Here Today, Gone Tamale by Rebecca Adler Page B

dreams, she meant a person who had passed on.
    â€œNo wonder,” my aunt said, “what with Dixie dying unexpectedly right there.”
    I rested my chin on the top of the seat between us, settling in for a spooky tale. “What did Dixie say?” I wasn’t sure I believed what Senora Mari spouted from her dreams, but she set great store by them.
    Taking a deep breath, she paused for dramatic effect. “
Nada
.” And she nodded as if she’d bestowed a great pearl of wisdom. “Nothing.”
    â€œDo you mean she said the word
nothing
or that she didn’t speak?” Aunt Linda asked with exasperation.
    Without acknowledging her daughter-in-law, Senora Mari gave me a baleful stare and whispered, “She didn’t speak, no words, but she poured her thoughts into my mind.”
    From previous experience, I knew better than to interrupt or try to lead the tortuous story.
    â€œShe was angry and sad.” She closed her eyes and crossed herself. “She wants revenge.”
    â€œRevenge on whom, the cigarette manufacturers?” Aunt Linda shook her head. “Tell her to get in line.”
    Without looking in my aunt’s direction, I pinched her leg. I wanted to hear this one, but if she continued with her skeptical remarks, Senora Mari would clam up.
    â€œShe didn’t give me a name, but she told me it was no cigarette.”
    I wasn’t about to correct my elders, even if she had said moments before that Dixie had used no words. “Did she give you a vision of how she died?”
    Senora Mari pursed her lips and turned to stare out the window. A shadow of pain passed over her face. “She was so cold, so cold she couldn’t breathe.”
    Had I mentioned Dixie’s cold clammy skin to the three of them when I finally arrived home last night? No, but Senora Mari would’ve noticed the cool air and gusts of wind. I turned to my aunt for support. “If you die from a heart attack you probably do feel as if you can’t breathe. Right?”
    â€œOh, sure,” Aunt Linda chimed in. “You see that on television all the time. Someone dies grabbing their heart, gasping for air.” She smiled reassuringly at her mother-in-law in the rearview mirror. “I bet they go hand in hand.”
    â€œThat may be true, but that was not the feeling she shared.” Senora Mari pulled back her shoulders and lowered her chin. “Someone stole her life, and she wants me to do something about it.”
    I reached over the seat and placed my hand on hers. “I’m sorry your friend is dead.”
    She nodded and turned to stare out the window once again.
    As I started to pull away, she grabbed my hand. “You believe me, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, I do.” I believed Dixie had appeared in her dreams, and I was open-minded enough to concede there was more to life than the physical before us. But I wasn’t sure Senora Mari had interpreted her dream correctly. Did being cold and out of breath mean that something nefarious had happened to Dixie? I wasn’t sure.
    As we drove down West Third Street, beneath a gigantic banner heralding Broken Boot’s 5th Annual Wild Wild West Festival, I wondered if Dixie’s death would affect the tamale-eating contest. I considered myself to be sensitive and unselfish, and my line of thinking made me feel as low as a snake’s belly. But we needed the tourists to come in droves to survive the winter ahead. Our business had picked up in the past three months since Milagro made the cover of
The Texan
magazine last September, but we needed to double it to keep West Texas Savings and Loan off our backs.
    â€œDid we make enough tamales for the contest?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. With any luck, this year’s event would draw more folks seeking good ole family fun and savory Tex-Mex. Our entire town could sure use a boost in the present economy.
    â€œSenora Mari’s