Chondra was already with Evelyn, sharing the front seat of the thirty-year-old, plum-colored Chevy. The car had nearly bald blackwalls and a broken antenna. The paint job was homemade, the color nothing GM had ever conceived. One edge of the car's rear bumper had been broken and it nearly scraped the ground.

I got to the driver's window as Tiffani made her way down the steps from the landing. Evelyn Rodriguez didn't look up. A cigarette drooped from her lips. A hardpack of Winstons sat on the dashboard. The driver's half of the windshield was coated with greasy fog. Her fingers were busy tying a lanyard keychain. The rest of her was inert.

Chondra was pressed up against the passenger door, legs curled beneath her, staring at her lap.

Tiffani arrived, making her way to the passenger side while keeping her eyes on me. Opening the rear door, she dove inside.

Evelyn finally took her eyes off her work, but her fingers kept moving. The lanyard was brown and white, a diamond stitch that reminded me of rattlesnake skin.

“Well, that was quick,” she said. “Close that door now, don't kill the battery.”

Tiffani scooted over and slammed the door.

I said, “The girls haven't started school yet.”

Evelyn Rodriguez looked at Tiffani for a second, then turned to me. “That's right.”

“Do you need any help with that?”

“Help?”

“Getting them started. Is there some kind of problem?”

“Nah, we been busy—I make 'em read at home. They're okay.”

“Planning to send them soon?”

“Sure, when things calm down—so what's next? They have to come again?”

“Let's try again tomorrow. Same time okay?”

“Nope,” she said. “Matter of fact, it isn't. Got things to do.”

“What's a good time for you, then?”

She sucked the cigarette, adjusted her glasses, and placed the lanyard on the seat. Her slash lips twitched, searching for an expression.

“There are no good times. All the good times already been rolled.”

She started the car. Her lips were trembling and the cigarette bobbed. She removed it and turned the wheel sharply without shifting out of park. The car was low on steering fluid and shrieked in protest. The front tires swung outward and scraped the asphalt.

“I'd like to see them again fairly soon,” I said.

“What for?”

Before I could answer, Tiffani stretched herself out along the back seat, belly down, and began kicking the door panel with both feet.

“Cut that out!” said Mrs. Rodriguez, without looking back. “What for?” she repeated. “So we can be told what to do and how to do it, as usual?”

“No, I—”

“The problem is, things are upside down. Nonsensical. Those that should be dead aren't, and those that are, shouldn't be. No amount of talking's gonna change that, so what's the difference? Upside down, completely, and now I got to be a mama all over again.”

“He can write a book,” said Tiffani. “So that—”