—Ay, prima, if you want, I can show you how to climb out to the roof. You feel like the sky is yours alone up there, her cousin said and grabbed Dallas’s arms and touched her necklace and earrings.

—Did you bring me earrings like those?

—I don’t know, Dallas said, unsure what her mother had packed in the bags.

—Where will you sleep tonight? Dallas asked her cousin.

—With my mother.

Dallas felt like a giant in the tiny room. Consuelo was already making herself at home by touching everything she found. Dallas watched the ceiling fan turn and her insides turned along with it. The curtains danced to the soft breeze and the sun caressed her skin. The mosquitoes buzzed around her, landing on her and launching off.

Don Chan was anxious to arrive in Los Llanos. As if the longer he waited to get there, the more likely that his home would cease to exist. He had left it behind with a padlock. He had called Miraluz to warn her of their arrival. She assured him everything was fine.

—Are the graves still there? Don Chan asked her.

—The last hurricane killed some of the vegetation around them. But yes, they’re there.

—Ay his wife, Caridad. Could she feel him in the country? He caught a glimpse of the sea as they drove toward San Pedro de Macorís. —All these years, he said, and felt his insides spin, his bladder coming loose from the anticipation of returning home. Don Chan was returning home. —Ay mi país! he said again.

For most of the trip, it was only the sounds of the old radio playing some popular songs and Don Chan’s voice, which sounded as if he were talking out of a cordless phone with a low battery, that accompanied them. But no one was listening to either Don Chan or the radio.

—Stop the car, Don Chan told the driver.

—It’ll be extra, the driver said.

—Can’t you give the old man a break? Bobby said as the driver turned into the small opening on the road near the beach of Juan Dolio.

—Your grandmother found me here. Don Chan climbed out to find the exact place. Bobby walked out and looked around. He checked to make sure he still had his wallet, an extra stash of money in his pocket, and that he had taken off his gold necklace. He walked on the small strip of the highway that sped along the sea. On the other side was an expanse of flat, green land waiting to be developed. When the beach appeared, the tide nearby, there was a narrow, rough path for them to walk through. A watchman stopped them. He was a hungry-looking fellow, carrying a gun the length of his leg.

—Área privada, the watchman warned Don Chan.

Bobby lifted his hands up in the air to show he was unarmed. It was a reflex.