He winced as if the term of endearment chafed. It struck me how little he looked like his mother. Not that she wasn’t beautiful or that the resemblances between them weren’t striking. More like there was nothing about the two of them that suggested they belonged together. They had the same onyx eyes, but hers were lifeless and dull, and there was a hollowness to her smile.
They stared at each other like strangers.
“Hello, Regina,” Gloria said. “It’s good to see you.”
Javi’s mother spared Norma and Gloria a glance but didn’t acknowledge them.
She grinned at Javi. “When are you coming home? I can make up your old room.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no trouble—”
“I said don’t worry about it.”
“But I want to—”
“I have a place to sleep,” he said sharply. He gestured to my van, and her face hardened.
“I see.” Message delivered, loud and clear. Javi would rather sleep alone on the bench seat of my cold minivan than spend a night in his childhood home with her.
She turned for her car. The door of the rusted Pontiac creaked when she jerked it open. “You can come and see if I still have room for you when Ramón’s family gets tired of you and decides to give you back.”
Javi’s fists clenched at his sides as he watched her drive away. A door shut quietly at Lenore’s house. A curtain fell closed in Wendell’s kitchen. The soft squeak of Joan’s oxygen cart faded down the street.
A smoke alarm shattered the silence. It was coming from Norma’s house.
Gloria gasped as a faint whiff of charred sugar and bread caught the air. “The capirotada! I left it in the oven!” She ran home to turn it off, her apron flapping as she hurried through the grass.
A siren wailed in the distance. Lenore shouted from her window, “Nobody panic. I called nine-one-one. Help is on the way!”
CHAPTER 7
By the time we all filed into Norma’s house, the fire alarm was silent. Gloria had two windows cracked, and the thick gray haze was beginning to dissipate from the kitchen. The shattered remains of the smoke detector lay on the cutting board.
“I need a new one,” she said to Ramón.
He shook his head at the rolling pin beside it. “That’s the third detector you’ve broken this month.”
“I can’t help it. They give me a headache.”
He muttered in Spanish under his breath but agreed to go to the hardware store in the morning to buy her a new one.
Gloria got busy filling a small basket with pillowy, warm tortillas, and Norma put me to work serving out bowls of stew from the pot on the stove. The rich red tomato broth was brimming with ground beef, potatoes, and onions, and a pan of something that looked like bread pudding was cooling on the counter. The sugar-crusted top was singed around the edges. Ramón helped me carry it all to the table while Vero filled a bag with ice and pressed it to Javi’s lip. She set a place for him at the table, and we all took our seats.
Vero reached for the wine bottle and poured me a glass.
Gloria passed me a cup of water. “Finlay’s not having any alcohol. She gave it up for Lent.”
Vero looked at me askance. “Sure, she did.” She hid her smirk behind the wineglass, keeping it for herself.
“Thank you for letting us stay for dinner. Everything looks delicious,” I said, ignoring Vero’s scrutiny.
“It’s picadillo,” Gloria said. “We’ve all been under a lot of stress. I thought a little comfort food might be nice.”
“You should have told me you were coming,” Ramón said to Javi. “Showing up like you did was a stupid idea. Norma’s right. Vero can’t afford to give the prosecutor any more ammunition to use against her in court. You have a record. If they find out she’s married to some guy who got busted trying to boost a car, it’s only going to—”
Norma gasped. Gloria’s mouth fell open. Ramón swore quietly as he realized his mistake.
