Raul Molina came from a large family. He was the oldest of nine children in a very strict Roman Catholic family. His mother and father spoke very little English and relied heavily on their children, especially their son to help. They’d come to the United States from Mexico in 1951 Raul’s mother heavily pregnant at the time. They ran a small, dry cleaners in the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles.

When the riots of 65’ occurred their little shop was one of the only places that was spared from fire, looting, and damage. Raul was thirteen at the time and remembered it well. The riot lasted over five days. The fires raged, the crowds surged and yelled, and the police arrested multiple rioters. When all was said and done there were 34 people killed and millions in property damage.

It was a terrifying few days for the  Molina family. They did not take part but stayed in their shop and their home which was situated above the store and waited it out. The store was their livelihood. Without it they would be bereft.

Raul did not like to talk about it and Rose, who was safe in Echo Park did not push. The neighborhood was predominantly African American and Hispanic. Friends and neighbors - but that week all were strangers.

It was a warm summer day and Rose had brought Raul to her mother’s house. The weeks after the engagement announcement and subsequent marriage had been a mix of joy and sadness. Raul and Rose were leaving California and headed to Seattle. There were so many job opportunities and Raul had a head for engineering and how things worked. It was less crowded and the air was clean and crisp around the mountains. The many mountains they were told surrounded beautiful green Washington.

Anne bustled around the little green checkered kitchen pouring out iced lemon tea, her favorite, and plates of chunky rocky road squares one of Rose’s favorites. Peanuts, marsh mellows and chocolate oh my!

Suddenly she stopped and drying her hands on her flowered apron and pushing back her still lustrous dark curls she said, “Rose I have something for you. And while I’m getting it Raul – I say this is cause for celebration. I have some red wine in the cupboard. Let’s drink a toast!”

Raul smiled and got up hesitantly shooting a look at Rose, “Ok Mrs. McNeely.”

Anne took Rose by the hand and they headed down the hall to Anne’s small bedroom in the back. The walls were a soft lavender and the air smelled of vanilla. Her mother’s bed was made up and the soft blanket was smoothed down and looked inviting. Lately Rose found herself wanting a nap more and more often.

Rose sat down and Anne went to her small brown chest of drawers. On top of the drawers were framed pictures. There was one of Rose at the beach. And one of Rose on a swing set. Another of Rose on horseback and yet another of Rose wearing a long peach colored gown, a corsage on her wrist and a smile in her eyes.

There were pictures of her Grandpa Joe and Anne. One of her Grandpa Bobby and her Grandma Lizzie smiling and young. There were a few of her father, Jack. One in his military uniform, his handsome face smiling and carefree. Another of him on the beach with her mother, the waves at their back. And another of her mother and father dancing alone on a dance floor, looking every inch the couple in love.

Her heart clenched a little at that.

Her mother turned back to her and in her hand she held a small faded gold locket with a long chipped chain. Her eyes were dark and unreadable. She sat down next to Rose and seemed to take some deep breaths. Rose waited.

Anne handed her the locket and Rose studied it. There was a faded and chipped ‘A’ on the front. She opened it with some difficulty. There were two small pictures inside. Both were extremely faded. Almost transparent. The woman’s picture was silvery and translucent but familiar to Rose. Her curls were clearly visible though silvery and black looking. The photo had to be years and years old. Her eyes were large and deep. Rose looked at the other photo, it was a young man with a small smile and dark hair. He was not familiar. Rose looked at her mother. Clearly the girl in the photo bared a striking resemblance to her mother. She looked  back down again.

“It’s my mother.  I’m sure of it.” Anne swallowed a lump. “My father, your grandpa Joe sent it to me. It’s yours now.” She seemed to get busy all of sudden smoothing the already smooth coverlet.

Rose smiled and said. ”Thank you mom. She looks just like you!”

“And she looks like you too.” Her mother said.

Rose nodded though she did not think she looked as beautiful as this girl had obviously been. She wondered about her. I’m sure her mother did as well. No one seemed to know much about her truly. She was a mystery – arriving mysteriously then disappearing just as mysteriously.  But she’d been real long enough to win Joe’s heart and give him Anne.

“The boy in the picture – who is he?”

Anne shook her head, “I don’t know. Not my father. I really can’t say. Handsome though, in an other- worldly kind of way. Sometimes….” She trailed off.

“What?” Rose prompted.

“Sometimes I get these feelings. Like memories.” She hesitated, “And once I swear I saw him.” Anne finished with her head down.

Rose’s vision seemed to swim suddenly. The ground rushed up to greet her as she fell. The last thought was of the baby she was carrying. 

Next Chapter: Lyllian, Ridgefield Washington, 2017