“Thank you for this additional information,” I said.
Outside, we walked down toward the parent drop-off area near the primary learning center. In the parking lot, Cassie ordered an Uber home, and I did the same for Camila and me.
“Thanks for coming,” I said, walking over to Cassie as her car pulled up.
“Of course,” she said. “See you in the morning.”
The car drove off, and Camila walked over. Held my hand.
“She’s pretty,” she said.
“I agree.”
We got to Rosa’s in five minutes, and Camila changed into her PJs. She quickly kissed me good night and hurried to bed without asking for a story. Unusual.
Rosa had been in the shower when we got there, and now she came out in her nightgown and robe. Made me a tea with honey and placed it on the worn wooden table in the eat-in kitchen.
“The condo served me notice,” I said.
“What?” Her eyes got huge.
I hadn’t yet told anyone this, including Camila. That the owner who’d put us up at the Rio Rio had decided to sell his rental property.
“They’re kicking you out?” Rosa asked, her eyes big.
“The market’s up. The owner’s taking the moment to renovatethe place,” I said. “Once all the repairs to the walls are done, they’re putting it up for sale.”
Rosa raised her eyebrows and shook her head, almost invisibly. I went quiet. We had a complex relationship. Her husband, Saul, was my first partner and mentor. It was Saul who had invited me to Sunday dinners at his house. Dinners where I’d gotten to know their daughter, Anna, my ex-wife.
My mother used to remind me that their family was not required to accept me the way my own family did. That it was a privilege to be loved by strangers. But everything with Rosa changed after I turned Anna in to the police. Saul had two heart attacks that month, and the second one killed him.
“They’ll extend the hotel another three weeks,” I said. “But I don’t believe it’s a stable environment for Camila.”
Rosa sat down at the table, and I did the same. She had her robe buttoned up; her long brown hair was damp and made wet marks on the fabric.
“You want Camila to move back here?”
In the first two weeks at the Rio Rio, my daughter had been excited about the prospect of life at a hotel. The free continental breakfast, with unlimited miniature cereal boxes. Rides on the luggage cart. At night when she was hyper, I had her run the long hallways, timing how fast she could make it from the ice maker at one end to the Coke machine at the other. But as the condo took longer to fix, and my work got busier, Camila spent more and more time locked up in room 312. It had become increasingly clear that this was not the home she needed.
“For now, I think it would be best,” I said. “Until I figure something else out.”
Rosa held my gaze for a beat. Camila had lived at Rosa’s half her life.
“This is always her home,” she said. “You know that. But when you talk about stability…” She shrugged. “Camila lived here. Then you uprooted her to stay with you in that condo. Then she lived in a hotel. Now back here. What’s next?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Why now?”
I explained about the science project. About the conversation with Ms. Lopez.
“The shoes you dress Camila in for church,” I said. “They leave small black marks on the engineered wood when she runs around the hotel. The same marks were visible on the other girl’s project.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Camila had me mount a piece of Lexan to the bottom of her exhibit.”
Rosa squinted. “What?”
