The following day, I’m downstairs eating lunch with Monie and Christie. Mangia is whining under our feet and looking up at my daughter, hoping for a treat. When Christie sneaks him a piece of her tuna sandwich, I frown. “Christie, no feeding at the table!” I say. To Monie, I add, “What time are Padre and Madre due?”
Monie glances at the wall clock. She called her father this morning and they’re going to talk. “In forty-five.”
I watch her nibble her tuna sandwich. I know she’s nervous about this conversation she’s going to have with her father. Joe cuts to the chase when he wants to know something, and he can be intimidating.
“It’ll be okay,” I say to her and press my hand over hers.
She looks up. “I know, and it will. It’s just hard talking about it, and you know my Padre.”
“All too w
