She didn’t have anything to contribute. Her life was so different, her stories more appropriate for the revolutionaries’ epic feasts than this simple daily meal.
“The peas come from the garden, you know,” Arturo said, and Valentina realized he was talking to her. “Beth grows them.”
“They’re very good,” Valentina said.
“Arturo tells me you raised animals. Goats and chickens and rabbits, was it?”
“Yes,” Valentina said. “Once upon a time.”
“Do you plan to do that again? Raise more animals?”
“I don’t know what my plans are,” Valentina admitted. “I feel like I only just woke up.”
“That’s because you did,” Arturo said, although what Valentina had really meant was that everything that had happened since she fell ill with the Martian fever felt like one big blur. “She can stay with us until
