
And then it came to me. Shifting, I got my fingers into my pants pocket and I
pulled out the small black box. I didn’t open it. I wanted her to be surprised
by what ring was cradled within the black velvet.
“So…Mrs. Flora-tastic
then?”

“Mrs.
Flora-tastic. Definitely.”

I let
her open the box. When her eyes saw the small ring, the cluster of diamonds
shaped into a small flower with two tiny emeralds on either side, they’d
immediately become damp with tears. The gold tarnished, the inscription still
left on the band—Pedro & Estella. But beside those two names, I’d made an
addition—AH & CA, Always. It was a tight fight. The inscriber had gone
slow, ensuring that each letter would fit. He’d had to split it—putting our
initials to the right of her parents’ names and the ‘Always’ on the left. But
it worked that way. It had the right symmetry. Her parents had never wavered in
their love. Like them. We’d be an always also.

“So,
what kind of costume should I have?”
She stared at the ring, rotating her
hand so the aged stones would catch some light and produce a moderate sparkle.

“What?”
I was so caught up in the moment, of watching her take the ring out of the box
and slip it on her own finger, that I’d totally forgotten what had sparked my
sudden courage in asking her to marry me.

“I
can’t very well be a superhero without a costume. What do you think? The main
color should be green, I’d think. Maybe whips that look like ivy?”

It was
my turn to laugh—and, unlike how I felt about her laugh, I hated my own. It
wasn’t mainly or deep. It was sharp and hurried and nearly always terminated in
a snort.
“Definitely green. And with a last name like Hero, people are going
to be expecting a lot from you.”

Then
we’d cuddled. We’d ordered Chinese food and, once again, we’d talked until
morning.

***

No
longer sweating, I stood by the priest at the front of the church. After all
the guests had been seated, the sanctuary doors had been closed. I didn’t like
that barrier there, between me and my future.

I
tried to stay still, but I was still shaking. Not as bad as before, just a
slight tremor running the length of my body over and over again. A lilting tune
wafted out over the attendees. The pianist was with the church and he played
beautifully. The violinist was my sister. She’d been playing since she was six.
She was seventeen now, which was hard to believe. The singer was no longer at
the front of the church. Consuela’s mother had a beautiful voice. She’d
promised to sing more than once during the ceremony. Now, though, she was sitting,
a space saved beside her for her husband.

My
eyes moved from my future in-laws to the other side of the aisle, to my own
parents’ faces. Mom wasn’t crying yet, but a pale pink handkerchief laid across
her lap, ready for duty. Dad’s face was red in the cheeks, his eyes puffy, his
masculine façade cracking. He was twisting a crumpled cigar between fidgeting
fingers. That was Dad—heart on his sleeve at all times, probably more nervous
than I was despite his bravado handing out Cubans earlier. I smiled at him and
he smiled back, his hands forgetting their task of ruining the expensive cigar
for a moment. The quick nod he gave me made me stand straighter. It solidified
what was happening for some reason.

Consuela
and I were getting married.

Redirecting
my gaze from my parents, I watched as the sanctuary doors opened. The ornate
wood outer doors of the church were closed, light leaking in through the
stained glass of the flanking windows. The groomsmen and bridesmaids walked in
pairs, one after another, polished fingernails brushing thick forearms. Then
the flower girl began her slow walk down the aisle. My niece—her black curls
bouncing with life—was less buoyant today than normal. Her smile was weak. And
it looked like I wasn’t the only one sweating. Part of my mind shouted at me to
check on her, make sure she was okay, but my nephew was already walking behind
her. The small ivory pillow was gripped firmly in his hands and his eyes were
downcast at the wedding bands, his face screwed up in concentration. We’d told
him he didn’t need to worry that the rings would fall. They were secured by a
thin satin ribbon. But he’d obviously forgotten that. He nearly looked angry in
his focus. It seemed strange for him. He was always so carefree and happy.

My
nephew’s odd behavior made me glance at my niece again. She’d reached the
front-most aisle, the basket still bearing hundreds of rose petals. She’d
barely dropped any petals along her walk. She looked up for a moment, catching
my gaze, and she sort of shrugged. Her eyes seemed strange—filmy and unfocused.
But then she was walking over to my sister-in-law, climbing onto the bench, and
slumping against her mother’s body. The flower basket was dumped on its side
against the floor, pink and white petals littering the maroon carpeting.

There
was no time to care. No time to reignite my worry over my niece’s condition.

It was
her turn.

My
eyes were glued to the double doors that she was about to walk through. I knew
she’d be stunning. Her mother’s dress modified and made modern. My mother’s
veil shortened and attached to a small satin hat. Petite gloves, the white
satin hued yellow with age, that she’d found in a vintage store. Tiny pearl
earrings. The lace-trimmed, pale yellow garter. She’d shown me glimpses, puzzle
pieces to the entire picture of what she’d look like today.

Yet
still, I hadn’t been prepared for it, for her absolute radiance, the ecstatic
joy plastered across her face. It blew me away. The shaking finally stopped.
The sweat dried. I was a statue frozen by what I was witnessing.

Her
father was already crying, his face beet red; the tears making little tracks
down his cheeks. Her mother was in the front row already, dabbing at her eyes
with a pale pink hankie. This was really happening. Today, I was marrying the
love of my life. Nothing could go wrong. Not now.

She
was almost to me, when her father stopped. They turned to look at each other.
He lifted her veil and kissed her forehead. With the short lace face-covering
moved, I could see that she was also crying. But she wasn’t one of those women
who ugly-cried. She became more radiant with tears, and that made her grief
harder to handle sometimes.

“I
give this woman to you,” her father choked out the words as he placed her hand
in mine. It was so broken-sounding, that I had to break ceremony and hug him.

“I
will always take care of her. Always.”

The
promise was quiet, for his ears only. I knew it was what he needed to hear. His
entire life had been devoted to giving his daughter a better life. He needed to
know that he was letting go of his little girl to someone who would continue to
make her life better. When we parted, he squeezed my upper arm and kissed
Consuela once more. Then he walked slowly to the pew and sat down next to his
wife. She took his hand as soon as he was seated. It was a small gesture, but
full of love.

The
rest of the ceremony was a blur. I responded when needed, kneeled when needed.
Took the sacrament. I only came to life again, into consciousness, when the
priest spoke the five words I’d been waiting for.

“You
may kiss the bride.”

The
kiss wasn’t prolonged or outrageous. It was demure and brief. But the kiss was
a dream come true for me—it was a kiss shared with my wife.

***

We
didn’t leave the church for the reception, instead filing through the double
doors, down the hall, and into the large fellowship where the church often
hosted dinners and social gatherings. The caterers were already set up, their
dishes steaming and sending fragrances throughout the large space to make our
mouths water. Dozens of round tables donned ivory cloths, silverware and porcelain
plates, and short sunflower and daisy bouquets at their center.

In the
middle of it all, was a large removable dance floor. The band wasn’t here, a
last minute delay, but they’d be here shortly. The church pianist and my sister
were already saving the day—springing into a lively tune as we all filtered
into the large space. It was chaos, but a joyful one. Consuela and I looked at
each other, sharing silent conversation as we were passed from relative to relative
for congratulations and envelopes of money. It was mostly my family, only a few
of hers and other immigrant families they’d connected with over the years. Even
some patrons of the flower shop.

Finally,
we were able to sit down at the largest round table. Our meals were specially
prepared—we didn’t have to wait in line with everyone else. I found I couldn’t
eat, though. Not from lack of hunger, but rather the overwhelming fullness of
being happy.

I
couldn’t think about anything but her. About us. About our future together.

Seconds
later, while Consuela was laughing with her father and as I was playing with a
piece of fish absentmindedly, my fork scraping quietly against the white square
plate, I heard Josh’s distinct voice carrying over the numerous conversations.
It sounded concerned, verging on frantic. Josh wasn’t prone to dramatics. If he
sounded like that, then something was wrong.

“Blaire?
Blaire, what’s wrong?”

Dropping
my utensil against the shredded fish on the plate with a dull clink, I stood
and searched for my brother. I could only see the top of his head. He was
kneeling on the floor, mostly obscured by one of the tables. I pushed my chair
back with a jerking motion. It screeched across the floor, one leg caught a
small crater in the tile’s grout and it fell over with a bang.

Consuela
jumped and squeaked. Her father looked at me with surprise.

No one
else had recognized the distress in Josh’s voice. Only me. Maybe that’s because
he and I were so close growing up. “I think something’s wrong with my niece,” I
tossed the words out of my mouth with little care. They tumbled down from my
lips to hit Consuela’s utter happiness in the gut.

“I’ll
come with you.” She goes to stand, but I hold a hand up.

“It
might be nothing, sweetheart. Stay here. I’ll call if we need help.”

She
nods, but her body language tells me that she still wants to stand, come with
me, support my brother if he’s in need. I love her for that. I love everything
about her. Even this, whatever is going on, will not shatter the beautiful
goodness within her and surrounding this day.

I made
my way to the youngest Hero son, threading through the tables in slow-motion. I
could see all the details of everything it felt like—the first grays that are
gracing Josh’s dark hair even though he is several years my junior, the way the
dust motes in the air are shattering into even smaller fragments, catching
light and throwing shade, the way my dad’s small frame was also making its way
across the room to Josh.

Josh’s
wife, Anita, was standing over him with her phone in her hand. She was
trembling. The nearer I got, the more distinct their lowered voices became. A
small crowd was gathering now, creating a circle of curiosity—that seemed both
morbid and concerning—around my distressed family members. Mom had joined Dad,
who was semi-blocked by a wedding guest and calling out for Josh to tell him
what was happening.

My
path was clear, though. No one to block me from whatever I was about to
witness.

“Josh,
what’s wro—” But I couldn’t finish my sentence. I’d caught sight of my niece.
Her small body writhing on the ground, the satin dress she was wearing stained
with blood along the front. “Holy shit. Oh, my God. Did you call for an—”

I
heard my dad then, responding to the fear in my voice. “
Andre, what’s
happening? Is someone hurt? Is it Blaire?
”

He
sounded frantic, his voice getting more stressed by the syllable. But I
couldn’t answer him. I didn’t want to divert focus from my brother and Anita.

“An
ambulance is on the way, but they said it could be half an hour or more. They’ve
been answering calls all over the city today. Which I don’t understand. I
don’t…why would she get sick today when we can’t get her help quickly?” Anita’s
voice was raising higher and higher, until it was so shrill that I thought it
might pierce the low ceiling and infiltrate the very sky on its way to heaven.
It was a mother’s terror. A distinct and unsettling sound. And it was the thing
to break the happiness of the day. It was the thing to put all thoughts of
Consuela out of my head.

“
Dammit!
Josh! Andre! Someone answer me! Get out of my way!
”
Dad’s voice was
commanding now as he pushed gawkers out of his path. I tossed a glance his way,
seeing him almost in eye-shot of Blaire’s small body.

“I’ll
go get my car. The hospital isn’t that far. Ten minutes at best, fifteen with
traffic. It’ll be faster than waiting.” I feel my pants, trying to figure out
why my keys aren’t there. I always have my keys.