“Oh! Yeah. Brad Pitt from, uh, that movie.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“But anyway, that wasn’t everything,” Uncle Tomás tells me.
In the morning Veronica ended it, and he clenched his jaw and blinked a few times even though his eyes were already red. He waited a minute.
“Tell me how to find him,” he demanded.
“Who?”
“You know who.”
“You think I know where to find him?” She scoffed and quieted. “You really think I know where to find him. You really do, don’t you? You are a retard.”
Tomás leaned from the end of his chair, fingers trembling along the edge of the table. “Tell me. Or-or-or I’m not going.” He glanced at the door. He would wait for her husband to return.
“Are you blackmailing me, honey? Your mother—”
He shook his head. “I c-can take a beating. Can you? Eh?”
She sipped her coffee.
