the same thing with his brother.
The pattern was not subtle anymore.
“Do you know where Luis is?” I asked.
Mom stood.
She went to the old telephone desk in the hallway and opened the bottom drawer.
From behind a stack of warranties, she removed an envelope.
Dad stared at her.
“You kept that?”
“Of course I kept it.”
The postmark was seven years old.
Santa Fe, New Mexico.
The return address belonged to Luis Ruiz.
Dad smiled despite himself.
“Your mother saves everything.”
“Things become history because women like
