—You okay? Dallas asked her mother.

—Why don’t we put some music on, it’s like a funeral in here, Esperanza said and everyone became jovial and scattered their energies around the house and the yard.

—I’m proud of you, mijita, Esperanza said, noticing that Dallas’s hair was growing out. When exactly did Dallas grow up? And why hadn’t she noticed it before?

Don Chan fell asleep without a struggle. Miraluz and Bobby sneaked into the other bedroom where they could close the door and continue the conversation.

—Show me, she said, and pulled him toward her bedroom and sat him on the bed covered with a satin comforter. Bobby was nervous. As if he had never been alone with a woman. Maybe it was the way she touched him. Maybe it was that she’d confused him with his father at the colmado. Everything about Miraluz felt familiar. The smell of her home was like that of burning wood and wet zinc. The small taps on the tin roof, the howling dogs, the soft honking from cars on the main streets.

—The Internet?

—Sí, por qué no?

—We need to plug into a phone line.

—Explain to me then.

—It’s difficult to explain. I’d need to show you. But imagine, with one button you can send information to thousands of people.

—For free?

—Yes, Bobby said, wanting to touch her but didn’t want to scare her. It was the first time since Hush that he felt strong desire.

She turned on the small fan and closed the door. She left him alone in the room. Miraluz reappeared in the room wearing another shirt, a fresher face, with a beer wrapped in a napkin in each hand. She sat next to him and wiped his brow.

—How could it be free? she said and held his hand clumsily.

—It’s new, so they haven’t figured out how to control it. So for now it’s free.

—What took you so long to return here? she asked and rubbed his back.

—I never thought about it. I left when I was just a kid.

She turned Bobby’s face toward her. She touched his lips with her fingertips in amazement at the likeness to his father. And before he could say no to her, she kissed him. But she wasn’t kissing Bobby. No, it was not an ordinary kiss. She was kissing her past. She was kissing him for all the years his father was away from her. And with a familiarity, as if she had done it many times before, she sat on top of him and wrapped her legs around him. Her plump body, her bulging flesh, her salty skin, her breasts sagging from feeding her children, pressed and rubbed against his taut skin. He grabbed her padded feet and hands. She was so small, so soft, like a cushion, so warm and salty. Bobby licked every inch of Miraluz. And his body was reawakened and reminded that he was still alive. He never did get to make love to Hush. He wanted to seal the agreement of his arrival, to enter home. And being careful not to break her, he entered Miraluz and made love to her. Made love to Hush. Made love to San Pedro de Macorís. Made love to Dominican Republic. And after he climaxed, he didn’t want to leave that small room or Miraluz, who looked so beautiful once her hair curled up from the sweat and the makeup was gone. He didn’t want to stop making love to the soft-spoken—Ay, Santo, which inspired every lick and touch. He fed on her, entered her from every orifice. He found himself in every crack that made her: between her toes, behind her legs, inside her thighs. He licked up her spine, on her shoulders, in the back of her neck. He dug deep inside her as she screamed, —Ay, Santo, que maravilla Santo, ven conmigo, Santo.