Page 2 of What Happened Last Night

My abuela smiled when she saw me, her face instantly softening. She wiped her hands on a stained apron and came to give me a fierce hug. She was a smaller, older version of my mom, but despite her age, she was still razor sharp and saw everything that went on in her family, no matter how much any of us tried to shield her from things.

She released me from her tight embrace and took a step back to look at me. She frowned at me and wagged her finger at me.

“You’ve been gone too long, boy.”

“I know.”

I’d needed the break, but now, being back at the heart of family, I saw that maybe I needed them more.

“You’re a Del Rey, Jamie, but don’t be fooled into thinking that means you’re not still half Santos. And the Santos family don’t run away from their problems. We face them, we fix them, and we move on.”

“Mom...” my mom warned her, but my abuela ignored my mom and went on.

“You should have come to us, not flitted off to Europe. Do you hear me?”

I nodded. I heard her loud and clear. “I know, Abuela,” I said. “But trust me. There’s some things that you just don’t share with your family. Some things are too ... disturbing to bring home with me.”

“Nonsense. You can tell us anything,” my abuela insisted.

I knew it was pointless to argue with her, but I also knew I was right on this one. There was no way I could tell her and the others how every time I closed my eyes through my last case, I saw that little girl’s neck bent at an angle no neck should ever be. I couldn’t tell her about the burn marks all over the girl’s body. And I certainly couldn’t tell her that the little girl had died in the most horrendous fashion. I knew they would listen to me and try to help me, but there were some things you just couldn’t pass on to other people, no matter how much they might help you.

“Anyway, it’s good to have you home.” My abuela smiled.

She frowned for a moment, looking me up and down. She shook her head.

“You’re too skinny, Jamie. Do they not have food in Amsterdam?” she demanded.

I laughed and we followed my abuela through to the dining room. She had made it her mission to fatten me up when I was about twelve, and she was still trying to do it now that I was almost thirty. It wasn’t that I didn’t eat enough. I ate enough for two people most days, and on days when I came here, I ate enough for three or four people. I was just naturally skinny. Sasha hated that she only had to look at a calorie and it attached itself to her waistline, and she regularly wound me up, telling me that when I hit forty, my metabolism would go to shit, and I’d be four hundred pounds within a month or two. She was always such a little ray of sunshine.

We took our seats around the table, and I couldn’t help but gawk at the sheer amount of food that weighed down the table. My abuela had really outdone herself with the feast this time. My stomach growled as I looked at it all, and the whole family laughed.

“Welcome home, boy.” My abuela laughed as I reached for an empanada.

We ate, drank, and talked. I told them all about my adventures in Amsterdam, about the people I had met out there and the things I had seen. They listened in rapt fascination and asked me a ton of questions. None of them had been to Europe, and they wanted to know everything that was different from our way of life, which was pretty much all of it. I tried to make it sound interesting, but I missed several of what were, in my opinion, the best parts, because they were the parts you just don’t tell your family.

“Are you glad to be home?” my mom asked.

I nodded.

My abuela snorted. “Tell your face.”

I looked at her, shocked to hear such an expression from her. My mom and Sasha laughed at my reaction.

“She heard it on the TV, and she uses it all the time now,” Sasha explained.

“It just has a certain ring to it.” My abuela grinned. “But seriously, Jamie, you don’t look happy to be home.”

“I’m happy to be back here with all of you,” I said, smiling around at everyone. “But honestly, I’m kind of dreading going back to work tomorrow.”

“And that’s why we face our problems rather than running away from them. You run away from your problems, they’re always right there waiting for you. You fix them, and they go away,” my abuela said a little smugly.

My mom threw her a warning look and put her hand over mine.

“You’ll be fine, honey,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze.

“I know,” I replied. “I feel much better than I did before I went away. But whether or not I can put up with the ugly side of this job until retirement age and still be something close to sane is another matter.”

“You’re a Del Rey, Jamie—” my mom started.

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