EPILOGUE

Christmas morning.

Red is Muñeca’s favorite color. I painted the bicycle candy-flake red and her mom got her a matching helmet. I sit on the back porch steps with my brother and Chinita, who holds the evil wiener dog in her arms. Together, we watch the little girl ride circles around and around on the driveway. Sunlight glitters on her helmet.

Eddie is enjoying a big plate of tamales, courtesy of Chinita. I hand him an ice-cold bottle of Eastside Pride.

“Yes. Break out that opener, homes.”

I reach into my pocket for my keys.

On the ring are the three keys from Dreamer and the key for my apartment in Burbank. But there are also keys to Vanessa’s house, where I spend two days a week. I’ve been upgraded from “Mommy’s Special Friend” to “Mommy’s Boyfriend,” which, I have to say, is pretty tight. I’ve given notice at both of my jobs in Santa Monica, so I’ll be turning in my keys for Serenity Day Spa and Defiance Gym next month when I start my studies at Greenbriar.

It’s unreal, the way my life has shaped up.

On my keychain is a new metal bottle opener, engraved with a rose—my last name, Rosas. Even cooler than that are the words engraved below it.

“From Vanessa. With Love.”

She gave the bottle opener to me last night after midnight mass, all wrapped up with a bow.

With my new baller-ass bottle opener, I pop open Eddie’s beer. The bottle releases a satisfying hiss. I watch my brother as he takes a long drink.

“Damn. That’s some good shit,” he says.

“Watch your language around my great-grandbaby, Eduardo,” Chinita scolds. She turns to me with an annoyed look on her face. “I like you, Sal, but your brother? I’m not so sure.”

Vanessa comes out of the house. “Are you guys ready to go?”

I stand up and give my girlfriend a kiss on the cheek. “Almost ready.”

Eddie shotguns the beer and puts his plate in the sink. I put on my jacket and pick up the poinsettia plant on the kitchen table.

“Okay, let’s go,” I say.

Chinita and Muñeca wave us off.

“Good luck!” Chinita calls as we back out of the driveway.

The Tierra del Sol Board and Care Facility is an orange stucco building on a busy street in Sunland. It’s not fancy, but the small garden by the front door is neat and the parking lot is swept up. I open the door for Vanessa and my brother and we walk to the reception desk. I hold the poinsettia in my hands.

There’s an Asian woman in scrubs behind the counter. “Good afternoon,” she says. “How may I help you?”

“Hello,” I say. “We’re here to visit Hortensia Rosas.”

The woman looks surprised. She searches our faces. “Oh,” she says.

“Is something wrong?” Vanessa asks.

“No, not at all. Mrs. Rosas doesn’t get many visitors, that’s all.” She pauses. “None, in fact.” She pushes a clipboard across the counter and asks us all to sign in. She checks our ID cards and gives us visitor stickers to put on.

“Follow me,” she says.

As she leads us down a long, sunny corridor, Eddie tries to chat her up. “So, working on Christmas, huh? That’s rough.”

“We’re a twenty-four-hour facility,” she replies.

“Are your patients all seniors?”

“Not all. But they are all adults. Many are living with Alzheimer’s disease and dementia. We have a trained medical staff and a doctor on call.”

The woman stops at the room at the end of the hall. “Wait here, please.” She knocks and goes inside. After a minute, she steps out and opens the door. “Okay. You can go in. If you need anything, just press the button by the side of the bed.” She turns and walks back down the hall.

I look at Vanessa. “Here we go.”

We step inside. It’s a simple bedroom, with a chest of drawers and a closet. There’s a private bathroom with a shower you can sit down in. Instead of a regular bed, there’s a hospital bed. There are no decorations in the room—no photos, no paintings.

By the window is a woman in a wheelchair. She’s dressed in a jogging suit. There’s a blanket over her lap. Someone has brushed and arranged her gray hair into a braid. She’s wearing lip gloss.

“Hello?” Eddie says.

She doesn’t move.

I put the poinsettia down on the nightstand.

We stand in a half circle in front of the woman. Her eyes are fixed on the wall behind us, as if we are aren’t there.

“Señora? Hortensia?” Vanessa says.

No response.

The woman’s hands are crossed in her lap. Her expression is not happy, not sad. She looks like she’s in deep concentration, lost in her own thoughts.

I study her face. She’s familiar—she has a square jaw, like mine. Her hair, where it escapes from the braid, is curly.

“I think,” I say, “I think this might be our grandmother.”

“But Dad said she died,” Eddie says. “Way back when he was sixteen.”

“The receipts in the binder went back fifteen years. He kept the binder in the storage unit where he didn’t want Mom to see it. Why?”

I look at Eddie, who shrugs.

“And an even bigger mystery—these places aren’t cheap,” Vanessa says. “Who’s been paying for her care since your dad passed away?”

We look at the woman in the wheelchair. I get down on my knees, reach forward and put my hand over hers. Her skin is warm. Because she hasn’t moved, I thought she’d be cold—cold like a statue. But she’s very much alive.

“Señora,” I say quietly, “my name is Salvador Rosas. This is my brother Eddie, and my girlfriend, Vanessa Velasco. My dad was Dreamer Rosas.” I struggle to remember my dad’s real name. He’s always been Dreamer to me. “José-Luis. Did you know José-Luis?”

The woman blinks, but she can’t see me. She says nothing.

Before we leave, Vanessa puts the red poinsettia on the chest of drawers where the old lady can see it. She straightens the blanket and lightly touches the woman’s shoulder.

“What a mystery,” Vanessa whispers.

With more questions than ever, we walk in silence back to the reception desk. We take off our visitor’s passes and put them in the trash. Before we leave, Vanessa stops and turns to the nurse.

“Excuse me,” she says. “Would it be possible to add my name as an emergency contact for Hortensia? I believe the primary emergency contact will be out of the country for a few months and you might not be able to get ahold of him.”

“Of course,” the woman says. “Let me pull up her file.”

Her fingers fly over the keyboard. An input form appears on the screen.

“Is the account paid through the next six months? Or through the next year?” Vanessa asks. She’s a genius, my girlfriend.

The woman scrolls down. “Uh, no. This particular account is paid month-to-month. Looks like by cashier’s check, received on the first.” More keyboard clacks. “Okay. What’s your phone number?”

Vanessa gives her number.

“And your email address?”

“Uh, it’s kind of complicated,” Vanessa says. “Can I type it in?”

“Yeah, sure. Enter it right there.” The woman slides the keyboard to Vanessa and turns the monitor so she can see it. Behind her, I sneak a peek at the existing emergency contact number and burn it into my memory.

“Thank you so much.” Vanessa returns the keyboard and turns the monitor back. We exchange a glance.

“Of course,” the woman says.

If someone has taken all this effort to care for Hortensia Rosas without leaving a trail of information, they will probably pick up the phone if Tierra del Sol calls. I clear my throat. “Sorry to be such a pain,” I say. “My phone ran out of battery. Could I borrow your phone really quick?”

The woman looks at me suspiciously. I can see what she’s thinking. Why not borrow Vanessa’s phone, or my brother’s phone? But her politeness wins out. She hands me the phone behind the desk.

“Dial 9 for an outside line,” she says.

Eddie and Vanessa watch me as I dial the emergency contact number. My heart is beating hard. My hands are cold.

On the second ring, someone picks up. “Hello?”

I shiver like a ghost just walked over my grave. I’d know that voice anywhere. “Dad?”

He hangs up on me.

I put down the phone.

Eddie and Vanessa stare at me.

“He’s alive,” I say. “Dreamer Rosas is alive.”