—Don’t look at me like I’m crazy when you paid four dollars for café con leche. That’s crazy. People back home make four dollars a day. You should give that money to someone who needs it.

He could already hear the resistance from people who felt they worked hard for their money and deserved little pleasures like whipped cream, cubed sugar, and double espresso. How could four dollars make a difference in anyone’s life? Maybe buy some meat for dinner. Give them one day off to see their kids. Maybe the four dollars could give a person enough time to make a plan, to fight for better wages, to fall in love, to vote in a better administration. Just maybe, and then again, maybe not.

But why was Don Chan thinking of all those things as he moved his arms up and down. The man no longer chugged along with the bus. But Don Chan was caught up in his own movement. And what felt like big movements reflected off the glass windows as small movements. Maybe Don Chan wasn’t moving much at all. He sat down and suddenly felt embarrassed for exposing himself like that in public.

At the juvenile detention facility, Esperanza couldn’t sit with her Bobby without the armed guards watching over her. She cringed when she had to go through the metal detectors. They didn’t allow her to bring him his favorite cookies or any good deodorant. They wouldn’t let her hug him too long, because that was how the mothers passed things to their sons.

—Are you doing your homework? she asked Bobby.

Don Chan sat next to her and looked around at all the tables with parents visiting their children. The prison wasn’t what he’d imagined it to be. The lights made everyone look green skinned and ill.

—Oh, you look so thin. Do they feed you okay? she asked. —I’m so sorry, Esperanza said, blaming herself for not being around enough. Esperanza’s eyes watered, when she saw the coldness in Bobby. —My baby, she said. —You don’t belong here with these tigres.

Bobby didn’t understand what she was apologizing for. She must’ve aged at least ten years.

—C’mon, Mom, it’s not as bad at it looks.

—Let her be sorry. She sold you out to save her ass, Don Chan said.

—You’re such an evil old man. She wiped her nose, holding back tears.

—I want some time alone with him. Don Chan didn’t like to talk to Santo while Esperanza was around. She was always interrupting him.

Esperanza wiped below her eyes to neaten up her eyeliner. She didn’t protest. Don Chan couldn’t visit Bobby as often because usually she traveled to Spofford directly from Mrs. Hernández’s apartment. She excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Bobby knew what was coming from Don Chan.

—We’re going to get you out of here, son. I don’t know what deal you made to keep Esperanza out of jail, but we’re getting you out.

—Abuelo, I’m not your son.