The Pool Guy Came Tuesdays, and by July It Wasn't the Pool novel · Chapter 23 of 24

Chapter 23: The Table

His abuela came through my front door at noon on Labor Day, four foot ten in a lavender blouse, and looked at my entry table before she looked at me.

"No flowers," she said.

"I'll get some," I said.

"You will get some," she agreed, and handed me her purse.

Nico's mother followed with a casserole dish wrapped in two dish towels and a foil lid.

She was a head taller than her mother-in-law, and she looked at me the way she had looked at the kringle, which was with polite doubt.

"Enchiladas verdes," she said. "The cheese is still going."

"It smells incredible."

"It smells like enchiladas."

Nico had been at my side since eleven, in a clean button-down he'd ironed, with his ears red from the minute the minivan pulled in.

He took the dish from his mother and kissed her cheek.

She patted his face and looked past him at the house.

"The grass needs water," she said.

"The sprinklers are off," I said.

"Why?"

"They were putting fertilizer in the pool."

His mother looked at her son.

His abuela looked at the pool through the sliding glass for a long time.

Then she walked out onto the deck in her good shoes, bent, and put two fingers into the water.

"Clear," she said.

"It's been clear for five weeks," said Nico.

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