Page 47 of For Love and Blood and Fury

As soon as Marisol slipped her warm hands into Zuri’s, she was dragged into her mind unexpectedly. Usually, Zuri had to wade in, but it was like Marisol had snatched her into Alice’s rabbit hole.

It took a disorienting second to find her bearings, images and sounds flashing like a strobe light until she landed in a small, sunbathed kitchen. Marisol, no more than ten, sat at a round kitchen table covered in a checkered red cloth. She was blonder and even more freckled then, but it was the light radiating from her that punched Zuri straight in the heart.

Across from her, a woman with pinned back salt and pepper hair was opening a huge green tin of crackers. Zuri knew, almost immediately, that there wouldn’t be a single cracker in there. She guessed rice, but when the woman opened it and spilled its contents on the table, she was proven only half right.

Releasing a mound of dried black beans between them, Marisol’s grandmother was humming. A sound that filled Zuri’s tense body with warm relaxation. It was what Bambi was feeling, she realized, having forgotten where she was. She was safeand warm and happy down to her marrow. The scent of the gardenias in a bowl by the sink filled the air with the comforts of home.

Zuri sat at the table. Even in the confines of her mind, her legs felt weak. It was a scene that could have been taken from Zuri’s life. She’d spent countless afternoons exactly like this with her own grandmother. Had seen her nearly every day of her life until she lost her the year before.

“I’ll give you ten cents for each one you find,” her grandmother said with a smile before they started sorting the beans.

Her chest constricted, Zuri recalled the painstaking task of sorting through beans alongside her grandmother, meticulously checking for any unwanted surprises. They’d done it hundreds of times, had hundreds of conversations about nothing and everything. It was the place where her grandmother handed down stories and advice and listened and laughed.

“Got one,” Marisol said with pure glee. A buzzing happiness spread over Zuri like sunshine.

And then they were gone. Yanked forward in time, even as they stayed in the same kitchen. The same table. But now the pepper in the woman’s hair had faded to dark gray, the white more prominent than before.

Sitting across from her, teenage Marisol looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Panic and anxiety oozed from her in suffocating waves. Zuri’s chest was too tight to take a deep breath, and then the reason for Marisol’s fear became apparent.

“Are you upset because Tony asked another girl to the dance?” Marisol’s grandmother’s kind face reflected her agonizing worry, as if she was willing to do anything to solve whatever was making Marisol so miserable.

“It’s not him.” Marisol’s voice was so small, her eyes on the hands in her lap, gold necklace catching the light.

“What is it, mi vida?” Her grandmother leaned forward, extending her hand and reaching out for Marisol. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad, can it?” She smiled softly, hand still open and waiting for Marisol. “Everything in life has a solution.”

A lump grew in Zuri’s throat, its tendrils wrapping around her heart and rooting in her lungs.

“It’s not him,” she repeated before forcing herself to glance up, hazel eyes huge and full of tears that were seconds from falling down her sun-kissed cheeks. “It’s… it’s who he asked.”

Her grandmother tipped her head to the side. “Is she your friend?” Zuri didn’t have to be in the woman’s memories to know she was desperate to understand what was happening. That she loved Marisol so much it bled from her pores.

“She was…” Marisol’s voice cracked, the dam of tears crumbling. “She was more than my friend.”

Registering no visible reaction, Marisol’s grandmother left her hand extended across the table, palm up and open. Zuri would have guessed that the woman hadn’t understood what Marisol meant, but she opened her mouth and cleared the doubt.

“Love feels so big right now,” she said, voice soft and dripping with empathy and compassion and a staggering amount of love. “It might feel like no one else will give you the butterflies the way she does.” She smiled. “That you’ll just never care about anyone else ever again, but I promise you, my precious heart, you have a lifetime of love ahead of you.”

Marisol’s shock registered on her face. “Abi… Did you already know?”

The woman’s hand didn’t budge. “I suspected,” she admitted quietly. “And I’m so happy that you told me.”

“And you’re not mad…” Marisol’s face flushed deep red. “That I… um… don’t think I like boys?”

The woman’s smile was unwavering, eyes glistening with so much affection it made Zuri falter. Finally, Marisol took her grandmother’s hand and Zuri felt the touch against her own palm.

“I could never be mad at you. You’re perfect just the way you are. And I love you more than you can understand. I will always be proud of you, my heart. Now, tell me what happened.”

Relief penetrated Zuri’s coiled muscles before they were off again. The scene shifted abruptly. Her grandmother’s warm, comforting kitchen disappeared, replaced by a sterile waiting room. The scent of antiseptic and bleach filled Zuri’s nostrils, a stark contrast to the cinnamon and clove and gardenia.

Marisol, older now, had her long, dark blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She sat on an ugly chair, her shoulders slumped, her gaze fixed on the floor. She wore white scrubs, the name of her nursing school etched into the patch on her short sleeve.

Grief, raw and suffocating, radiated from her like nuclear fallout and produced a visceral ache that twisted in Zuri’s own chest. It was a familiar pain, a bone-deep sorrow that mirrored the loss of Zuri’s own grandmother. A desperate desire to break from the reality that couldn’t be true.

A doctor, his face etched with a practiced sympathy, stood in front of Marisol, his hand resting on her shoulder. His words, though muffled, cut through the silence like shattering glass.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “The accident… There was nothing we could do.”

Marisol’s head snapped up, her hazel eyes wide with disbelief. “No,” she whispered, her voice a broken rasp. “That’s not… She can’t be…”

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