I sat back in the seat and looked out the window toward the stone house as my mother put on her glasses and began picking thread out of the torn collar with her red enameled nails. She switched on the dome light in the Plymouth and, just as she did that, I saw the tall thin shape of my father pass behind the green curtains. Then the woman’s form followed him. The door opened and I saw my father hand the woman some money, then put his Air Force captain’s hat on and head back toward the car. As he came down the narrow path through the yard I saw him put a small brown bag into his pocket. My mother quickly rolled up the torn choir robe and stuffed it in the back seat beside me.

“Now, don’t you say one word about this to your father. You promise?”

“I won’t,” I said.

“Not one word,” she said as she smoothed her skirt down and placed her purse back in her lap as though she hadn’t moved an inch the whole time he’d been gone.

No one spoke on the way back. It wasn’t far, maybe five miles back to the house, but no one spoke a word. I kept looking down at the black choir gown, trying to see if it was possible for anyone to tell if it was ripped. It looked collapsed and defeated like it was never going to live up to its expectations. Some kind of fallen angel maybe.

When we got home my dad walked straight off into the avocado orchard without saying anything. My mom and I went into the house. We turned the kitchen light on and sat down at the Formica table across from each other. She’d brought the choir robe with her and took her glasses out again to examine the collar.

“What’s Dad doing out there?” I said.

“Sweetie, I don’t know what he’s doing. I don’t ask. It’s none of my business,” she said, and she never looked up at me at all, just kept fiddling with that stiff collar. I stood up and went to the door. “Where are you going, honey?”

“Just outside,” I said.

“Well, don’t bother your father. He needs to be alone right now.”

“I won’t,” I said.