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Ella had been to church exactly three times since Charlotte died. Twice for baptisms and once for a funeral. So she wasn’t exactly psyched when her brother, Jay—in town for work—decided to stay for Día de los Muertos. She was even less psyched when he dragged her, hungover, to an early Mass at St. Catherine’s on Día de los Inocentes. But she'd been tired, and he'd been insistent, so she'd given in. Where Jay’s sudden interest in attending Mass had come from, she didn’t know. He was dutiful at home, but she’d never known him to go out of his way to worship on the road.
St. Catherine’s was a mixed parish. The service rang with All Saints’ tradition, but the priest also dropped nods to the angelitos, the spirits of the little children venerated by the day. Trying not to let her mind engage, Ella let the words and pageantry flow past her. As a child she’d always been connected with this day. Ever since she was eight . . . since the night of the wreck . . . since rain and headlights, screeching tires and rending metal . . . since the week in the hospital. She would save her money all year in a tootsie-roll-can bank decorated with praying angels from a sticker book she’d gotten in catechism. Coins her abuela had pressed into her palm on Sundays; pennies found on the sidewalk on the way to school; crisp dollar bills received in birthday cards folded until they fit down the slot. Then, at the end of October, she’d count up her loot, note the total in her diary. At the market on the corner, and the little “store” set up in a display case next to the principal’s office, and at the stand Miguel set up on the sidewalk at the traffic light before the entrance to the expressway, she’d browse, browse, browse. Figure it to the penny, and then spend her cash.
By today, she would’ve had a backpack full of sweets and petals, plastic flowers and little toys. She’d leave some at the ofrenda her class built in the art room for the forgotten angelitos. She’d leave more at the altar her tio and tia built for her cousin Carlos, whom she’d never met. She’d pester one of her brothers to take her to Holy Cross Cemetery—or bike herself when she was older. She’d wander from ofrenda to ofrenda, looking at the plastic-covered pictures of children she’d never known. She’d try to guess what kind of candy they’d liked, or if they’d prefer finger handcuffs or a baseball card or maybe a Muppet Baby saved from a Happy Meal.
Everyone had already thought she was a weird kid anyway, and her abuela had encouraged her for her kind heart. As for Ella, she knew what she would have wanted on her one day visiting Earth each year. If she hadn’t been saved by a firefighter and a paramedic and a surgeon. She wanted to make their day perfect. But she also knew all the angelitos were okay, because they spent the rest of the year in Heaven with Our Father and his angels.
She gazed at the hymnals and missals in the pew racks to avoid Jay’s sharp look when she didn’t get up for communion. It wasn’t simply that she’d lost faith in the goodness of it all. No, it was a fairytale she'd used to make herself feel better. At last, they reached the concluding rite.
"May almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” the priest intoned, making the sign of the cross. “Go forth.”
The faithful responded “thanks be to God” all around Ella.
She felt empty as the priest venerated the altar with a kiss, and he and the deacon formed a procession toward the exit. The congregation picked up the recessional hymn that’d been selected for All Saints Day, and the yawning in the pit of Ella’s stomach intensified.
The crowd shuffled and came to life. Most gathered their belongings and headed for the exit, while some stayed to pray, and others moved to light candles at shrines. Jay and Ella fell into the line leaving. It moved slowly, too slowly, as the priest greeted the exiting faithful individually. She itched to push past, into the fresh air. When at last they reached the door, Ella ducked her head at the priest’s greeting and hurried down the wide steps, taking in a huge lungful of crisp autumn.
Jay was right behind her, and she did not want to talk to him. He’d been eyeing her throughout the service, he’d seen she wasn’t wearing her cross, and now she hadn’t taken communion. “Listen, Jay, I’ve gotta get to work,” she said, inching toward her car.
“Can’t we grab a coffee, Ella? It’s been a while, and”—he ran a hand through his hair—“I want to catch up.”
Deep down, she wanted to say no, but he was her brother, and what would her abuela say, and . . . she was a pushover. “Sure, Jay, yeah, of course. If we’re quick, I have time.” She caught her hand reaching for the cross she’d taken off yesterday. Silly, she thought. I don’t need support to talk to my brother, and I don’t need that.
Ella balanced the little spoon—first right side up, then upside down—over her empty coffee cup. She and Jay had run through the family updates. She hadn’t asked about work. She’d believed him—she did, really she did—when he’d said the whole mess last year had been a onetime thing, stupid, stupid, stupid. He was her big brother, the one who made sure she stayed in school and steered clear of the worst kinds of trouble. The one the whole family looked up to. The one who made her believe she could live a good life. He was a good person, even if he’d gotten into something he shouldn’t have, same as anyone could. She believed in him. But believing . . . believing was . . . she didn’t ask him, and really, why would she? It wasn’t like she’d asked Lucifer too many questions about his non-grave grave. Or Margaret-the-chicken about what happened to Bob-the-turtle, for that matter.
“What time do you get off work?” he asked. “I was thinking we could go to a cemetery; you know, like we used to? Not one of the ones you have out here that makes a touristy holiday out of it. A real one.”
“I don’t know, Jay.” Her stomach dropped at the thought of going to a cemetery, lighting candles, leaving gifts, when all of it was pointless. She’d poured so much energy over the years into something that meant nothing. “That was a long time ago . . .”
“Oh, come on, Ella! You know I follow you on Insta. You still go every year!” He was grinning and teasing, and she couldn’t tell him she didn’t believe. That she’d had the epiphany—while high and defusing a bomb—that God doesn’t exist. “Please, pretty please, pretty please with a calaveritas de azúcar on top?”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Fine, fine. But I don’t get off until four o’clock, and I don’t have time to buy anything.”
“That’s okay. I’m free all afternoon. I’ll take care of it, sis.” He grinned, shoulders relaxing at her acquiescence.
The cemetery he named was a traditional one and would be a long drive from the precinct in traffic. Really, if she had to be there, she’d have preferred one for the tourists with a DJ playing past midnight. Noise, and drinks, and hardly anyone who believed.
“All right, Jay. It was really good to see you this morning, but I really gotta get going. Don’t want to be late if I need to get out of the precinct on time.”
Jay crossed himself, and his eyes darted around the coffeeshop.
Ella huffed a little laugh, but it died off when she realized he was serious. She turned her head sideways, looking her brother up and down pointedly. “What’s gotten into you, Jay?”
He leaned forward, and spoke, voice hushed, “I don’t like you working there.”
“What? At the LAPD? Don’t be crazy, Jay.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. You aren’t in trouble again, are you?”
He shook his head hard. “It’s not that. I just want you to be safe is all.”
She gaped at him.
“Never mind,” he muttered. “Maybe we can talk more later.”
Ella plastered on a smile and gave him a good squeeze before heading to her car.
The evidence lab was too quiet first thing in the morning. Ella hummed a few bars of Mr. Brightside, as she dropped her messenger bag on the light table. She yanked open the drawer under the table and snagged the white nest of her earbuds with her little finger. They sprang up into her hand, and she turned to close the drawer with her hip. A glint caught her eye. The cross she’d tucked in the drawer after her revelation talking to Dan. Her smile faltered for a moment, and she slid a pad of post-it notes over it before thumping the drawer firmly with her hip. It clanked closed just as Chloe peeked her head into the lab.
Ella smiled and waved Chloe in. “Hey, Decker! What can I do for you? The blood analysis for the Moore case hasn’t come in. Oh, did you get a chance to check out Star Trek Discovery yet?” She worked through the knots in her earbuds as she talked.
“Ah . . . no. Haven’t had a chance yet. Actually—”
“Oh, man! You’re going to love it. I can’t wait for you to watch. Then we can talk about . . . nope! No spoilers!” Ella began wrapping the untangled cord around her hand.
“Yeah, for sure,” Chloe said. “But in the meantime, I was wondering, what are you up to this weekend? Dan has Trixie, and I was hoping to have a girls night?”
Ella brightened. Any excuse to get out. “Sounds perfect! Saturday good? I’ve got Sunday Funday plans with some of the girls from my Backyard and Bathtub Chicken Meetup.”
“Saturday’s great!” Chloe’s head bobbed a few too many times.
“Aww, girl. It’s been a tough couple weeks, I know. Drinks are just what you need. Meet at seven, then? Lux?”
Chloe stiffened. “I was thinking maybe somewhere . . . a little more casual.”
Ella fixed her smile in place. Things were tough again for Deckerstar, and Chloe was obviously not as okay with Eve as she pretended. “Sure. I know this great dive with dancing and karaoke in Culver City.”
“Perfect! Text me the address, and l’ll let everyone else know. It’ll be fun.” Chloe’s smile was easier as she backed out the door. “Oh, and let me know when the Moore analysis comes in.”
“You got it!”
Ella’s smile slipped away after Chloe left. Without distractions, a weight settled in place of her usual cheer. The next best thing was burying herself in work, and so she did.
It was almost noon when Lucifer barged into the lab with a “good morning, Ms. Lopez!”
“Hey, Lucifer,” she answered from behind her microscope under which she was examining fibers. Definitely not consistent. She pulled back. “How’s it going this fine morning?”
He shrugged and perched on the edge of the light table. “Was hoping for a lead instead of more boring paperwork. It was hard enough to tear myself away this morning. You would not believe the costume my naughty girlfriend came up with this time. And that on top of our little adventure at the zoo last night!”
Ella made a note for the fiber analysis then dropped her pen and pushed the report away. “Okay, spill. I could really use the distraction today.”
He opened his mouth and took a breath to launch in, but he stopped, giving her a sharp look instead. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing . . .” Ella tried. But the words poured out. “It’s just my brother Jay is in town, and—”
Ella cut off when Lucifer’s expression darkened.
“Don’t worry, Lucifer. It’s not like he’s going to get roped into a crazy diamond-heist-murder twice. He knows he screwed up, and he wouldn’t let it happen again. He’s a good person. It was just a stupid, stupid mistake.”
“I hope so, Ms. Lopez,” he murmured. “For your sake, at least.”
“Aaaaanyway . . . he wants me to go to Saint Joseph Cemetery tonight for the holiday. And, you know, I haven’t been, well, you know, since . . .” She was wringing her hands and stopped, shoving them into her pockets. “I’m not sure if I want to go, you know? I mean, I want to hang out with Jay while he’s in town, but he’s been way, way, way more into the religious stuff lately, and it’s so awkward, because it’s just when I’m not anymore, and I don’t want to have to explain, but I don’t want to have to pretend either, and I . . .” She ran out of breath mid-ramble.
“Then don’t go, Ms. Lopez.” He was looking out the lab window, toward Chloe’s desk.
“But it’s just—it would hurt his feelings, and he doesn’t visit me very often, and I don’t want it getting back to my abuelita . . .”
He turned his gaze back to her, eyebrow quirking up. “Then . . . go?”
She sighed, leaning her elbows on the table and dropping her head into her hands where she shook it. “I’m sorry, Lucifer. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Siblings.” His lip curled like he’d tasted something foul. “I certainly wouldn’t judge anyone for avoiding them.”
“I know! You should come with me. He won’t want to talk about personal stuff with a stranger there. Will you?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Please? Pretty please?”
He sighed. “I suppose, in this case, I could,” he said as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll just text Eve and tell her she can get the party started without me.”
Ella’s stomach sank. “Oh, no, you have plans. You don’t have to miss them for me, really.” She pasted on what she hoped was an approximation of enthusiasm. “Party hearty, man. The revel waits for no one.”
But he hit send with a flourish and dropped his phone back into his pocket. “No trouble at all. The party will still be going at whatever time I return.”
He looked . . . tired.
She waved her hand at him. “It’s really okay if you’d rather . . .”
“It’s not a problem.” He shrugged, turning to go. “I imagine this is at least partly my fault anyway.”
Her brows drew together, but he waved her off as he headed out the door.
“Be ready to go at four!” she yelled to his back.
The sun hung low when they arrived at St. Joseph’s. Inside the gates, Jay was manning a volunteer station. He sat at a folding table behind a sign advertising 25-cent packets of pedals and champurrado for a-dollar-a-styrofoam-cup. He made change for a young family from a dented cashbox Ella bet had been serving the parish as long as she’d been alive.
Ella waved to get his attention when the family walked away from the table.
He grinned when he saw her, but the smile slipped away as soon as his gaze slid to Lucifer. Jay jumped up like he’d been bitten, the folding chair clattering to the ground behind him.
“I’ve been good!” he blurted, crossing himself.
“Have you, now?” Lucifer asked, and Ella shot him a look before turning back to her brother.
“What’s gotten into you, Jay? You look like abuelita caught you stealing cookies from the tin.” Ella started to laugh, but it stuck in her throat at Jay’s expression.
Something was very wrong as he rounded the table and darted in to grab her hand. His fingers were sweaty as he held hers, tight and insistent.
“Come on, Ella. We need to go now.” He backs toward the gate to the street, yanking her arm.
Her boots skittered a few steps down the path under the force of his efforts, hurting her shoulder. Ella dug in her heals. “No, Jay. Stop it, please.” Her hand fell from his when he didn’t stop his retreat even when she didn’t follow.
“Ella, please. You don’t understand. I’ll . . .” His eyes darted to Lucifer again, who stuffed his hands in his pocket and raised an eyebrow. “Just come with me. I’ll . . . take you to dinner. It’ll be great.” Ella threw her glance back to Lucifer. “Just the two of us,” Jay insisted.
Lucifer shrugged. “By all means. Enjoy your meal."
“Jay Alejandro Lopez.” Ella put her hands on her hips. “What’s gotten into you? I thought you wanted to celebrate the holiday. You’re the one who insisted we come out here!”
He’d been backing up while she spoke, hesitating only as he reached the gate. “I’m sorry, Ella. Please.” And like that he was gone.
Ella turned from the empty gates to Lucifer, who bore a perturbed look. “I’m really sorry about him.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
Lucifer opened his mouth, but shut it without answering.
“What? Come on, Lucifer? What do you know?” She put her hands together in a pleading gesture. “You know I won’t stop bugging you until you tell me, right?”
“He’s scared of the Devil, I’m afraid.”
“Come on,” she scoffed, punching his arm. “Seriously.”
He looked at the spot she’d hit, offended. “Seriously, Ms. Lopez. Although one might hope he’d be a little more concerned for his sister in that case.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Right, yeah. Of course.”
Picking up the cash box, she scanned the yard until she spotted a deacon speaking to a family outside the Internment Chapel. She hesitated a few feet away until the family moved on and then pressed the box into the minister’s hands. He glanced at the empty volunteer table and opened his mouth. The last thing she was interested in was a conversation.
“Sorry! He had to go. Um. Best of luck tonight!” Eager to escape the awkwardness, she darted toward one of the burial sections.
“Doing all right, Ms. Lopez?” The quiet words came from just over her shoulder.
An “eep” might or might not have escaped her lips. “Lucifer! Don’t scare me like that, dude.”
“Have you heard the one about the priest and the cash box?”
Holding up her hand, she said, “If this is going to be a PayPal joke, you can just stop now.”
His epic moue made her roll her eyes.
Dark was falling and, around them, families were packing up their blankets and camping chairs and picnics and trickling out. Yet many still stayed as the sky fell to a deeper blue. A breeze blew crisp, brown leaves from the valley oak overhead across the well-swept path. Several candles at ofrendas flickered out.
She and Lucifer strolled down a smaller path, toward the cemetery’s edge. A boy Ella guessed was around four or five darted in front of them, and an older kid, laughing, followed on his heels. Lucifer stopped, scoffing at the display, and Ella laughed. The younger boy squealed, kicking his legs and squirming as he was caught and tossed over the older boy’s shoulder.
“I used to love this day,” Ella told Lucifer. She reached again for her missing cross. “Like, logically, I know nothing has to change. This day is for the families even if . . . none of it is real.” She glanced at the mother with two young girls and an older man sitting on a colorful patchwork blanket to their left.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lopez.”
She tilted her head, crinkling up her nose. “It’s not your fault.”
They turned a corner and walked a path along the old stone marking the edge of the yard. It was quiet on this stretch, no families, no laughing children.
They passed an ofrenda to her right. The candles had all gone out except one, but a picture of a teenage boy was still visible, matchbox cars and sugar skulls lining its base. She stumbled where a root upturned the asphalt path.
Lucifer’s hand caught her elbow. He looked lost in thought. “I can’t help but worry it is,” he said.
Ella tried to rewind the conversation. “Wait. What?”
“Your loss of faith. I can’t help but feel responsible.”
Ella gaped. “I know you, uh, take this stuff seriously. The method acting and all.” She bit her lip. “And I don’t mean to assume, I mean, maybe you do believe . . . but none of this is because of you.”
Lucifer shook his head. “I never meant to interfere in your belief.”
“Oh, Lucifer, buddy, no.”
When she wrapped her arms around him, he stiffened as usual, but loosened enough to pat her back. He was still fussing with his suit and looking utterly bewildered when she started walking again. He followed.
“It’s just everything”—she gestured around her in frustration—“everything I’ve seen in my job, everything that’s happened to the people I care about. I tried to make it make sense for so long, but when Charlotte died, I just couldn’t anymore.”
“Ms. Lopez—”
“Or maybe that’s wrong. Maybe it started with Jay. I wanted to believe him when he told me the diamonds were a one time thing. So I did. Chose to. Mostly. But, come on, I’m not stupid. What are the odds, right? But I pretended, mostly for myself. He got straight—that I do believe—and I figured it was all part of God’s plan. A test, right? That’s what I told myself.” She took a deep breath. “But then Charlotte was killed like a month later, and her killer turned out to be Pierce. And I’d put my faith in him, too. I mean, it was practically my fault he and Chloe were dating. I was all arms, and hubba hubba, and Pecker babies . . .”
When she glanced at Lucifer he looked . . . pained.
“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to bring that up; it’s just I felt so guilty. All because I had faith in the wrong person, again.”
“Don’t, please.”
“Don’t what?”
“Feel guilty, Ms. Lopez. The Detective . . . she makes her own decisions, and, again, I fear I bear more responsibility there than you.”
“Awwww. I appreciate you saying that, but I . . . I wasn’t a good friend. And then it seemed like one bad thing after another, and I just…how could He let that happen, you know? I’ve been faithful since I was a little girl, and I trusted Him to guide me. Yet all these bad things kept happening, and it seemed like my trust was never in the right place.”
“You can’t blame yourself for His silence; He doesn’t even talk to His own children.” Lucifer grimaced, eyes turned upward.
A couple turned the corner, arm in arm, heading their way. Ella and Lucifer stepped off the path to let them pass.
“But I still thought He was there, you know? Even though I was mad at Him. Like, really mad. But that night at your club with the bomber…?”
He snorted. “Believe me, I remember. That little display with you and Eve will be feeding my fantasies for the next few millennia, I assure you.”
Ella’s cheeks flushed with heat. “Ugh. Never mind that. No, after. Chloe sent me to defuse the bomb, and I kept expecting God to give me a sign, get me through. But you know what? There was nothing.”
Her manic energy seeped out all at once, and she plopped on the ground next to a decorated grave. Lucifer crouched across the petals from her, adjusting the fall of his pants as he did so. She nearly giggled at the thought of him sitting in the dirt, which, of course, he didn’t.
After a moment, he said: “If it helps at all, Ms. Lopez, I had faith you’d defuse the bomb.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why. I was coked out of my skull, and that was on top of the molly.”
He scoffed. “Never underestimate the power of cocaine.”
Ella rolled her eyes. “Sure, dude. But that night, well, that’s when I realized God doesn’t exist.” He opened his mouth, but she continued before he could offer his opinion. “It was so clear, but I didn’t know how I felt. Everything seemed free but also meaningless. And I thought about how much of my life I spent believing, participating in the rituals . . .” She gestured to the now-dark ofrenda beside her. “What a waste of”—she didn’t have a name for the force of belief that had run through her life, turned meaningless in the end—“time.”
Why was she even telling him this? Maybe because he did listen. She’d hinted at her struggle to Chloe and Dan and Cacuzza and three desk sergeants and maybe the check-out guy at the market by her house, but nobody had listened.
“And I’ve . . . I’ve just felt so empty.”
“Oh, Ms. Lopez.” He sounded sad as he ran his fingers through marigold petals lining the grave. “Far be it for me to tell you my Father deserves your faith. If you ask me, He’s a right bastard, and His Plan, well, I’ve never fallen on the good side of that, have I?”
He looked so personally put out, Ella giggled. He smiled back, but there was something behind it.
“So what is your deal?” she asked. “I mean, I always assumed most of what you say is because of your part thingy or whatever, but . . . do you believe? I mean really? I didn’t mean to offend you . . .”
He shook his head. “It’s not really a matter of belief when you know it’s true.”
Of course, she thought. He never broke character. “I just feel like I lost something, you know?”
“I do.”
He picked up one of the sugar skulls, studied it, and put it back. He did the same with one of the toy cars, then the pan de muerto sitting on a red plastic plate. He put the bread down and looked at her with such intensity it was a struggle not to look away.
“I can’t tell you my Father is worthy of your faith. I can’t tell you his Plan is good, but I do know he has always loved you humans. I can tell you it is highly unlikely you’ll ever hear from him, although I had a friend once who I think might have . . .” He trailed off, looking distant, before focusing on her once more. “But I can’t abide the thought you've gone full Nietzsche because of the celestial mess I’ve dragged into your life.”
He said it with such conviction, Ella found herself holding her breath. She almost—“Wow, you are such a good actor! I can’t believe you don’t have the part yet.”
His smile was rueful. God, she was being rude, breaking the fourth wall.
“Your brother ran away tonight because I am the Devil. My Father, Heaven, Hell . . . they all exist.”
Ella admired his commitment, but there was one thing she was wondering. “Let’s say, hypothetically, for the sake of argument, that you are the Devil—”
“I am.”
“—why would you be telling me all of this?”
He studied her, and she began to feel self conscious. “Because, Ms. Lopez, I have faith you’ll find a way to situate yourself in that knowledge. Faith—in my Father or your brother or your friends or the world—is part of who you are, and it’s not fair to take that from you.”
“I mean, again, hypothetically, wouldn’t the Devil want to lead me astray?”
“Aren’t you the one who said I got a bad rap?” He played with one of the cold candles, twisting at the wick, while he waited for her reaction.
She cocked her head. Of course! When they’d first met, and she’d been introduced to his schtick, she’d shared her thoughts on the Devil.
The smile that flitted across her face was genuine for the first time that night. “I believe it even more now that I’ve gotten to know you.”
He grinned back. “I appreciate that, you know.”
The candle he was teasing at flared into flame under his fingers.
Ellas gasped. “How did you . . . ?”
He watched her, sad, maybe afraid, and Ella’s heart skipped a beat.
“It’s not belief if you know it’s true, I suppose, but I think, in this case, maybe the important thing is what you choose to do with that knowledge.” He ran his palm above each of the candles, and one by one they lit with pale yellow flames, flickering in the breeze.
Ella shook her head. No, he couldn’t be. Could he? It had to be some kind of trick, some slight of hand.
“How . . . ?” Her voice was shaking. Why was her voice shaking? It was just a trick. “How did you do that?”
He gave her a sheepish look and held up his hands. “I’ve told you already, Ms. Lopez.”
It was then she caught sight of a light flickering over his shoulder, and she swiveled her head. The few ofrendas dotting this back path were suddenly lit with new light, warm candle flames reflecting off marigolds and colorful perforated-paper decorations.
She fell back, palms landing in the dirt, eyes wide. “No, it can’t be. You . . .”
The altar glowed in the flickering flames, the boy’s portrait now illuminated. The name Manuel, in gold script at the bottom of the frame, shone. She couldn’t look away. He wore a Guess sweatshirt, his smiling face framed by the laser backdrop of an 80s school photo. How might his family feel about the Devil lighting candles at his shrine?
And there she’d gone and thought it, and maybe that made it real.
Lucifer sighed and stood up carefully, keeping his distance. “It’s up to you what you want to believe,” he said quietly. “This can be a magic trick from a method actor, if you desire. If not”—she finally forced herself to look at his face, and he looked so afraid that in any other circumstances she would be jumping up to crush him with a hug—“I do hope we can still be friends, and I’m here if you have questions. When you’re ready.”
He hesitated, and she stared. While part of her wanted to reassure him—Hey, buddy, it’s okay!—her voice was stuck in her throat.
Finally, he turned, walking down the path with his hands in his pockets and his head down. Ella watched him until he disappeared out of sight.
“Okay, okay, that happened,” she said. “Right, talking to myself. Good sign. Holy snack balls! Or unholy . . . or . . .” She glanced upward. “Okay, processing, there’s going to be processing, lots of processing. Maybe processing and tequila. Definitely tequila. Lots of tequila.”
When she stood at last, Ella took one of the candles from Manuel’s grave, prying it from the holder. As she walked the long way around to the gate, she re-lit candles for the angelitos as she went. Maybe she didn’t know if God was watching out for them, but, for tonight at least, she could.