Chapter 7: What Ines Knows

"He said my mother's name," I told Ines at two in the morning.

We sat on the floor of the clinic with the door open, so we could hear his monitor down the hall.

She had a bag of pretzels and a thermos of tea, and she hadn't said anything for a full minute.

"I know," she said.

"You heard him?"

"I've heard him say it before. In his sleep, not often."

She rolled a pretzel between her fingers.

"Serafina, I'll tell you what I can. You aren't going to like how little it is."

"Tell me."

"I was sixteen. Tadeo was nineteen. It was a Sunday, and he took the car out in the morning."

She looked at me.

"He came home at noon with blood all down his front. Not his."

My mouth went dry.

"He walked into the shower in his clothes and sat on the tile with the water running."

She turned the thermos in her hands.

"I sat outside the door for four hours, and he never said a word."

"Whose blood was it?"

"I asked him once, when I was twenty-five and drunk at a wedding."

She put the pretzel down.

"He looked at me like I'd hit him. I've never asked again."

"It was my mother's church," I said. "The steps. That's where she was shot."

"I know where it was."

"Your family killed her."

"That's what your family says," said Ines.

She said it gently.

"Mine said the same about yours. I've never seen proof of either, and I've looked for fifteen years."

I took the pretzel she held out and ate it, because I needed something to do with my hands.

Footsteps in the hall.

Ramiro stood in the doorway in a rumpled shirt, and I jumped.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

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