That long? That’s like la vida entera?

Esperanza didn’t believe him. She had only bought a few things, and she would be happy to return it all if it meant that the creditors would leave her alone. Some of it was like new, in boxes. Besides, the financial adviser was too young to know all the answers. He was still in school and the grandson of her nosy neighbor next door, and if he knew so much about finance, why was his grandmother still living in that crappy building of theirs?

But two years did pass and no amount of working lowered the principal balances. What would the credit cards do when she couldn’t work anymore? She didn’t want to think about it. They couldn’t put an old lady in jail. Could they? Bobby will have to get a job and help out.

—When I was a child back in D.R., children were expected to work as soon as they walked. These kids have it too easy, Esperanza said as she got ready to go to her new assignment where she would work a double overnight in the Bronx.

—You’re working in the Bronx? Bobby asked. —Do we need money that bad?

—Well, the last lady I was working for didn’t need me anymore.

Esperanza didn’t want to tell him that her client had found certain things missing in her apartment. Her client had accused her without caring about hurting Esperanza’s feelings. The client had a number of strokes that debilitated her legs and arms but didn’t have any problems using her mouth. She was never kind to Esperanza. When she accused her of stealing, Esperanza asked the agency to switch her to someone else. She’d rather travel to the Bronx than be called a thief.

—Of course we need money, Esperanza said. She didn’t bring up Santo’s name because somehow to mention it still caused awkward silences and teary eyes. Bobby was fifteen; at fifteen Santo was studying and working the fields with his father, and Esperanza was gathering mangoes and selling them on the roads. Bobby should work and help out.

—I heard that the McDonald’s in the neighborhood hires kids at your age. It wouldn’t hurt if you got a job.

Bobby watched his mother get ready for work. The thought of a job had crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to work as a delivery boy at a supermarket or at McD’s. If he waited until he turned sixteen, he could get his working papers and work at a clothing store or Foot Locker. At least in a place like that, he could hook himself up with gear.

Damn, Bobby thought. He should’ve left the room before she mentioned working.

—The woman’s son downstairs has a job working at Nuts for Donuts, by the hospital. They train you and everything. It’s better than you spending all your time hanging out on the corner with those thugs.

—They ain’t thugs.

—Well, they can’t be up to no good standing outside in the cold all day, like they don’t have family.