—A woman could only dream, she said, playing with the cowboy hat she’d bought back when she still had credit cards, hoping to wear it when she finally took that plane to Texas and became a wife to a rancher. She turned around the portrait of Santo on her altar. He was always staring at her. He didn’t need to know that she had such thoughts. She breathed in that unusual moment of complete privacy. —A woman’s got to be ready. Mrs. Hernández was right. And this is the only life I know of, Esperanza said to the vibrant woman staring back at her, who was anxious to see her son come home so she could make him a real meal and put some meat back on him. She tied a silk scarf around her neck, finished buttoning up her blouse and lacing her black sneakers that had a small wedged heel to give her more height.

She ran around the apartment, turning on all the lights to wake up Dallas. —Wake up, you lazy bum, she said, breakfast is in the kitchen. Make sure you lock the door and close the windows before you leave for school. And change the sheets on Bobby’s bed. My baby’s coming home.

Juvie had Bobby on a clock, and when he returned home, he kept to that schedule to manage his days. On some nights, he’d wake up and forget where he was. When cars backfired, he threw himself against the floor and slid only his head under the bed, because his body no longer fit under it the way it did when he was a child. There were no guards to beat on him, no one to mess with him. He was home and the only other person in the room was Dallas, who was all grown. She felt like a stranger.

Esperanza put bunk beds in their room so that they had more privacy. But Bobby and Dallas were estranged enough to treat each other like an instrument. Turn off the lights. Open the window. Can I change the channel? Dallas no longer had her own room, and she resented his arrival. She moved some of her clothes into her mother’s room to get ready for school in private. She sighed heavily when she realized the small inconveniences Bobby had brought on.

When Esperanza was home, she tried to have everyone eat dinner together, again like a family.

—You can register for community college, now that you earned your diploma, Bobby, Esperanza said as she served him dinner.

—Ma, I’m not ready. Can you give me a break?

—Why do you give him a break and not me? Maybe I should go to jail. Maybe that way you won’t keep asking me about homework.

—Please, Dallas don’t start with me, Esperanza said.

—I’m gonna get myself a GED.

—El GED? Esperanza pronounced it “head,” and said it as if Dallas had announced that she wanted to join a cult and shave her head.