Epilogue: Canta y no llores
Saturday, June 21st, 2008.
It was the first day of summer by the calendar, and while that rarely coincided with the weather, the southland had escaped "June gloom" this year and it was beautiful – light breezes, clear skies, green grass and no school. Most families had either left for summer vacation by this point or were preparing their children for day camps and summer enrichment.
One particular household in Rolling Hills was celebrating the end of the school year – and a lot more – with a digital camera before they went out to dinner.
"Querido, hurry up before Diego does you-know-what!" Zulema yelled across the backyard.
"Yeah, Papi, come on!" Ana Maria called from her perch. She grinned down at Isabel, who was standing on the packed earth in front of the newly-rebuilt stable, content to pet Diego's nose for the moment. The older Cabrillo daughter had allowed her younger sister to have the first picture.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!"
Tomás Cabrillo jogged across the leveled and trimmed yard with his equipment, hardly breaking a sweat. Pepe, wagging his tail and yipping excitedly, was at his heels the whole way – the rescued German shepherd mix loved shiny technological objects almost as much as Tomás, as Zulema liked to joke. The dog turned his head at Zulema's whistle and trotted over to her. She pointed at the ground and he obediently flumped down on his rump in the grass, content to watch the goings-on while panting and lolling his tongue.
The Cabrillo patriarch stopped a few feet away. He kicked out the legs of the tripod, popped the camera on top and trained it on Ana Maria, where she sat in the saddle of their family's latest addition: a spotted pony. The girls had been begging for a few years now, the timing was right, and the ASPCA had what they wanted. They had just started riding lessons. And while Diego had a gentle gait and a wonderful disposition, Zulema's comment about "you-know-what" was no idle threat. He had already proven to be a lot of work in that regard. Tomás focused fast.
"Okay, here it goes … Ready? Three! Two! One!"
The flash went off and Tomás checked the picture on the screen. Diego was looking at the camera curiously and Ana Maria, riding atop him, was all smiles. She had a giant gap where her front teeth had been until a few weeks ago.
As Isabel helped Ana Maria down so she could change places and he got ready to take a few more shots, Tomás absently scratched a little itch on his chest. A two-inch scar was all that remained of his encounter with Pedro last August, the one that had nearly taken his life. He ended up in the hospital for a week and was unable to return to work for a month, but he'd never been so glad to wake up and see his wife and girls, and the news they had – that Pedro was dead, that they didn't have to worry about him anymore – it was like someone had lifted a cinderblock off his shoulders. He stood straighter now.
"Isabel, are you ready?"
"Yeah, I'm ready!"
He took another picture and stole a glimpse at his wife. Zulema stood straighter now too. She was a different woman without her brother looming over her. In fact, her first idea, once Tomás had gone back to work, was that they make some home improvements, because she wanted the inside of the house to match the outside. Gone were the silly sign and hideous "old west" façade, replaced by elegant landscaping, a cobbled footpath and a front done in white-gray stone. The stable was done and now had a happy occupant. Best of all, the money for all this was theirs. Tomás's hard work at the college had paid off. An aging full-time professor was retiring, so the department had started a search for a replacement and Tomás, on the basis of his outstanding teaching and writing, had proved to the hiring committee that they didn't need to look any further than one of their own part-timers.
"Okay, let's do a group one!" he said, focusing the camera and praying Diego wouldn't wander off or let fly. "Quick, come on!" he called to Zulema. "We have fifteen seconds!"
It was chaos as they arranged themselves around the pony. Ana Maria and Isabel giggled and tried to figure out how to share the saddle, Tomás and Zulema stood in front of the girls' legs, and Pepe fidgeted and snuffled until Zulema got him to sit again. The light on the camera started flashing really fast. It was about to go.
"Everybody smile!" Tomás said. He threw an arm around his happily surprised wife and the flash went off.
Andi Moreno stared at his laptop and blew out a breath. It wasn't that he had no idea what he wanted to write, it was just the phrasing that was hard. A fly buzzed in his ear and he lazily brushed it away. San Antonio in the summer was hot and kind of sticky, but he'd played his cards right today. He was lounging on a couch on the netted back porch – his back porch; he'd just bought this funky old Victorian in the King William neighborhood two months ago – with a cold beer and wireless internet. He was alone for the moment, because if he knew Cici (and he did) she was sobbing in the kitchen before coming out to see him again.
"Dear Liz," he tapped out, hunting and pecking. "I did what you said, and you were right. She said yes! I have to tell Mama and Dad, but they're away for the weekend, so I'll have to wait until they get back. But I'm getting married, and I couldn't wait to tell you. Love, Andi." He read it over and took a swig of beer as he waited for Cici to come out again.
The last time he'd actually spoken to Liz in person had been on the phone last year in September. Pedro Mata was dead, she said, and while it turned out that Güero was working undercover for the federal government and they obviously couldn't arrest him, the whole organization had been blown, key players taken out, and it was rapidly falling apart. He remembered the weirdest little things about the call. He'd been resting in bed with the phone to his ear and his hand shook so hard at the news that he dropped the receiver into the folds of the comforter and it took him a minute to find it. Liz had sent e-mails since with updates on the case: raids that cleared out the last known associates, big arrests, etc. It had always been positive news. He figured he might as well return the favor. San Anto had been good to him – he'd taken a position with the field office and had a house (and now a fiancée) to show for it.
Just then, the screen door squeaked and Agent Cecilia Hernandez came barreling out. Even in her grubby weekend clothes she was a knockout – tall, lean and tan. At work she was professional, up one cubicle and over two. At home she was funny with a ready smile. And now she was engaged. Her mascara was a mess and a diamond glittered brilliantly on her finger. Without a word, she planted one on his lips and pulled back.
"I love you," she said simply and firmly. "We should stay in tonight."
Andi nodded with a grin. That was Cici – passionate and direct. She got up and walked back into the house, leaving him out on the porch. He looked back at his e-mail, realizing he hadn't sent it. So he added his phone number and one last sentence:
"PS: Call me at your convenience."
At the moment that Andi sent the e-mail, Liz was on the road, sitting pretty in the passenger seat of Don's Suburban with her fingers laced over her belly. Don was driving and the back seat was taken up with a massive cooler. The sun was nearing the horizon, lighting up the sky with pinks and reds as they drove carefully up the wide, tree-lined street in eastern Pasadena. She looked down at herself, unable to help her nervous grin. There was absolutely no hiding it anymore. Between the glow, the expanding tummy and the flats, people were talking like crazy at the office. Don had shot them all down with "the look" and she'd done the same because it was really nobody's business, but it was bound to be a surprise to their host. She glanced at her chauffeur in profile. His aviator sunglasses were glinting in the warm light and that green t-shirt she'd bought him a few weeks ago was stretched very nicely under a light jacket.
"Hey, what's the address again?" Don asked, as they hung a right onto Paloma Street. "I can't remember the number."
"Um …" Liz fished in her bag and came up with a scrap of paper. "Twenty-six thirteen," she read. Don started to hunt for the numbers painted on the curbs. "Everybody's coming?"
"That's the word on the street," Don said, squinting into the distance. "Although David's probably gonna be a little late. You know the traffic from Venice." He shook his head. "I keep telling him he should move, but he's just so stuck on it."
"Well, he likes the area," Liz gently defended him. "He'll move when he's ready."
"Yeah, I guess so." They paused for the stop sign and Don shot her a calculating, mischievous look. "What's up with you?"
"There's nothing up with me," she said, a little surprised that he'd picked up on her nervousness, and wondered if he'd seen her stare.
"Yes there is … you're too quiet. What is it?"
So she seized her chance, gripping the collar of that brand-new shirt and pulling a wide-eyed, surprised Fed over the center console for a kiss. It was a good thing Don had his foot on the brake. She broke off and grinned cheekily at him.
"That," she said.
Don licked his lips, hid his elevated heart rate well enough, and nodded sagely. "All right, I'll take that."
They rolled through the intersection.
"God, she's worse than Margaret," Alan muttered to himself, checking his watch. He walked over to the bottom of the half-flight of stairs and called, "Millie! What are you waiting for … Godot? We gotta get outta here!"
There was a laugh from the bathroom. "I'm coming, Alan!"
Alan rolled his eyes. Millie had said the same thing ten minutes ago, but if she didn't get a move-on then they'd be late for the party. He strolled around the airy living room, wandering by the contemporary sofa set and side-stepping the plush rug, and looked out the giant front window at the spectacular view. This hilltop condo in Silverlake had run him a pretty penny, but thanks to Charlie's purchase of the Craftsman a few years ago and his consulting business taking a successful turn, it had all worked out. He'd bought the place in January. Millie had been a regular visitor ever since.
The click of heels announced her approach and Alan turned around.
"All right, let's get this show on the road," Millie said around the bobby pin in her mouth. She hitched up her bra strap under her sundress, snagged her bag off the couch and stuck the final pin somewhere in her up-do. The light was hitting her just so, and Alan blinked. For a second, he was at a loss for words.
"You um … you look lovely," he said, stepping over to admire her. "Shall we?"
Millie smiled. "Sure. Where's the potato salad?"
One of the many good things Alan could say about Millie was that she remembered stuff that he tended to forget when he was looking at her.
"Ya see, I knew I forgot something. It's in the kitchen," he said. "I'll go get it."
"Charlie, come on!" Amita called from where she waited in the driveway. "My hands are freezing!"
"Sorry, sorry," Charlie returned, coming out the front door of the house and locking it behind him, balancing a cardboard box full of glass bottles – juices and liquor – on one knee. "I had to make sure the computer was off."
He pointed his remote at the Prius and unlocked it. Amita, who was holding a giant bag of ice, immediately opened the back door and flung it onto the seat. She started shaking out her arms as Charlie added the clanking box.
"And here I thought that would feel good," she grumbled, brushing some stray bits of condensation off her dress. "It's been so hot lately."
Charlie, who was staring at her red dress, murmured "Not half as hot as you."
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," he sing-songed, jogging around to the drivers' side. Amita rolled her eyes with good humor and opened the passenger door.
At seven o'clock an Acura parked on Paloma Street and Megan and Larry climbed out. She looked like a swan in her white sundress and Larry was dressed casually in shorts, a shirt, and (Megan had been unable to dissuade him), sandals with socks. A car door slammed across the street. The neighborhood was hopping; about six doors down a large party was in full swing, so a few more cars wouldn't be noticed. Megan spotted Don's car, Charlie's Prius, and Millie's hatchback a little bit up the road. Larry pulled out their contribution to the festivities (chips, dips, and salsa) from the back seat as David crossed over to them, looking very relaxed in tan pants and a white linen shirt, bearing something yummy. It was hiding under a domed cover. Megan had expected a certain pretty medical examiner to be riding with him, but he was alone.
"Hey, Miami Vice, what's up?" she greeted him with a smile. "Where's Claudia?"
David grinned at her little jab and shook his head. "Ah, she couldn't make it. She had a family thing out-of-state. So it's just me tonight."
Megan nodded. "Need any help, or is this it?" she asked, motioning at what he held.
"Nope, I've got it," he said. "Let's go. Hi, Larry."
"Hello, David," the physicist returned cheerfully, wrestling with a particularly slippery bag of chips. Megan caught one of the salsas before he lost it, and took the homemade onion dip too as a precaution.
Cars locked and armed with food, they marched up the long walkway from the street and up the single step to the porch. The house was a nice little brick number with a pretty oak door, colorful flowerbeds, big front windows, and a well-trimmed lawn. A large, lovely old tree in the yard shaded the facade nicely.
Megan rang the bell and looked around appreciatively.
"So this is what severance pay buys you," she said. "Not too bad."
"I'd say on the whole, he deserves it," David said.
"True," she replied.
Locks fell away on the inside and the door opened. A man, as nicely dressed as they were, gave them a shy smile. His familiar face looked slightly angular under his natural brown hair and his hazel eyes were sparkling.
"Hi," he said. "Come on in."
He ushered them into the foyer and closed the door. Megan immediately put down the dips and threw her arms around him for a second, finally stepping back to give David some room. He greeted Clark like an old friend while Larry and Megan looked around, and Megan again nodded in approval – Clark's decorating sense was pretty good. She'd expected to see a larger version of his bachelor pad, but everything was clean and masculine and most of it actually matched. She was impressed.
"Make yourselves at home, guys," Clark said.
"Okay," Megan replied, and kicked off her high-heeled sandals, getting a smile from her host. She stood barefoot on the plush carpet, a dopey smile ticking onto her face.
"Hey, I thought I heard something out here!" Alan greeted them as he walked into the entryway. "Glad you all made it. Don and Charlie are out back with the barbecue, and Millie is um … supervising."
"Where should we put the food, Alan?" Larry asked.
"Oh, outside. Come on, follow me."
"Yay," Megan said, juggling the dips, snagging her slingbacks, and trailing Larry and David through the polished wood kitchen. "I can't wait to eat. What do you guys have cooking out there?"
"Go see for yourself," Alan said mischievously, pointing them at the screen door that led to the backyard.
Clark watched them go and smiled. He'd started teaching at Rose High in November when a sick teacher had been forced to resign, and he'd kept it up all the way through June. His first year had been a mixed bag, and he wasn't at all sure about a second, but at least his life was finally on track. The army had honorably discharged him in January and he used most of his savings to get this little house in the bag. April had been a very good month. He'd wanted to have a small party then, but the team had been in the middle of a case and he'd been in the middle of the semester.
There was nothing stopping them now, though. He followed Megan through the kitchen and out the screen door to the backyard, a tiny shaded paradise. It was one of the main reasons he'd settled on this house. Under one string of lights - miniature hanging lanterns of hammered copper - there was a barbecue (being manned by the Eppes brothers). The opposite side held a very small swimming pool (under construction) and in the middle a picnic table was set for ten, where Alan and Liz were making themselves comfortable while Amita got the punch ready. Best of all, the yard sported high trees on all sides, hiding everything from neighbors' prying eyes.
Millie looked up from her lounge chair, sipped her drink, and waved at the new arrivals. "Hi everybody," she said cheerfully.
David and Megan greeted her as they set down their food on a table near the grill, which was already packed with barbecue fixings and plastic service ware, and wandered over to the table and barbecue to say hi to everyone else.
"Hey Larry, nice socks," Millie giggled.
Larry looked down. "Oh my, have I committed a fashion faux pas? Should I have only worn sandals?"
"Eh, just take it all off and get your feet green," Alan said from the table.
"Yeah, see? The grass is nice!" Megan said, and wiggled her now verdant toes at him.
"Larry, can I get you something? A beer?" Charlie asked from where he stood sentry at the grill.
"Ice water, please," Larry said calmly. He sat down right there on the grass, took off his shoes and sandals, and grinned at Megan, who smiled back.
"Okay, who's ready to eat?" Don asked, stepping over. He dusted his hands on a sauce-smeared apron. "We've got steak and chicken going, but Charlie can throw on some hotdogs if anybody's interested." Charlie nodded his assent.
The whole party put in their orders. After a leisurely dinner and spectacular dessert (it turned out David had brought lemon cake) they were all pleasantly full, leaning back from the picnic table, talking and laughing over drinks and cocktails. Soft music was playing on a small radio near the barbecue, and some candles on the table kept the darkness at bay, flickering warm light on everyone's faces.
" … And they never asked me to coach track again," Clark finished. "Which was probably a good thing, cuz man … wow."
The party laughed.
"So on the whole, how was your school year?" Don asked, sipping his Bohemia.
He only asked because the team hadn't completely ignored Tenbrook's warning. After Clark was well enough to leave Larry's place and find a rental and a job, they'd only been in touch a few times. In fact, that was one of the things that had prompted this party – they had a weekend off, he was through for the year, and everybody wanted to see how everybody else was doing.
"Well, in all honesty, I'm glad it's over," Clark said. He took a sip of his watermelon mojito, delightfully melty and half-finished. "I kind of wanted to kill myself in the middle."
That comment got a few grins and a snort from Megan. "What? Why? I thought you wanted to teach."
"Oh, I did too. See, it's not the kids," he explained. "The kids, for the most part, are great. And it's not the subject. I love the subject."
"So what is it?"
Clark sighed. "The pay sucks, the hours blow, all the school materials are out-of-date … what else? Oh yeah, my principal is out to get me. And the program at SUELA? Man, talk about soul-sucking. I've been going part-time. See, the school let me in with the CBEST on the condition that I get my credential, so I've been working on that, but…" He broke off and shuddered. "It's gross. It's so gross. It makes Quantico look like a walk in the park."
Most of the assembled laughed. Megan scratched an itch on her shoulder and eyed Don. Don looked around at the gathered party, exchanging a look with Megan, David, and Liz, who delicately sipped her virgin piña colada. A slight nod from her was all it took.
"So … are you going back next year?" Don asked carefully.
Clark shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, on the one hand I'm not having a good time, but on the other hand, I don't want to become a statistic."
"What statistic is that?" Charlie asked, perking up at the mention of math.
"New teachers in California," Clark said. "One in three quits after the first year. Don, why do you ask?"
Don plowed ahead. "Well, I was just … um … well look, we've all had a lot of time to cool off and think about stuff since last August," he began. "And I don't know if you noticed, but the team is gonna be short an agent pretty soon."
That was a heck of a way to put it. Megan smiled and Liz laughed outright.
"What Don means is that he knocked me up, so I won't be in the field for a while."
Everybody laughed except Don, who made a show of crossing his arms and not looking at her. She threw an arm around him and he dropped the act. They had all noticed Liz's pregnancy of course, and Clark had been particularly delighted to see her waddling up to the house.
"Yeah, I figured that out," Clark said. "So Don, you uh, you do know that you're supposed to marry the girl and then get her pregnant, right?" he asked with a sly look.
"Oh shut up," Don lobbed at him, but without any heat.
"We did in fact explain this to him, Clark," Alan said with great authority, belied by a wink and a grin as he sipped his margarita. The former engineer had clearly worked out an equation with regards to his eldest son, and it was plain that as long as 'x' equalled grandchildren, he didn't give a hoot about the order of operations. "Went right over his head."
Millie snorted into her own margarita, and the rest of the assembled tried to hide their amusement with their drinks.
"Dad," Don warned.
"Anyway," David said pointedly, catching everyone's attention, "We can probably back-date most of your Quantico stuff. It would be a lot of paperwork, and make no mistake, most of it'll be on you … but it could be done."
And Clark snapped back to the here-and-now. He blinked at them. "Wait a minute. Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
"We could use your help," Megan said quietly, and chewed on her lip.
There was a pause while Clark took all this in. He was silent as he looked around the table. David met his eyes with confidence. He glanced at Larry and Megan, their faces faintly hopeful. Charlie and Amita, squeezed together on the bench so they touched, regarded him with matching smiles. Alan and Millie looked at him in curious expectation and Don and Liz were keeping their faces carefully blank and neutral, but a slight movement from Liz told him that she'd taken Don's hand and was probably squeezing it.
And that was when it hit him. He was really part of something here. He wasn't an idiot – he'd always known that in some respect – and he knew what they'd done for him. But this … this was final proof that he didn't just have coworkers or good friends. He had something more.
"Hey, count me in," he said.
There were nods of approval from the FBI and CalSci teams. "Ah, glad you saw it our way," Don said, breaking into a smile. "I thought we'd have to twist your arm or something."
"No way. I'm going willingly," Clark declared. "So hey," he went on, standing up, "Thank you all for coming over, and uh, warmin' my house." And my life, he added in his head. "Salud."
"Salud!" everyone else cheered.
They all moved at once and toasted with gusto, causing some spills and laughter. Charlie brushed beer off his shirt, Don licked some stray margarita off his face, and Millie went to go get napkins, although Alan tried to beat her to them. Clark sat back and watched as conversation broke out anew. It was well after sunset by now, and the crickets were peeping in the darkness of the hedges, but all around him there was warmth and light.
Canta y no llores indeed. He finished his mojito in two gulps and got up to mix himself another.
VALE.
Final Note:
Vale (BAH-leh) basically means "That'll do it" in Latin. It is found, among other places, on the last page of the novel Don Quixote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes, one of my favorite works. Hey, this story is called "Canta y no llores." I was supposed to sign off with "Da End?" Chale. :D
Also, I must take a second and apologize for the inaccurate genre category of this tale. I have come to realize that I don't write stories – I write soup. Many disparate elements managed to worm their way in to what started out as a simple plot, so thank you for riding along on this mysterious, action-packed, comically romantic drama. Hope you had fun.
Shout Outs:
To Zubeneschamali ("Z") who was with me on this lunatic endeavor from Day One despite her heavy work schedule and her own writing. (People, get out there and read her stuff – it's absolutely amazing.) She has my sincerest thanks for her terrific beta-reading and support.
To the reviewers, particularly those who rocked out with this and hit basically every chapter with enthusiasm and aplomb. You folks all have my deepest gratitude.
To Lady Shelley, for maintaining Running the Numb3rs. Without the site, I would not have known that Liz is 1/16 Cherokee or the name of Colby Granger's hometown, so thank you for your excellent research. :D
To everybody, have a spectacular holiday season and keep watching NUMB3RS – even the reruns! As I type this it is December 19, 2007 and I'm hoping that the writers' strike ends soon. And by soon, I mean next Tuesday. (yells) Think you folks can swing that deadline? (checks) They're … Yeah, they're not listening to me. They're still picketing. I think we're on our own here.
Oh, well. I've got some outlines and ideas for more stories (read: nonsense scribbled on napkins and scratch paper), and lots of amazingly talented and prolific authors are publishing every day. So have no fear. We'll all scrape together enough words to tide us over until there's more show.
And … I guess that's it. In the words of Charlie Eppes: "Peace, Love, and Math."
Happy Holidays,
Kiki