“I have no idea, honey. I never took Spanish.” We fell silent again and I kept staring at the light behind the green curtains of the stone house but I couldn’t see any silhouettes. My mother popped open her purse and took out some Kleenex. She started patting her lips with it very slowly and making a quiet smacking sound. She took out a little round mirror and examined the corners of her mouth. I don’t know what she was looking for. She had a perfect mouth.

“What’s Dad doing in there?” I said.

“Just—paying a visit,” she said, still looking at her face in the mirror.

“Who is it? Who is it he’s visiting?”

“Just a friend of his, I guess.”

“You don’t know her?”

“No, I’ve never met her, sweetie.”

“Can we go in and meet her?”

“No, honey, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well—your father has private things to say to her.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well—you know—things like—” she paused and looked out he windshield as an owl flashed past. She dropped the little mirror back into her purse and looked down at it as though she’d just emembered something that had to do with a shopping list.

“Things like what?” I asked again.

“Things like— Well—we both go to church—you and I. Grandma goes to church. Most of our family—”

“Church?”

“Yes. We all go to church. Most people go to church. Most people believe in— Well—your father doesn’t.”

“What?”

“Go to church. He doesn’t believe in church.”

“How come?”

“I’m not really sure, sweetheart. I’ve never asked him. It’s none of my business really. But he has questions—certain questions, just ike we all do.”

“What questions?”