from the dresser and then hit the shower. I make it quick because the contents of one hot water tank can only be stretched so far, and listening to my sisters whine about cold water will ruin my morning.
“Buenos días, Abuela,” I tell my grandmother in the kitchen, trying to hold back my amusement at the mug of coffee sitting on the countertop next to the assembly line of lunches she’s got going. It took forever, but I think I’ve finally convinced her to give up her wretched instant coffee and drink the freshly brewed stuff.
“Buenos días.” She gives me a warm smile as she adds an apple to each lunch box, mine included. “So, mijo, I need to talk to you about taking Daniela to the optometrist,” she announces in Spanish. “Her teacher sent a note home again.”
The stress on the word again makes me flinch, and I almost spill the coffee I’m pouring. “It’s still on my list.” I pause. “You’re sure we can’t take her to the community clinic?”
“I told you, they lost funding for that.”
“Yeah,” I grumble. “You told me. I’ll take care of it.”
Flopping myself down at the old kitchen table, I push out a sigh.
“Gracias, mijo.” I feel her hand ruffle my hair. “That girl needs you. You’re a good uncle. And . . . ,” she pauses for effect, smiling sweetly, “the best grandson.”
I chuckle. “Are you sweet talking me, Abuela? Should I be worried?”
I catch a glimpse of her grimace as she sits in the chair next to me. “Perhaps. Yesterday, after Mass, I had an interesting conversation with Se?ora Alvarez.”
My brain flips through all the se?oras at church yesterday. “Jorgie’s grandmother?” As I say the words, it all falls into place. Oh, shit. Here we go.
She nods. “It seems he got arrested on Friday.” I watch her shake her head with disapproval. “That family, I tell you.”
I grit my teeth. “You can’t blame them for Tío Javier’s death, Abuela. He made his own choices.”
Her lips compress into a straight edge, deepening the lines around her mouth. I know she’s holding back on starting an argument, one we’ve had a million times in the past. Her only son, my Tío Javier, came up in Los Santos del Diablo with Alejandro, Jorgie’s uncle. They were best friends until my uncle was killed eight years ago. I was fourteen at the time and his murder left a huge crater in our lives. He was the only thing close to a father that I’d ever known – and in an instant, he and his long-time girlfriend were gone, shot dead outside their house that’s not four blocks from here. They left behind their three month old daughter, Daniela, and now I’m the only thing close to a father that she’s ever known. The world is a messed-up place, but my grandmother’s need to place the blame on Jorgie’s family’s doorstep isn’t right.
“Well, I don’t see you getting arrested, now do I?”
My stomach clenches but I manage to keep my face neutral. She doesn’t need to know how close I came to landing my ass in jail right alongside Jorgie’s.
“I talked to Jorgie last night,” I say. “They didn’t file charges, so what’s his grandmother worried about?”
Her expression sours even more. “She seems to think that I’d be willing to ask you about getting Jorge a job at your company.” My grandmother never calls Jorgie by his nickname, it’s always the proper Jorge.
I laugh. “Jorgie? With a nine-to-five job? That’ll be the day.”
“That’s what I said. But then Father Martín added his support for the idea.”
My heart falls. “Father Martín wants me to get Jorgie a job?” This morning is going downhill fast. I can’t say no to Father Martín. I owe him. He was the one who got me my first construction job when I was seventeen. Without him vouching for me, I’d still be working for minimum wage at Walmart or something.
“Unfortunately, yes. He thinks that some structure will keep Jorge out of trouble.”
Like a harbinger of doom, the house phone that’s mounted on the wall by the fridge rings.
“That will be Father Martín now.”
Glancing at the clock, I sigh. It’s 6:25 a.m. “He wanted to catch you before you went to work, mijo.”
Before it can ring a third time and wake the whole house, I grab the receiver and proceed to very politely agree to Father Martín’s request – against every single one of my instincts. Jorgie with a job, especially one that