people before saying hello.”
“That was hello.”
They spoke for ninety minutes.
Not about everything.
Forty years did not fit into one call.
They talked about weather.
Work.
People who had died.
Places Luis had traveled.
Granddad.
Grandmom.
Then Dad mentioned the workshop.
Luis went quiet.
“I remember that land,” he said.
“So do I now.”
“Did you build the shop?”
“We’re rebuilding it.”
“We?”
“My sons.”
Another pause.
“You have sons.”
“Two.”
“You never sent photographs.”
“I know.”
“Well, that was inconsiderate.”
“Yes.”
Derek stared at me.
I had
