“It’s a thermoplastic polymer,” I said. “Lightweight glass. Plexi, people say.”
“So?”
“Camila made a drawing with colored pencils, depicting the insects feeding on the bait traps. She worked on it for weeks. She was very proud of her work. She slipped it in between the two sheets of Lexan at the bottom. It wasn’t there in the broken exhibit.”
“Someone probably took it,” Rosa said, her eyes steady on mine.
“On the way home, I asked Camila if anything was missing from her project, and she said no. I imagine you’ll find the drawing folded up in her backpack.”
“What are you saying?”
“Camila destroyed the other girl’s exhibit. Then, to look innocent, she did the same to her own. But she didn’t want to ruin the drawing.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’ll find out. At the right time.”
Rosa swallowed, and we sat in silence for a moment.
“You can never turn it off, can you?” she said eventually. “The way you are. This analysis.”
“It’s not a burden,” I said. “It’s a gift.”
Rosa huffed.
“I will be spending more time in Hambis,” I said. “Over the next week. That’s why I asked about Camila. But I’ll also be in Dallas. My mother woke up.”
“Oh my God,” Rosa said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just did,” I said, my voice flat.
Rosa twitched at my response. Then shook it off.
“I’ve been praying,” she said, looking away. When she returned her gaze, there were tears in her eyes.
Camila had told me that Rosa said the rosary every night for my mother. My daughter had asked about this. About what I thought of it.
“I’m not religious like you or your nana,” I’d said to Camila. “But there are triple-blind studies on the power of prayer.”
“What’s triple blind?” Camila had asked. I explained this in the best way I could, describing a study of infertile women in Korea whose names had been randomized and given to distant prayer groups in Canada and the US. Neither the patients nor their providers were informed of the prayers, yet the women for whom prayers were offered had nearly twice as high a pregnancy rate as the control group who had not been prayed for.
“So how is your mom doing?” Rosa asked.
“She’s confused,” I said. “Weak.”
“Is there a chance she falls back into a coma?”
“Very little,” I said. “But there’s a high likelihood that her Alzheimer’s is worse than before.”
Rosa wiped at her eyes. “God is good,” she said. She took her teacup and placed it in the sink. “I need to go to bed.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “Camila is always welcome here. You know that.”
“Yes.”
“There’s also that room.” Rosa pointed down the street. “The Salinas family rents it out. It’s not much. Eight by ten maybe. No kitchen. Just a bathroom and a bed. I saw her put out the sign two doors down.”
“When?”
“Three days ago. It might still be available if you wanted to rent it.”
