—You children, stay here. Me and your mama have somewhere to go. Everything will be all right, Mrs. Esperanza Colón. The nurse walked Esperanza away from her children, who no longer looked like her children, but orphans.

—The lord tightens the rope sometimes, but he don‘t choke no one. Not good people like you and me, the nurse said.

Bobby made Dallas sit down.

—Come on, Dallas. He pulled at her scarf as if it were a leash.

Bobby held her tight for a little bit, and then when he finally let go of her, Bobby cried. And when Bobby started to cry, Dallas let all the pain trapped in her chest erupt from her eyes. And it felt good to let the tears come. It felt so good, she felt herself splash onto the floor, spread all over everyone‘s feet. She sank inside the crack of the tiles. Dallas and Bobby tried to keep themselves afloat, trying not to think that their father was dead. And if he was dead, it meant that now Bobby was the man of the house. Bobby wanted to call Don Chan. Let him take care of things. But Esperanza had said to wait. And they waited. And waited some more. They watched the doors, HOSPITAL STAFF ONLY, swing open and close. They waited for their mother to emerge, hoping that it was all a bad dream.

—We should call Abuelo, Dallas said, tugging at Bobby‘s shirt.

—We‘ll wait to see what Mami says first. Bobby held Dallas, who was still sniffling, in the crook of his arm.

CAB DRIVER ROBBED AND KILLED ON RIVERSIDE DRIVE

Don Chan read the headline the next morning at the luncheonette. He stared at the photo of Santo. It showed him spread out over the front seat, unconscious. Santo was number eleven. During that winter, eleven taxi drivers were held up and killed. But only the last one who died was ever remembered. He searched between the lines for an explanation. Why hadn‘t Esperanza woken him? Don Chan held his head to keep it from breaking. A pain shot up into his forehead. He could not remember how he‘d arrived at the luncheonette. What city was he in? What day of the week was it?

The newspapers didn‘t tell the story about the Colóns, how the other families who lost their fathers and husbands were coping, they didn‘t say if they would survive. They reported the cold facts. Santo was killed, Esperanza had lost the only love of her life, and the children, a father. When they watched the news that night on television, the reporters didn‘t send their condolences.

—Turn it off, Don Chan insisted when he saw the television on. —Look at me. Ask me about your father, he wanted to say to his grandchildren, but his voice was being held hostage by his heart.

Dallas wanted to scream like she saw people do on television. But after her flood of tears at the hospital, she felt nothing. She said nothing. She heard of people feeling numb after someone died. But she didn‘t feel right about it.