Something’s nagging at the back of Arturo’s mind while he stirs the giant pot of tomato sauce in the back kitchen of the restaurant. His so-called Uncle Raul, aka Angel Rocco, is yakking away with Guido, his helper, arms flailing in the air. They’re arguing apparently, on whether the sauce is of Italian origin or Spanish.
What’s bugging me? Arturo holds the wooden spoon in the air, trying to block out the raised voices. Something to do with the shooting that day. Or maybe the shooter? Think, Jason, think.
What’s bugging me? Something to do with the shooting that day. Or maybe the shooter? Think, Jason, think.Stirring lazily, his thoughts drift back to that awful afternoon when he and Regina rushed out of the school to protect Aleksy and Harris from the bullies. That excruciating moment,
