Dervla Alarms the Nanas: Dervla and the Nanas, #1

Chapter One

Idragged my cousin toward the tourist shop. Just one more.

Keevah held me back half-heartedly. She knew I would wrestle away. Dervla, enough!

Even though I’d promised her a drink on Bourbon Street before she escorted me to the airport, this was the fifth shop I’d dragged her into. Maybe I’ll find something here.

Emil does not need a souvenir. You’ve only been gone a few days.

A jealous partner might have given me a guilt trip about leaving him behind. I wanted to pick up one small thing as a thank-you, but nothing was cute enough or New Orleans enough. The real problem was that it was always hard to come down to earth after Mardi Gras. Party dust was still in the air. Who could focus?

I shook the snowball and watched as flakes settled over Jackson Square.

That’s nice. Keevah wasn’t watching me. Her eyes were on the bar across the street.

Not allowed for carry-on. I pointed to a stack of sweatshirts dotted with saxophones. One of those?

She fingered the thick fabric. The cinnamon color complemented our hair. Isn’t that too hot for Tucson?

Emil always jogs in the morning. It’s not too hot then. But he never listens to jazz.

We headed for the exit, but we halted simultaneously before a shelf of little dolls. The four-inch figures were wrapped in yarn. Their eyes were mismatched buttons.

That one’s cute, she said. It looks like a dog.

We’d honed in on the same doll at the same time. I picked it up carefully and turned it around. The gray yarned bristled in the artificial light. The tongue was a triangle of red felt. The eyes were the same size, but one was blue and one was green. The tail was a snippet of black pipe cleaner that pricked me, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold my attention.

I held the figure eye level. A dog? Really?

Or a cat.

I can’t tell whether I like it or not.

The doll was sweet in a goofy way. I turned the critter upside down and checked the price tag on its paw. Thirty-five dollars! Are you kidding me?

I set the figure on the shelf, but Keevah picked it up again. She examined it from all sides. Local handicraft. The residents are still recovering from the hurricane.

That was years ago.

Recovery is a slow process. They have to make a living somehow.

Not off me, they don’t! I laughed.

But these dolls are special.

They’re specially priced for tourists.

They have magical powers.

They do not.

I’ll get it for you. An early birthday present.

Gee, thanks. I wasn’t sure I wanted to celebrate turning thirty, but my cousin had beaten me by two months and survived without any loss of confidence.

She indicated the clerk behind the cash register. We used to bartend together. She’ll give me a discount. Wait outside. Go!

I moseyed to the front door, which was open, and breathed in fresh air. The night before, the same space had been a madhouse of partiers. By now bacchanalia had yielded to reality. Lots of people passed by, but they walked in straight lines. Another year, another Ash Wednesday.

I loved the routine. I saw my parents and siblings for some Christmases, the occasional Easter, and sometimes in the summer. But I never missed a Mardi Gras with the only fun member of my family. For four hedonistic days, we caught beads thrown by parade crews, pushed our way into crowded bars, and stayed up talking until one of us fell asleep.

A kid ran down the pedestrian street in my direction. He might have been fourteen. What he needed most was a trim for his straw-like hair. A yellow handbag that bounced over his shoulder contrasted with neon orange running shoes.

That was part of Mardi Gras, too. The strangest costumes you could imagine. People who didn’t have money for luxuries improvised. So did those who liked looking weird, which was everybody else. I’d been a green fairy myself.

Farther back, a stout lady ran up as fast as her legs would carry her. My purse!

I wasn’t hungover, but it took me that long to catch on that the purse wasn’t part of the kid’s outfit. And to react.

I hurried toward the youth, watching him sideways. I hadn’t played college soccer for nothing. As he passed me, I stretched out my left foot and cheered with pure joy when he tripped over it.

The thief flew through the air and landed on his stomach. His chin bounced on the concrete like a ping pong ball. A large man turned and slammed his foot on the kid’s back to convince him to stay where he was. The purse landed several feet away.

The passersby huddled as they took in the sequence of events.

I bent to the ground. What were you thinking? I yelled in his ear.

He squirmed, but by then a young man grabbed his legs while an older man took ahold of his arms.

How dare you? asked the older man. People like you ruin our city!

I—I—

That’s all the kid managed to say before the purse owner caught up. She kicked him in the side so hard that she stumbled off like a clown on a tightrope. She would have landed on her rear if a bystander hadn’t steadied her.

Another bystander called 9-1-1. Half a dozen shot videos.

Please don’t call the cops, the kid squeaked.

Too late, I said, stepping away. By now the first man had straddled him

The purse owner nearly squeezed the life out of me with a hug. Thank you so much! I had the last pictures of my grandma in that purse!

Glad I could help.

Dervla! my cousin called from the shop entrance. "What are you doing?

Nothing. Let’s get you that drink. I took her arm and herded her away from the crowd.

You tripped that guy?

He was snatching a purse.

Keevah stopped. You had to dive into things?

I didn’t dive. I merely stuck out my foot. The lady got her purse back.

Keevah turned and looked back on the scene. We should stay. The police might want to talk to you.

That’s all right.

You never see things through.

Sure, I do.

Prove it.

Six years with the same man?

I know. It’s a record for you. But don’t get cocky about it.

Wouldn’t dream of it.

Before she could give me any more trouble, I led her into the nearest bar and ordered a couple of Sazeracs.

I SHUT MY NOTEBOOK as Emil entered our office at World Lingo, our language school. The Tucson native nearly stopped my breath. His light brown body lit up the door frame: tanned muscular arms, strong legs beneath thin dress pants, brown eyes that darted around mischievously.

I squelched the impulse to jump up and give him a bear hug. At work we kept our distance even though our students were adults. Mine were about to arrive. I hope I didn’t wake you last night? It wasn’t my fault that I’d arrived after midnight—the bad weather had been in Dallas.

He set down the canvas laundry bag that he used for his laptop. Good trip?

Terrific.

That’s nice. He paused as if trying to remember something. I have bad news you won’t like.

I turned to my schedule, which was written on a big erasable calendar on the wall by the desk. My English classes were listed on the left side. Emil’s Spanish classes were listed on the right. Another cancellation? I had a private class of beginners at eleven a.m., a trio of Japanese business executives at noon, and Basics from two to four, which made it one of my lighter days. If students cancelled at least twenty-four hours in advance, we didn’t charge them.

I’m moving out, Emil said.

Or is the cancellation for tomorrow?

I mean it.

I looked over in slow motion. Did I leave the cap off the toothpaste again? I was teasing; Emil never noticed details.

I signed a lease for an apartment.

What?

It won’t be ready until next week.

You’re—moving out?

I was going to tell you before you left for Mardi Gras, but I didn’t want to ruin your vacation.

I pushed back from the desk. You’re leaving me.

That’s why I’m moving out.

I pulled on my ear lobes. I hadn’t heard right. I was in a movie. A bad one.

Sorry, he said.

Sorry? You’re breaking up with me here? Now?

There wasn’t a good time to tell you.

I felt like the purse thief who had ping ponged across the pavement. The wind had been knocked out of me with such force that I could barely breathe.

So we’re through, I said.

That’s one way to sum it up.

I was too stunned to move.

Well? he asked.

Where is this coming from?

No one place.

I snapped my fingers. You’re moving out. Just like that.

Right.

I’d met Emil when we started grad school. We began dating soon after. He moved in with me halfway through our degree program. Once we graduated, we opened our language school. Emil was my lover, my confidante, my friend, and my business partner.

Or so I thought. I breathed deeply. I’d read in some self-help magazine that extra oxygen could cure almost anything. My biggest breathing, however, did nothing for shock.

The World Lingo office was flanked by a classroom on either side. Antonio came in through the building’s front door, waved to me, and proceeded into the room for English class. As usual, my most earnest student was a few minutes early.

I waited until he was out of earshot. Do you want to tell me what I’ve done wrong?

Nothing. I’m moving on. That’s all.

I held his gaze without gleaning anything from it. We never fought, but we glossed over difficulties.

Lily and Ginger, my young Taiwanese students, shouted hello as they walked by.

You have class, Emil said.

You’re breaking up with me five minutes before I start teaching for the day?

Like I said. There was no good time.

No. There was never a right moment for shaking up someone’s world. I sat blankly as the tsunami washed me up on the beach.

Well, I guess you have class now, he said.

Now I’m supposed to walk in and teach?

I’ll pay you for the hours, of course, Emil said. We’ll work out a salary.

The second wave of the tsunami tossed me into the nearest palm tree.

What do you mean, salary?

It’s my business. But I’ll hire you, of course.

A business we started together! I’m not hired help. I’m your partner. We created World Lingo together. Remember?

I covered the initial start-up costs. I paid for the advertising.

You did not. The nanas loaned us the money. They weren’t both his nanas, but his grandmother and her sister lived together. Within the family, we always referred to them as such.

My name is on the business license. World Lingo is my business. Period.

Hi, Mrs. Dervla, Ahmed called out.

I ran through a list of Reasons Why I’m Not Good Enough as if they were names on a Rolodex. I didn’t jog. I never cooked. I didn’t hand out compliments like they were free flyers at a church gathering.

Emil looked away long enough for me to sense that he had pangs of regret. Or guilt.

Who is she?

No ‘she.’

I imagined my eyes as swords. Emil Arellano, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll change that tune before you whistle another bar.

He backed up until he knocked against the door jamb. He nearly fell. I’m sure we can work things out. I’ll stagger the classes so that we’re never in the office at the same time.

I was stunned by my own incompetence. I’d ignored every damning sign. Whenever he slapped his laptop shut as I entered the room, I assumed he indulged in porn.

Well, I wanted you to know. He spoke as if the subject had been successfully covered, so now we could move on.

Counseling?

I already decided.

As if the wall of my office were a movie screen, my mind conjured up pictures of romantic dinners we’d enjoyed on our own balcony. Weekend getaways to San Diego. Longer trips to Mazatlán. Joyous holiday dinners with his assortment of relatives. Movies we’d watched on the couch arm in arm. Long conversations about literature, life, aspirations, growing old together. Emil completed me. I thought I returned the favor.

I almost wished I were the kind to burst out crying, but I held things in like a popcorn popper. First there was nothing. Then the faint sizzling of oil. Then one kernel popped. Then another. Then all of them at once.

Maybe you’re leaving me for a ‘he’? Emil was firmly heterosexual, but I hoped for a rise.

He lowered his voice as if the volume softened the message. I’m not discussing it.

That was it.

Had he admitted to falling out of love, I would have accepted such a situation as unpleasant but pardonable. If he’d apologized. If he’d pointed to a concrete issue between us that could not be solved. No, he’d switched off his emotions and handed down his pronouncements. As he lorded his secrecy over me, I fantasized about whether he would see another tomorrow.

I’ll let you prepare for class, he said. Don’t worry about starting a bit late if you need to take a few minutes.

I didn’t routinely make life-changing decisions on a moment’s notice, but the former love of my life had given me no choice. He’d shaken me right from complacency onto the soccer field, and what I needed to do was kick, kick, kick.

I slid my laptop into its faux leather cover, set my sweater around my shoulders European-style, and snatched up my purse. Then the pretty coaster caught my eye, one done in needlepoint by Emil’s great-aunt. Mari had written my name in cherry pink against a flowery background. Because she hadn’t known the Irish spelling, Dearbhla, she’d written my name the way she heard it: Dervla. When Emil and I started World Lingo, I borrowed her spelling. I swooped up the coaster and waved it in Emil’s face.

What did you tell the nanas? They were the center of the family, and all the important gatherings happened at their house.

Emil looked down.

Oh, I said. Nothing. Coward.

I’ll tell them later. When the time is right.

As you said, there’s no right time. I indicated that he should stand aside.

Where are you going? You have class now.

You think you’re going to pay me by the hour?

How else would I pay you?

I don’t know. But if you’re so clever, let’s see you teach English and Spanish at the same time.

You can’t walk out.

Was I strapped to the desk? I was not.

I’d dance across the floor, I said, but I’m not wearing the right shoes.

Dervla, be reasonable!

I pushed past him on my way out of the room.

Chapter Two

Idrove the short distance home, taking deep breaths to calm myself down. I wanted to ask, why, why, why?!, but I didn’t have time. I needed to use my temporary upper hand.

My narrow house was on Eighth Street between Norton and Norris, one of the infrequent two-story structures in the neighborhood. A sturdy oak tree shaded the creamy white stucco. A balcony paraded outside the master bedroom. In back, a patio hugged the door.

The fifteen hundred feet was perfect for two people, but the place was overly crowded with furniture because we hadn’t reorganized when Emil moved in. He’d come over from his mom’s place bit by bit. First he’d brought the retro lamp with five arms of colored lights. Then a stained coffee table with a crack in the glass lid. Then, although the rust color clashed with my greens, his favorite beanbag chair.

Within minutes those items rested on the pebbles outside the house. Since the day was bright and sunny, they were safe outside. Thieves had better taste. I proceeded to empty my living room of anything else related to Emil even though I was fond of his Escher Relativity print and the poster with the Dublin doors had been his first present to me.

The living room extended to a dining area with a large picture window. The potted cacti? They all had pointy tips. I didn’t need them. The bar between the dining area and the kitchen? Emil had bought the stools, but I needed them. I would pretend they were mine. The knickknacks on the shelves above the bar? I’d never liked the statuettes of singing frogs that he’d bought in Jamaica or the yellow vase he’d been given by an aunt. I set them on the coffee table along with a note that said FREE.

By the time I hit the kitchen, I picked up speed. Emil’s striped plates? Out. His Day of the Dead bottle opener that took up too much room in the drawer? Out. The cheap hot dogs that I said weren’t worth eating? The processed orange cheese with no flavor? Out, out. His Coronas? Completely out. I was a Guinness girl. Breakups had their advantages.

The postman walked up. The lovely fellow was an outdated hippy-type who always gave me a few extra seconds if I was finishing a letter when he arrived.

The situation was too drastic to ignore. Spring cleaning, I said brightly.

It’s always good to shake the dust off things. He handed me a bundle of junk mail. Anything for me to take?

No. Nice day, isn’t it?

It is. He smoothed a wrinkle from his pants. I thought it would be cooler, but it must be sixty-five degrees already.

The temperature was perfect, but I wasn’t sure if my own temperature was hot or cold. Maybe both at once? Cold blood, perhaps. Hot head.

The postman reviewed the abandoned furniture. Are you all right?

Emil’s moving out.

I see. That would be Mr. Arellano. The postman’s face reddened. I understood exactly. I was often caught in such situations myself. Students came to my office hours with the excuse of needing help with past irregulars, but suddenly they were explaining about their high schooler who quit school or the demotion their boss handed out.

I tapped the mailbox. In my honor, Emil had painted it green, but by now plenty of beige showed through. The mail for Gallagher will come here as usual.

I, uh, I’m sorry if there’s been a problem.

I appreciated his discomfort only as proof that a breakup was disruptive and alarming, and I wasn’t crazy for thinking so. Sometimes you have to shake the dust off your relationships too.

Right! Well, have a good day. He waved as he hurried on.

Good day, I muttered as I traipsed upstairs. Toiletries? Out. I balked at the clothes, however, because there were so many. Rather than make a dozen trips up and down the stairs, I went to the balcony and tossed out his garments by the armful. I tied the athletic shoes in pairs and threw them at the tree. Two pairs landed in the driveway, but a third secured itself to a branch. I hoped they were his favorites.

The study was more problematic. The books that we’d bought together I would claim for myself. The books that were clearly his? No. I couldn’t mistreat books. Our breakup wasn’t their fault. I stacked them in sturdy Trader Joe’s bags. The desktop was mine, but I honestly couldn’t remember who paid for the printer. Best to keep it for myself. There was also a drawerful of legal documents. I might have been angry, but that didn’t mean I could toss out a passport even if it belonged to a philandering—

I should have run across proof.  I reviewed the files on the desktop. Nothing. I went outside and checked pants pockets. Sixty-five cents in small change. I was missing something, but what?

I loaded the car with Emil’s books and important papers. I wasn’t prepared to have them in my possession one more minute, but I knew the perfect place to dump them.

Coincidentally, that would be the best way to find out more about Emil.

THE NANAS LIVED IN a comfortable ranch house on Third Street, a block and a half from the University of Arizona. An assortment of relatives had lived with them, but by now it was just the two of them and Orlando, Emil’s younger brother, who was going to the U.

As was usual for mid-day, the nanas rocked on their front porch in frumpy housecoats as they watched the parade of students going to and from campus. But the nanas were never merely watching. They always had something new up their sleeves, and I loved them for it. Their killer cat, a dull black stray named Mordy, sat on the railing before them, ready to bite anyone who came too close. More than one unsuspecting passerby had discovered that the hard way.

Although the sisters resembled one another, they were easy to tell apart. Nana Lula, Emil’s maternal grandmother, was a bit taller and three years older. The long white hair piled on top of her head contrasted with full black eyebrows. At eighty years old, she had a piercing glance that she usually reserved for naughty younger relatives. Her tongue was equally piercing, and she didn’t hesitate to use it.

More petite than her sister, Nana Mari used makeup to create eyebrows she no longer had. She sported a pixie cut whose graceful white strands surrounded her round face. Patient and soft-spoken, she was a good listener, and she laughed at jokes whether they were funny or not.

Although they both waved as I pulled up in the drive, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the car. My reluctance was simple. I didn’t want to see them one last time. No matter the occasion, I adored spending time with them. They were fun and inventive, and they didn’t let anything slip past them. More importantly, they’d always been on my side, something I would never say of my own relatives save Keevah. And the nanas were both special.

I’d learned early on that Lula could see through any lie. Once she latched onto a truth, she bullied her victims into confessions. The unsuspecting child or sometimes adult usually ran off crying. Lula wasn’t mean, but she spoke plainly and loudly. Maybe that was why we had always gotten along. I favored clear speaking as well, no matter how little recipients wanted to hear the message.

Mari was special too. She saw auras, which she described as color vibrations. I’d never seen one myself, but she explained their basic meaning. Generally, when the shades were dark, people were upset. When they were happy, the shades were light. She used this skill to her advantage. Since she could perceive people’s moods, she could judge the best way