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SUNDAY MORNING, Tony woke with a pounding headache. Groaning, he knew he’d gotten too much sun yesterday; he’d spent hours out in the blazing heat mowing, rebuilding—with her husband’s inept help—a section of fence in Maria’s backyard that her large dog had knocked over, and looking under the hood of Beatrix’s 1998 Acura, trying to figure out why it was making a “knocking” sound. Why him? he’d asked. Half the men in the family did automotive engine or body repair and surely knew more than he did about cars.
She had sniffed disdainfully, her hands pressed to her distended belly. “Eddie drove it and says he doesn’t hear anything. Which only means he’s deaf.”
Did she know how much like Mamá she sounded?
She offered him a melting smile. “You’re so good at fixing things.”
She wasn’t smiling when he left an hour later after telling her he didn’t hear any knocking either and couldn’t find anything obvious wrong beneath the hood.
Last night, pizza and Beth had improved his mood immeasurably. Because of the clunky cast, he’d had her lie on her good side and had entered her from behind, his body spooning hers. They’d started slow, urgency building. The detonation at the end had knocked them both out. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed that early or slept the night through without waking once.
He rolled over in bed to find himself alone. Damn. How had she gotten up without him hearing? Grogginess settled into the drumbeat of the headache. Tony groaned again and got up, listening for Beth. The sound of the refrigerator door closing was reassurance enough for him to decide to take a shower. But first, he’d search her medicine cabinet for any kind of over-the-counter painkiller.
When he finally appeared in the kitchen, her sunny smile warmed him, despite the headache.
“He’s alive!”
“You didn’t provide slave labor yesterday.” He kissed her.
“But I shopped. You don’t know what an ordeal that can be.”
Tony swatted her butt. Laughing, she dodged.
Two cups of coffee and a homemade waffle later, he felt a lot better. Until his phone rang.
The caller was his mother—and this was Sunday. Crap.
“I’d better take this,” he said and went into the living room, half sitting on the arm of the sofa. Answering the phone, he said, “Mamá.”
“Good morning to you!” she said. “Carlos and Eloisa picked me up for church. Miracle of miracles, Jaime is still clean.”
So Carlos had made it home last night. Relaxing, Tony said, “Once they start finger painting, he won’t stay that way.” Older teenage girls, supervised by one adult, ran the childcare that freed their parents to worship in peace. The little ones always had fun.
“No, but at least everyone will see that his mamá made sure he looked nice for church.” She barely paused. “Are you on your way?”
“No, Mamá. I won’t be there today.”
“Tony! This is the third Sunday in a row. What will Father Raimundo say?”
“He’ll say Tony is a busy man, and that God understands.”
“He might start thinking you’re wandering from the faith,” she countered. Two hours once a week isn’t so much to give.”
“And I usually do attend,” he said, maintaining a calm voice. “You know that. This has been a difficult week.”
“I suppose you won’t be coming to dinner either?”
If she’d asked that first, he might have surrendered. Beth could have gone to her dad’s again or her brother’s. But now he had his back up.
Thinking about Beth, he glanced toward the kitchen. The rustle of a newspaper page being turned allowed him to hope she wasn’t listening. He should have gone outside for this conversation.
“I’m afraid not.”
Over-the-top mournful, she said, “You’re slipping away from us.”
“I spent all day yesterday helping my sisters,” he reminded her, having no doubt that she already knew exactly how he’d spent his day.
“Beatrix says you didn’t fix her car.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose hard. His facade of calm began to creak, too. “There’s nothing wrong with her car that I could find. She says Eddie told her the same thing.”
