her sister did not stay in Las Vegas.
“I took her home to Puerto Rico. I like to say I took her home in her brand-new shiny car,” she said with a smile marred by the memories, referring to the coffin. Celeste described her sister Debbie’s final resting place as overlooking a jungle, in a cemetery with “the most beautiful flowers, absolutely gorgeous; her place of rest is absolutely breathtaking.” She went back to visit when she could. “I plan on going every year to talk to her, to make sure she’s happy.”
After Debbie’s death, her older sister also had to deal with changes in their family dynamics. “My sister and my mother were best friends. I’ve always been the black sheep of the family,” she said with a laugh. “But I was the strongest one, strong and opinionated. My sister was closer to my mom and dad. My way of showing love was different. She was more affectionate. Now my mom calls me every single day and I’ve had to learn to be more open with her. I didn’t know how to be as affectionate with her as Debbie was. It’s now easier for me to say ‘Ilove you.’ My father and I are pretty much the same, headstrong. His way of dealing with it is not showing his feelings. He is too proud.”
Elsie Narvaez, their mother, a petite, soft-spoken woman with a kind demeanor and a sweet voice, corroborated this.
“Debora and I were very close,” Celeste said in Spanish. “She was very warm and communicated with me always. When they were little, we were not rich or anything, but we had everything we needed, and played together with our dolls.” She added that ever since Debbie was a child, she had always wanted to look her best. “She liked her little dresses. And then, when she grew up, even though she wasn’t thinking of having children, she doted on Celeste’s kids like a mother.” Celeste’s two boys, at the time of their aunt’s death, were twelve and almost two years old respectively.
“My sister loved my older boy dearly!” Celeste said, recalling that the last call she had received from Debbie was to inquire what she should get her older nephew for Christmas. “The other day I was at a barbecue. As I looked at my son, I thought she will never see him grow up,” she lamented.
Celeste wrote often, and sadly, about her sister on Facebook. Her posts are public, there for the world to see. April 29, 2011, seemed to mark quite an inauspicious occasion for her, as she posted:
I’m up watching the Royal Wedding countdown, the family and friends, the groom’s men and the bridesmaids, and all the dresses. It’s a fantasy. Who wouldn’t want to have a gorgeous wedding? I start to think about how mine will be, and then I realize that the one thing I’ll never have is Debbie as my maid of honor. I wanted her to hold my bouquet and say that speech and toast on my behalf. It will never be a perfect wedding as I’d want it to be.
Everyone close to Debora Flores-Narvaez questioned why it happened, particularly why it happened the way it did, and whether there would be justice for their friend, their colleague, and, in Celeste’s case, for her sister.
Debbie’s former roommate, Sonya Sonnenberg, a beautiful and exotic-looking young woman who works as an aerialist—meaning she performs trapeze feats, on ropes, with scarves, while high up in the air—in Las Vegas shows, remembered that dancing was Debora’s “dream job.” Sonya was the person who called in the missing person’s report about her roommate to the police. “She missed two rehearsals in a row for
FANTASY,
which wasn’t like her, and we couldn’t get ahold of her so we called the police.
“I met her when she started working at
FANTASY
. And I moved in with her about a year or so later,” Sonya recalled. “I remember she was very passionate about lifeand about everything pretty much.” Sonya said that as a roommate, Debbie didn’t cook, but she was clean, and liked to decorate. “She decorated with colorful, nice
“I took her home to Puerto Rico. I like to say I took her home in her brand-new shiny car,” she said with a smile marred by the memories, referring to the coffin. Celeste described her sister Debbie’s final resting place as overlooking a jungle, in a cemetery with “the most beautiful flowers, absolutely gorgeous; her place of rest is absolutely breathtaking.” She went back to visit when she could. “I plan on going every year to talk to her, to make sure she’s happy.”
After Debbie’s death, her older sister also had to deal with changes in their family dynamics. “My sister and my mother were best friends. I’ve always been the black sheep of the family,” she said with a laugh. “But I was the strongest one, strong and opinionated. My sister was closer to my mom and dad. My way of showing love was different. She was more affectionate. Now my mom calls me every single day and I’ve had to learn to be more open with her. I didn’t know how to be as affectionate with her as Debbie was. It’s now easier for me to say ‘Ilove you.’ My father and I are pretty much the same, headstrong. His way of dealing with it is not showing his feelings. He is too proud.”
Elsie Narvaez, their mother, a petite, soft-spoken woman with a kind demeanor and a sweet voice, corroborated this.
“Debora and I were very close,” Celeste said in Spanish. “She was very warm and communicated with me always. When they were little, we were not rich or anything, but we had everything we needed, and played together with our dolls.” She added that ever since Debbie was a child, she had always wanted to look her best. “She liked her little dresses. And then, when she grew up, even though she wasn’t thinking of having children, she doted on Celeste’s kids like a mother.” Celeste’s two boys, at the time of their aunt’s death, were twelve and almost two years old respectively.
“My sister loved my older boy dearly!” Celeste said, recalling that the last call she had received from Debbie was to inquire what she should get her older nephew for Christmas. “The other day I was at a barbecue. As I looked at my son, I thought she will never see him grow up,” she lamented.
Celeste wrote often, and sadly, about her sister on Facebook. Her posts are public, there for the world to see. April 29, 2011, seemed to mark quite an inauspicious occasion for her, as she posted:
I’m up watching the Royal Wedding countdown, the family and friends, the groom’s men and the bridesmaids, and all the dresses. It’s a fantasy. Who wouldn’t want to have a gorgeous wedding? I start to think about how mine will be, and then I realize that the one thing I’ll never have is Debbie as my maid of honor. I wanted her to hold my bouquet and say that speech and toast on my behalf. It will never be a perfect wedding as I’d want it to be.
Everyone close to Debora Flores-Narvaez questioned why it happened, particularly why it happened the way it did, and whether there would be justice for their friend, their colleague, and, in Celeste’s case, for her sister.
Debbie’s former roommate, Sonya Sonnenberg, a beautiful and exotic-looking young woman who works as an aerialist—meaning she performs trapeze feats, on ropes, with scarves, while high up in the air—in Las Vegas shows, remembered that dancing was Debora’s “dream job.” Sonya was the person who called in the missing person’s report about her roommate to the police. “She missed two rehearsals in a row for
FANTASY,
which wasn’t like her, and we couldn’t get ahold of her so we called the police.
“I met her when she started working at
FANTASY
. And I moved in with her about a year or so later,” Sonya recalled. “I remember she was very passionate about lifeand about everything pretty much.” Sonya said that as a roommate, Debbie didn’t cook, but she was clean, and liked to decorate. “She decorated with colorful, nice
Similar Books
