“Would it … would it be possible?” Arturo stumbles over his words as he stands upright, having finished washing the kitchen floor in the diner on Sunday afternoon.
“Spit it out, boy! Time’s a’ wastin’,” his temporary uncle cuts him off. “We got work to do. Ya think this diner cleans itself?”
Arturo stands still, fingering the cloth he’s about to use to wipe down the counters. “Can I … may I visit my family this afternoon? I mean, just to see them, maybe from a distance or …?”
Raul faces the young man, moving the mop aside, his usual scowl on his features. Minutes pass. “Must be tough,” he says finally. “To be so close to ‘em, back in this dimension. Okay.”
Arturo’s eyes light up with hope. “Okay? You mean it?”
“Don’t push me, bucko. Yeah, okay. We’ll swing by your farm, but first we g
