—We have a lot of shit, Dallas said, looking through men’s clothing with tags on it. —Were these Dad’s? She lifted the shirt for Esperanza to see.

—I got that one for him for Christmas. But he never liked new shirts. I told him if he never wore them, how could they look worn? It was the funniest thing about your father. Sometimes I would wash his new clothes and hang them in his closet so he would wear them.

—It’s such a waste, Dallas said, and sorted the clothes by size. Adult male. Adult female. Small female. Large female…—Imagine if we could return all this stuff to the store.

—The sad part is that most of it is still unpaid for. Besides, nothing is worth anything once it’s used.

—You’d have mad money if you could take it back.

The idea made Esperanza overheat.

—Get your mama some cold water. Pura doesn’t know anything about hospitality.

On Pura’s living-room floor, Esperanza’s purchases resembled a wasteland.

Miraluz grabbed Don Chan and picked him up from the floor. She had gotten fuller and he had gotten shorter.

—Maldita sea, mujer. A star has fallen in the middle of the day, Don Chan said and Bobby was surprised by how charming Don Chan could be.

Miraluz grabbed one of the bags and pulled him with her toward her house, a few steps away from the colmado. She led him through the small doorway.

—Ven, ven…, Miraluz said, pointing for Bobby to put their bags in her sons’ bedroom. And then to follow her through to the dining-room area.

—What is up with all the sewing machines? Don Chan asked, seeing the colorful piles of lace and stacks of threads, and satin fabrics. There were two sewing machines facing each other. A large table with scissors and paper.

—I have so much to tell you, Viejo. And you, Bobby, make yourself at home. She got a pillow for Don Chan to prop behind his back on the rocking chair.

—Go to the cooler and get Don Chan a ginger ale, Bobby. I’m sure he’s tired from his trip.

Don Chan didn’t want to let go of Miraluz’s hand. He cupped her face in his hands and looked at her as if for the first time. —I thought I was never going to see you again, he said. And she kissed his forehead.

—Bobby, get me some sandals from the boys’ room.

—Your feet must be burning up in those shoes, Miraluz said, peeling off Don Chan’s socks. Kissing each foot in jest. —I can’t believe you’re here, Viejo.

—And you, Bobby…My god, it hurts to look at you.

Bobby couldn’t take his eyes off Miraluz. Her smile filled her face and her voice was raspy and low, making it hard to tell how old she was. She must be at least his mother’s age. But she didn’t look it.

It took a few bottles of beer and ginger ale for Miraluz to explain El Secreto de la Victoria.