“You think God heard me, Gus?”
“Look.” Gustavo pointed up. “You see that?”
“I did.”
Was the shooting star God’s answer? Just as important, was the sudden conspicuous silence, the crickets gone quiet again, was it something more ominous this time?
* * * *
“Was it?” August loved having Memo’s head on his shoulder.
“I don’t know.”
They sat in August’s truck, parked outside the Hudson Valley Plaza. The stores were abandoned, still closed, nearly dark, with only security lighting inside. August had put down his driver’s side window figuring the blustery November wind might help keep him awake.
“That’s all Abuelo Berto and Abuelita Abril wrote.”
“Te amo, Guillermo.”
“Even though I made you get up so early to go Christmas shopping?”
“Even though.”
“Then Yo también te amo. I love you,
