The Comet

By Tess Almendarez Lojacono

rini flipped a tortilla from lid to warm basket and quickly tossed a fresh circle of dough in its place.  She blew on her fingers, fearing she’d never rival her mother, who could build stacks and stacks of fluffy tortillas without minding the hot stove, the burned fingertips. Trini tried hard.  She would surprise Carlos; two surprises really, fresh tortillas and her news:  she was fairly sure--practically certain—she was thinking of moving back home!
            “Mama!” Trini ducked into the utility room.  Her mother was washing, lifting the soaking garments into a wringer; guiding them through another tub of water to rinse.  “Mama, I’m doing the last one.”
            Her mother sniffed the air.  “Burning the last one?”
            “Oh shit!  Oops, sorry!”  Trini hurried back to the stove.  “Shit shit shit shit shit,” she muttered, gingerly slipping the last tortilla in with the rest.
            “Hey!  Look who’s home!”  She whirled around. Carlos stood in the doorway, all arms and legs and books. “You’re making the tortillas?  What have you done with our mother?”
            Trini threw herself on him in a hug.  “You’re such a jerk!”  He dropped the books on an already cluttered table.  “I made a whole batch, see?”  She stepped aside to reveal the overflowing basket. 
            Carlos lifted a corner of its cloth covering.  “Oh, wow.  Boy oh boy!”  Removing one from the exact center of the pile, he blew on it three times, folded it twice and jammed the whole thing in his mouth.
            “You’re gonna go through them in no time like that!  Slow down.  Save some for the rest of us!”
            “Is everyone coming?” Carlos mumbled with his mouth full.  Trini nodded.  “Ugh!”
            She crossed her brown arms. “What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you loved having the family around!”
            “First of all, you know what it means.”  He swallowed hard and reached for another.  “And second of all, all of them?”
            Trini nodded again.
            “They’re gonna scare BOB.” Carlos tore his tortilla in half.
            “Who?”
            “Remember I told you about my weird friend--well accomplice really, he’d never admit to anything so banal as friendship--who’s coming over so I can show him my new script only he doesn’t know that’s why I invited him because like I said, he’s so weird?  Plus he’s shy.  Anyway, I might want him to be in the film.  If we make it.  I think.”
            “Oh, yeah!  Bob.”
            Carlos shook his head.  “You don’t get it.” He tossed her the other half of his tortilla and quickly gulped the rest.
            “What?  I only said his name.”
            “No you didn’t, but never mind.”  He began rifling through the books and papers he had deposited on the table.
            “The new script in there?”
            “Somewhere,” he muttered.  They heard a truck pulling into the long dirt driveway.
            “Is that your friend?”
            Carlos peered out the window. “No, you goof--that’s Nunzio!  He got a new truck, remember?” 
            “Oh, yeah…” 
            Trini came home on weekends, but not frequently enough to keep up with what everyone was doing (or driving).  She watched now as Carlos loped up the hill to Nunzio’s shiny black Ford.  Her big brother swung his legs out of the truck cab and the rest of him slowly followed.  Nunzio never did anything quickly.  He clapped Carlos on the back, nearly sending him reeling down the hill again.  Carlos laughed and talked, gesturing frantically about something or other. 
            Trini loved to see her brothers together, one so vast and stoic, the other like a firecracker, ready to explode.  She went to fetch her mother.  “Mama!  Leave the wash.  I’ll finish.  Nunzio is here.  Where’s Dad?”
            “This is the last load, Trinidad.  You can help me hang it.”  Mama heaved a plastic basket of wet laundry toward her.  It was all sheets and pillowcases.  Trini didn’t know why her mother had to do laundry today of all days, when everyone was coming, but she took the basket.  Laundry day was laundry day to Mama, and would remain so, no matter who was expected. 
            Mama smoothed her hair.  “Tell Nunzio to get the big stick.  It’s behind the garage.  And your father?” She frowned.  “He must still be in the woods.  Can you hear the chain saw?”
            Trini shook her head.  “I don’t think so.”
           
            There was a clothes line stretched halfway up the hill, from the buckeye to the sagging staircase on the side of the garage and across again to a post, standing at the corner of the deck.  The garage was dug into the hillside, so that the top part was level with the driveway, and underneath was a musty, dark storage room for tools, cans of fuel, the gravely mower.  It had that great smell of metal and gasoline.  When she was little, Trini wanted to work in a filling station pumping gas, because of that smell.  Of course, gas station attendants didn’t pump gas anymore.  Did anyone still hang wash?
           
            “Hey, Ma!”  Nunzio lifted his mother in an embrace.
            “Mama, need some help?”  Carlos grabbed the basket from Trini. 
            “Watch it!  Those things are clean!”  Trini laughed.  “Nunz, get the stick, would you?”
            He put his mother down.  “Behind the garage?”
            “Yes, of course,” Mama nodded.  “Carlitos, start at the far end or the sheets will touch the ground.
            Trini and Carlos raced to see who could hang the fastest and the sheets were indeed touching the tips of the grass when Nunzio returned to prop a long tree branch in the middle of the line, raising the whole thing from the center.
            “I win!” shouted Trini.
            “No fair!  Nunzio got in my way.”
            “You two should grow up.” Nunzio shook a pillowcase at them.
            “Why?” they answered in unison.  Trini grabbed the pillowcase. 
            “I’m gonna find Dad.” Nunzio turned toward the woods.  “Chicken, Mama?”
            “Arroz con pollo.  Your favorite.  And Trini made tortillas.”
            “Funny,” Nunzio grinned over his shoulder.  “I didn’t smell anything burning!” 
            Trini threw a clothespin at him and had to go pick it up.  “Carlos,” she said.  “Let’s do this line together. Mama, we’ll finish up.  Go relax.”
            Mama smiled. She shielded her eyes with her hand. “I see Mr. Kramer’s car in his driveway.  Your little sister must be back from Girl Scouts.”
            “That’s why it’s so quiet!” Carlos murmured. 
            “Not for long,” Trini said.  “I wondered where Baby was.”
            Mama shook a finger at Trini as she went back to the kitchen.  “No no. Don’t call her that!  She’s changed her name again, you know.”  She disappeared into the house.
            Carlos and Trini stretched a wet sheet between them and looked at each other.  “Again?”

            Maria Elena, or Baby, as they liked to refer to their baby sister, was born seven years after Carlos, the supposed last child.  When she was five and Carlos was immersed in the Catholic rite of Confirmation, she asked him what that meant.
            “It means if you really want to be a Catholic, you must pick your favorite saint and take another name, the saint’s name.”
            “Oh.  You get to decide about that yourself?”
            Carlos nodded.  “Who’s your favorite saint?”
            Without hesitation she replied, “Mary Magdalene.”
            He whistled.  “Boy oh boy.”
            Suddenly, Maria Elena brightened. “You may call me that from now on.”
            “Magdalena?” he said hopefully.
            She shook her head.  She was Mary Magdalene for the next seven months.  Both names, in English, every time or she wouldn’t even acknowledge the speaker. 

            From where they stood, Carlos and Trini could see their little sister go into the Kramer’s house, probably for a snack.
            “So, what’s this one about?” Trini said. “The script I mean.”
            “Oh, it’s a sci-fi thing about a guy who leaves home in search of a legendary comet.  See, this comet embodies the mysterious, holy thing he thinks is missing from his life.  Or this is his hope, anyway.”
            “Okay, back up.  Why’s he looking for something holy to begin with?”
             “He’s a loner, a solitary kind of guy.  One day he’s hunting in the forest and he sees a family of deer--buck, doe, fawn, the works.  He begins to notice all the animals with families, birds, squirrels, what have you, and he starts to feel like something’s missing in his life.  So, he’s tromping around in the woods for days, sleeping on the ground, cooking over campfires, and one night he has this dream.  He dreams up a creature, more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen, stronger, sweeter and he knows this is the missing part of himself! The next night he dreams it again, and the next and in his dreams he begins tracking the creature, wanting to possess it.  So by the seventh night, in his dream he lays a trap and when the creature’s caught, it turns out to be a girl!”
            “Naturally.”
            “No, that’s not it.  Remember, this girl’s only trapped in his dream.  So the next night, she’s still in the trap and she’s all pale and sad and he notices she has a kind of sunflower shape right about here,” Carlos touched Trini’s neck.  “So he asks her what it is and she tells him it’s the mark of the comet.” 
            “The mark of the comet...”
            “Yeah. So he’s all curious about how she got it and what it means.  He asks her and all she’ll say is, “You must return.”  He asks several times, in several ways, but all she says is “You must return.”
            Then the next night, he dreams of the comet.  It’s beautiful and wild and I have no idea how we’ll make this part of the movie!”
            “Really.”
            “So, that day he panics because the girl wasn’t in this dream and what if he doesn’t dream of her again?  She’ll stay caught in his trap and how long can she survive?  So he keeps dreaming of the comet and in a panic, he decides that it must hold the answer and he starts tracking the comet in his dreams and as his obsession grows, he begins tracking it in real life as well.   He thinks about it, dreams about it, totally obsesses until suddenly one day he sees the comet’s tail, trailing around one of his suns!  And that’s something too, because even though he sees only one sun at any given time, he’s convinced that there really are two.”
            “Like twins?”
            “Kind of.  That’s how he thinks the other side of the world lives.  It makes sense to him.  It’ll be like, I don’t know, an accepted belief or part of the girl’s story or something.”
            “But he never really sees the other sun?”
            “No.  The hunter separates seeing and believing like two totally separate activities. Abilities.  It’s how he defines faith--as courage, the ultimate courage.”
            “You mean, pursuing something he can’t really see, based solely on his belief that it exists?”
            “Yeah, that’s it.  Like his dreams.  Like the comet.  He’ll have glimpses, but that’s all.  So anyway, in his pursuit of this comet, he discovers a sacred scroll that reveals another definition of the word ‘comet’: a beautiful longhaired being.  He learns that the ancients considered comets living things.  Creatures, individuals. So the girl could actually have been the spirit of the comet and trapping her may be luring the comet to him.”
            “Huh.”
            “And that’s not all--if a comet is a living thing,” here Carlos slowed down, ran his fingers through his hair, “He figures maybe everything is, maybe everything has a beautiful soul, alive and separate from its physical body.  So our hunter gets more excited and this feeds his obsession.  All of creation comes alive to him!  Everything’s got a living breathing soul and everything points to the trail of the comet.  He ends up chasing it for months, years, totally consumed by his quest.  Eventually, his memory of the girl and his vision of the comet become one and he convinces himself he’s actually in love with the comet.”
            “In love?  Stalking, as it were?”
            Carlos smiled, nodded.
            “Hey you guys!  You’re here!”  Baby came galloping up the driveway.  She was taller than when Trini had seen her last, thinner, her hair longer. 
            “Baby!”  Trini held out her arms.
            She stopped in mid flight.  “That’s not my name.”
            “Oh, come here!  Who cares?  Want me to call you Madam President?” Trini ran up and forced a hug upon her little sister.  “Is that chocolate on your face?”
            “Probably.  Don’t squeeze me so hard.”  She broke free.
            “Senorita,” Carlos regarded his little sister earnestly, “By which of your glorious titles are we addressing you today?”
            “Not just today.  I’m through with Baby and with Maria Elena. Forever.”
            “Don’t forget Mary Magdalene.”
            “Please!  I was just a child back then.  You may call me,” raising her chin, tilting her head for dramatic effect, “ME.”
            “Me?”  Trini blinked.  “Won’t that be kind of confusing?”  What she meant was conceited, but she didn’t like to anger her little sister outright.  Baby heaved a sigh, resigned to bearing the cross of siblings too unintelligent to understand.
            “Wait a minute,” Carlos said, his jaw dropping.  “Holy shit.  You mean M-E, don’t you?”  He spelled it this time.
            Relief poured over Baby’s face.  “Yes!  Of course.”
            “Initials?’ Trini said.
            Baby answered patiently,  “No. You don’t spell it out every time, it’s--”
            Carlos interrupted.  He nodded as he repeated, “ME.  Just like--boy oh boy!”
            Trini threw her hands in the air as she descended to the house again.  “It’s like we don’t even speak the same language!”

            The kitchen was warm, filled with the smell of chicken and sweet onions.  Mama was browning the rice.  “Nunzio find your father yet?”
            Trini shook her head.  “ME is here.”
            “What kind of talk is that, baby talk?”
            “Yes.  But don’t call her that anymore.” 
            Mama frowned. 
            Trini lingered, touching things, lifting lids.  She wondered if she should say something to her mother about moving back, but decided, no.  Why get Mama’s hopes up until she was sure?

            Two more cars drove up.   The first was a red station wagon holding Claudio and his little daughter, Mercedes.  His wife had been Trini’s eldest sister.  It was still a shock to see them without her.  And just behind them, a black BMW carrying the beautiful Modesta and Paul, crunched over the stones and little clumps of dirt.
            Paul and Claudio greeted one another in the driveway while Modesta led Mercedes down the hill.   Trini and her mother watched the pair lift their arms and run through the sheets, making the stick sway wildly.
            “They’re going to make the line collapse!” Mama said softly.  “But just look at that child’s face!”  Mercedes glowed with pleasure.  Everyone had been so worried about her when her mother died.  She and Claudio seemed fine now. 
            Modesta knelt to tie Mercedes’ shoe.  Trini watched her watching Claudio.
            “Auntie Modesta, one more time!  Please!”
            Modesta grinned up at the child and nodded.  Together they pranced to the top of the hill again, Mercedes jumping and skipping around her graceful aunt.  This time Claudio saw them run, hair flying, perfume on the wind.  He smiled.                 
           
            “Modesta!” Trini wrapped her arms around her sister’s designer shirt, felt her heart pumping wildly, her body warm from running.  “Nice running outfit!”
            “I liked it this morning, but now I wish I was dressed like Mercedes!” Both girls watched Mama hugging the little girl like she’d never let her go.
            “My turn, my turn!”  Trini grabbed Mercedes, tickling her and planting big kisses on her head.
            “Aunt Trini!  You always do that!”  Mercedes giggled. 
            “Baby!” Modesta called.  “Mercedes, go find Aunt Baby to play with!”
            “No, no,” Trini interrupted. “She’s not going by that anymore.”
            Modesta sighed.  “What is it now?”
            “Just call her me.”
            “You?”
            “Call Aunt Baby Aunt Trini too?” Mercedes looked confused.
            “No, no. Me.  Me.”
            “Aunt Mimi?” Modesta said.  “Mercedes, call your Aunt Baby, Aunt Mimi from now on.”
            Trini started to correct them, but then changed her mind.  It didn’t really matter.  Mercedes would be forgiven and Modesta was going to slip up anyway.  She went to look for Carlos.
           
            He was behind the barn, watching Nunzio split wood for a fire later.  Claudio and Dad were drinking beer.  Trini kissed her father on the cheek, inhaled his scent of cut grass and new wood.  She gave Claudio a warm greeting.  He smiled at her, asked if she would like a beer.
            “No thanks, not yet.  Dad, were you clearing the woods again?”
            “I made a whole new path! Didn’t you hear the chain saw?   You and Carlos go take a look! Baby and Mercedes will love it!”
            “Good idea.  C’mon Carlitos.”
            They strode up the hill, around a patch of poison ivy and into the crunchy cool forest.  Then, almost immediately they stepped into sunlight.  Their father had cut a swath through the brush, at least six feet wide, circling trees and rounding hills.
            “Man, look at this!” Trini said under her breath.
            “Yeah I know.  He’s nuts!”
            “Carlos!  Don’t talk about your father that way!”
            “Easy for you to say,” he muttered.  “You don’t have to follow in his footsteps.”
            “Sure I do. We all do.  Except maybe for Baby.”  They walked in silence for a while.  “Are you gonna finish it?”
            “What?”
            “The Comet!  What happens next?”
            “Oh, yeah.  Well, see, chasing his dream, the hunter is drawn back to his own home.”
            Trini blushed, but Carlos didn’t see.  Had he guessed her plan? “You mean back to his actual house?”
            “Well, not exactly.  First it’s just his galaxy, his solar system, but he’s so obsessed with the chase, he doesn’t even notice. Not until he’s orbiting his home planet.”
            “Which is?”
            Carlos smiled.  “Earth.”
            They heard voices calling. “You guys!  Wait up!”  It was Modesta, flanked by Baby and Mercedes.
            “Hello, ME.”  Carlos was frankly delighted with her new name.
            Baby smiled.  Carlitos would be the first one to get it!
           
            Some ended up calling her Mia.  Some Mimi.  Her mother stubbornly stuck to Maria Elena and her father now called her “Baby-oops!”  Often Claudio or Nunzio or one of her sisters would forget and call her Baby, but Baby only thought of herself as ME, so convinced was she of its absolute perfection.  It was short.  It was sweet. It was bold.  It reminded her gently of the name she had been given, while allowing her the freedom to define herself.  She occasionally wondered why nobody else had chosen it.
           
            When Carlos’ friend BOB arrived, everyone was sitting on the patio or in the grass around the house, balancing paper plates weighted with mounds of chicken and rice, scooping their food with tortillas.  Carlos wiped his hands and went up to the driveway to welcome BOB, or to prepare him for the challenging experience that was his family.
            “So,” BOB said, jerking his chin toward the group below.  “Family unit, huh?”
            Carlos nodded.  “That’s my family.  They prefer not to be referred to as a unit though.”
            “Who’s who?”
            “My brother, Nunzio with my Dad, Claudio next to him.  He used to be married to my sister Adela.  That’s his daughter, little Mercedes.”
            “Cool name.”
            “And next to her is Modesta.”
            BOB squinted in appreciation.
            “And her husband Paul and my sister, Trini--Trinidad.”
            “And your mom, obviously.  Who’s the squirt?”
            “That’s Maria Elena.  You better let her tell you her name herself.”
            “Cool, man.  Like a pride.”
            “Oh, you got that right.  Way too much pride!  But listen, before we go down, I want to tell you about a script I’m working on....”

            “Mercedes, is that your fourth tortilla?”  Claudio looked stern. 
            “But Daddy, it’s the best part!”
            Trini beamed at her.  “Let her eat, Claudio.”
            He shook his head, frowned and mouthed, “No More,” to her while listening to Nunzio tell stories about work.  At times like this he missed his wife.  Adela would have watched over Mercedes, would have made sure she ate right.  He was no doubt, spoiling the child.
            Modesta moved closer to Mercedes.  “Here, honey.  Here’s what you do.  Wrap some chicken inside, see?  It’s like a little tiny mouthful in a blanket!  And no fork!  Voile!” 
            Mercedes giggled.  “I’m not a baby, Aunt Modesta.”  But she obediently ate what her aunt had given her.
            Claudio shot Modesta a grateful look.  “So, Paul,” he turned to her husband, “How’s the fleet?”
            “You mean the cars?  The Jag’s in the shop again.  The Beamer’s great, but it’s worse than the Jag in any weather.  Come winter, I don’t know what we’ll do! What we really need is a truck, but where we’d park a third vehicle is beyond me.  Have to rent another garage or something.”
            Trini winced.  Paul didn’t mean to be so superficial, so oblivious to the struggles of others.  No one seemed to notice.  Perhaps they didn’t care.  What would it be like, she wondered, to immerse herself in this family again?
            “Trinidad,” Mama motioned to Carlos and BOB, still standing on the hill by the cars.  “Tell those two to come down and eat!  It’s a sin; two skinny boys and all this food!”
            “Sure Mama.”  Trini brushed off her jeans and climbed to where the boys were leaning against BOB’s Volkswagen.  “Hey, guys,” she said. “Mama says come down and eat.”  Carlos was watching BOB’s face.  They didn’t pay any attention to her at first.
            “Sounds interesting, “ BOB was saying, “But what do you want me to do?  I’m not an actor or anything.  I mean, I could take a look at the writing if you want.”  He glanced at Trini, then immediately looked away again.
            Trini thought, so this is weird BOB!  Being closer to him did nothing for his looks.  Medium height, painfully thin, pale, hooknose and thick black hair.  He looked like one of those pictures of people from the depression, or maybe the Holocaust.  She smiled, but he would not return her look.
            “Hey, Trini,” Carlos said.  “This is BOB.”
            Keeping his head ducked, BOB stuck out a clammy hand for her to shake.
             “Pleased to meet you!” she chirped.  “Carlos tells me you’re quite talented.”
            “Ha!”  He suddenly became very interested in the gravel at his feet.           
            Trini grinned at Carlos. “You better come down so Mama can feed you.”
            Surprise emboldened BOB.  He faced her.  “Do I look hungry?”  He seemed taller now, somehow challenging. Trini felt her face flush.
            “No,” she said slowly, caught in his gaze.  “You look like you’re starving.”  Then she turned and ran back down the hill.
           
            When Trini reached the patio, it sounded like Paul and Modesta were ganging up on Claudio. 
            “You have to put aside just this much each month,” Paul was saying, writing on a paper napkin.  “Then, when Mercedes is seventeen, let’s say eighteen--”
            “Oh, leave him alone!  Here, Claudio, try my ambrosia.  You loved it last time!”  Modesta put a spoonful of the sweet goo into his protesting mouth. 
            “Modesta, you’ve made a career out of telling people what to do with their money! Talk to your brother in law.  A little free advice can’t hurt. Tell her, Claudio!”
            Claudio pointed at his full mouth and shook his head.  He and Modesta were laughing, trying not to laugh. They looked at each other with camaraderie, a shared twinkling of the eye. Trini stiffened.  Paul continued scribbling on the napkin.  He never noticed.
           
            “Where’s ME?” Carlos stood with his hands on his hips, looking over the family group.  He had introduced BOB to everyone else.
            “That supposed to be existential?” Claudio managed to ask with his mouth full.
            “You mean rhetorical?” Modesta offered.
            “No, no!  I mean, I mean, what the hell--excuse me Mama--I mean, what’s that supposed to mean?  You’re standing right here!”  Claudio laughed.
            “Aunt Mimi?” Mercedes piped up.
            “Who?” Carlos asked.
            “She means Maria Elena,” Trini said.
            “What are you all going on about?”  Mama interrupted, passing the tortilla basket around again.  “Maria Elena ran off as soon as she saw you coming down the hill.”
            BOB looked at Carlos.  “Forget it, man.  I’m never gonna remember their names anyway.”
            Carlos nodded, and handed BOB a chicken leg.  “It’s a lot.”   

            For a skinny guy, BOB ate non-stop.  Mama was flattered, Trini amused and Modesta frustrated that she got no reaction whatsoever from the newcomer.  Trini wondered if he ate from hunger or from fear?  Certainly eating made it unnecessary, difficult even, for BOB to engage in conversation.  She sidled up to her brother.
            “So then what happens?”
            He drank from a can of grape soda.  “You mean the comet chase?”
            “Of course.  What else?”
            “What’s she up to?” BOB asked, filling his plate for the third time.
            “Home stretch,” Carlos smiled.
            “Did you tell him the whole thing already?” Trini said.
            Carlos nodded. “So the traveler ends up following the tail of the comet back to his own planet.”
            BOB smiled at his chicken.  “I love the two suns.”
            “And when he reaches earth, he's been after this comet for like, two years or ten or some really long time.  Always alone.  And his hair is long and his clothes are all unkempt and the comet’s trail leads to a big hole in the ground that he thinks was made by the comet.” Carlos leaned back against the house. “And it’s all full of water.”
            “Like rain?”
            “Yeah, maybe.  It’s like a pond.  So he leans over to take a drink, and the tips of his hair fall into the water.”
            BOB continued.  “And it makes the water ripple so that it looks like there are two suns behind him, on either side of his reflection with his long hair dangling in the water.”
            The boys smiled at each other.
            “So?  That’s it?”  Trini squinted up at the sun.  “You mean--”
            “A visual metaphor.”  Carlos crossed his arms over his chest.  “Chasing love.  Chasing life.  Coming home.  The man becomes the comet.”
            “The man becomes the comet!” Trini smiled.  “And the girl in his dreams?”
            “The female part of himself. The comet—at once the inspiration and the anchor.”
            “Yeah,” BOB nodded. “The thing that makes you go ‘aha!’ when you realize that what you’ve been searching for was in your back pocket all along.”
           
            “You want cake.”  It was a statement, rather than a question.  ME stood with knife poised, ready to slice into the fluffy chocolate frosting that held yellow layers together.  Modesta had brought it.  Bought it.  The only thing she could bake was empanadas, and she wasn’t inclined to do this for just any occasion.
            BOB looked straight at his shoes and nodded.  “Of course.  The layer cake is the best example of architecture in the modern world.”
            “I wish I knew the Pillsbury dough guy,” ME said.
            “When I was little, I wanted to marry Betty Crocker,” BOB replied.
            ME hacked a huge chunk and tried to balance it on BOB’s limp paper plate.
            “Hold still Bobby.”
            “It’s not bobby it’s BOB.”
            “Same thing.”  She successfully landed the cake in the remnants of his arroz con pollo, now just arroz.
            “No, you mean like Robert Wagner and Robby Douglas and Bob Hope.”
            “You forgot Bobby Kennedy.”
            He looked right in her face. “I’m B-O-B.” This time he spelled it to her slowly, loudly, like she was a foreigner or deaf.
            “Oh.  You mean like ME.”
            “No. We’re all ourselves.  You’re you, I’m me, only I’m called BOB.”
            “No, I’m not me.  I’m M-E.”  She spelled it back to him. 
            He frowned.  “M-E?  ME?”
            “That’s it.”
            “For?”
            She looked from side to side.
            “No one’s listening,” he whispered.  “Is it classified?”
            She nodded.  “Should be.  Maria Elena.”
            He blinked.  “But that suits you!”
            “No, ME.”
            He laughed and laughed.
            “Keep still!  And what’s yours stand for?”
            He leaned closer and whispered,  “Boy. Oh.  Boy.”
            She brought her small square hand to her mouth to hide the O.  “Like ME!”
            “Exactly.”  He smiled.

            Trinidad was in the kitchen washing up, picking plastic silverware from soggy plates, shoving the remains into a bag that could be knotted and disposed of later.  Modesta wandered in with two beers.  “Here,” she said, handing one to her sister.  “You don’t want to let me get ahead of you.”
            Trini took the beer from her jeweled fingers.  Modesta was taller than she, better dressed, more beautiful, but Trini knew she depended on these surface things in a way that Trini did not. “Don’t worry,” she answered. “You won’t.”
            Modesta glanced out the window. “Nunzio’s looking good,” she ventured.  “Now, why doesn’t he find a nice girl and settle down?” Her gaze drifted past him to her brother in law.
            “And Claudio?” It was almost a whisper, but Trini had to do it.
            Modesta’s silence filled the little kitchen. 
            “Don’t do it Mo.” 
            Modesta cringed.  She hated it when people called her that. 
            “It makes no sense.”
            “What do you know of sense?” Modesta threw her head back, gulping the metallic beer.  She touched the corners of her shiny red mouth.  “Did it make sense for him to fall in love with Adela?  And for her to fall for him?  She was my safety net!  The holy one!  The nun!  And then to lose her so quickly!  Did it make sense that I--I couldn’t wait--I didn’t know--”
            “Mo!”  Trini grabbed her sister’s arms with soapy hands.  “He married our sister and you married Paul.”
            “And does that have to be the end of it?”
            “That is the end of it.”
            Modesta’s eyes filled with tears.  “I know, Trini, I know.”  She sank onto a chipped wooden chair, shoved against the wall beneath a statue of the Infant of Prague.  Jesus gazed down sadly.  “And you know what’s funny?  Now that he’s free, he’s still in love with his Adelina.” 
            Trinidad and Modesta both watched Claudio deep in conversation with Nunzio and their father.  He was a small, but powerful man, quiet and wistful; with eyes that could melt the heart of any woman.  Having a child to raise made him even more attractive to the two sisters, who had none.  But Trini had a rule about such things and Modesta had decided years ago that she wanted more.
            “And besides,” Modesta continued.  “I could never--”
            “Leave Paul?”
            “Make him happy.”
            Trini looked at Claudio and wondered what made him happy.  Certainly Modesta did when they first met--before the fighting, before Mo joined an accounting firm, before she lost weight, bought a wardrobe and a car.  And then he got to know Adela.  She had made him happy; simple, sweet, religious Adelina who wanted nothing more than to be a mother.  “Mo,” Trini whispered suddenly. “Are you unable to bear children?”
            Modesta dropped her face into her hands.
            “Oh, dear.  I’m so sorry.”  Trini tried to touch her sister, but she quickly drew back. 
            They were silent, then Modesta forced a laugh. “Guess the joke’s on me.  Aren’t you glad you moved away?”
            Trini shook her head.  “Not really.  Not anymore.”

            Trini wandered out to the yard. She smiled at her mother, telling a story to Mercedes and the newly christened ME.  She passed her father and Nunzio, pretending to discuss sports with Claudio, each one secretly tallying up the next day’s workload.  She circled around the old garage and sank down against the cement block wall, letting the sun warm her face and arms. 

She closed her eyes for just a moment, soaking it all in--home, family, happiness, frustration.  When she opened them again, there were Carlos and BOB, one on either side of her looking down.  She took the clip from her hair and shook it loose.  “Guess what, boys?” Trini shaded her eyes with her hand, grinning up at both of them.  “I’m moving back.  I’ve decided to come home."