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“I’d be very surprised if she is. She doesn’t approve of her son’s choices.”
“Should I call Miguel?”
“No, I’ll talk to her if you watch for Mateo. He comes out with his aide, Lauren.”
“I’ll watch for him, but if you need me, scream your head off.”
“What does that mean? ‘Scream my head off’?”
He does an impression of screaming with his head bobbing all around that makes me laugh.
“Got it.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.”
I get out of his truck and walk over to talk to Marisol, who has always been a friend to me even in the worst of times with Joaquín. “What’re you doing here?” I ask her in Spanish.
“I was hoping to see you and wasn’t sure where else I could find you. I heard you’re not staying at home.”
“I’m not, because it isn’t safe for me to be there with your son and his family shooting at people I care about.”
“Joaquín says they didn’t shoot anyone,” she says tearfully. “He would never do something like that.”
“The police have it on video, Marisol. They can prove it was them.”
She breaks down into quiet sobs. “You drove him to it! You left him and took his child!”
“I left him because he was cruel to me, and you know that. You saw it and even criticized him for the way he treated me. Imagine what it was like when you weren’t there. I saved myself and my son by leaving him.”
“This isn’t him. He’s not someone who would shoot someone.”
I don’t reply to that because what can I say? What mother wants to be told her son is a psychopath who’d shoot an innocent person?
“Who is this man you’re with?”
“His name is Nico. His brother is the one who was shot. They thought Milo was Nico. They were trying to kill him because I’m happy with him.”
“You’re still married. Maybe that’s why he was upset.”
“I’ve filed for divorce, which will be final anytime now. I’m free to see other people, as he is as well.”
“He doesn’t want anyone but you!”
“I’m no longer available to him, Marisol. He treated me badly, and you know it!”
“Is everything all right?” Nico asks.
I turn to find him there, his hand on Mateo’s shoulder.
“Abuela!” Mateo rushes into his grandmother’s outstretched arms.
“Hola, mi niño. ¿Como esta?”
“Bien.”
“Let’s go home, Mateo,” I say.
