He thought Nick would leave him after that fight and, truthfully, he knew it would be better for both of them if he had, but Nick stayed. He had changed. Seemed older, sadder, defeated. Bill knew he was to blame for the slump in Nick’s shoulders, the frown lines that had appeared across his forehead and around his mouth. He hated himself for having put them there, just as he hated himself when Nick dropped out of State and took a job as a clerk at a bookstore. But he felt powerless to help Nick or to change the course of the life together. It felt as if they were imprisoned by Bill’s fears and Nick’s resignation with no way out.

A piñata swayed from the branches of the walnut tree in the backyard of Mrs. Trejo’s modest house; it was in the shape of a donkey, covered with blue and yellow and pink crepe paper. A gaggle of six-year-olds, led by Nick’s niece, Lila, whose birthday party this was, tore through the yard laughing and screaming. The air smelled of roses and barbecue. The kitchen table, carried out for the party, was laden with food—pots of beans and rice, platters of enchiladas, stacks of tortillas, bowls of salads and salsa, hamburger buns and condiments. Nick’s older brothers, Tom and Sal with beers in hand, barbecued steaks, chicken and hamburgers on a huge, ancient, oil drum grill. Nick’s sister, Isabel, sidled up to Bill who was watching Nick spin his niece in circles by her arms while the other kids impatiently awaited their turns.

“I’m glad you boys came,” she said. “We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

“We both been busy,” Bill mumbled.

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Everything all right with you guys?”

“Yeah, we’re good. How’s law school?”

“Tough,” she replied, “but I’m tougher. You’re not drinking.”

Bill glanced self-consciously at the can of Coke in his hand. “I’m driving,” he said. “Anyway, I’m trying to cut down.”

“Why?”

“Nick thinks I drink too much.”

That, of course, was only the tip of the iceberg but he hoped it would be enough to satisfy her. He wasn’t about to reveal that he and Nick fought over his drinking, nor that he had gone to AA meetings but stopped because of all the talk of God. Now he tried to keep off the booze on his own but it was hard because, sober, he was filled with anxiety.

“Do you think you drink too much?”

He shrugged. “Cutting down won’t hurt me.”

“Hey, Billy, come over here,” Tom yelled across the yard. “We need another hand at the grill. Sal’s too drunk.”