Carmen and Elena delighted as well. Their mother doting on them, unable to let go; their father merry and generous, offering the world.

“Daddy, I love you!” Carmen shouted as Daniel hoisted her in the air and Beny Moré’s trombone shrieked.

“I love you, mi linda!” Daniel spun her and spun her.

Dolores made her move after she put the girls to bed. They’d complained, of course, asked to keep the party going. Carmen most of all. But Dolores told the girls they’d get their promised dollhouse if only they said their prayers and shut their eyes. Then Dolores dressed in her most formfitting wiggle dress and dabbed perfume on her neck. She painted her lips red.

Daniel at the table with another glass of Cuba Libre before him, already piss-drunk, slurring the words to “Dolor y Perdón” with his head down. Yo no supe comprender tu cariño, / vida mía, cariñito.

Fulgencio Batista was in the Dominican Republic, where he had fled in a plane in the night with over $700 million in cash and fine art. As Dolores waltzed toward Daniel, President Rafael Trujillo was welcoming the fellow dictator into his palace, probably consoling him. Perhaps they, too, shared a bottle of rum. And Dolores was guiding Daniel by the hand and he was wobbling and slurring. She was laying him on the couch.

“You look so good, mami,” he slurred. Daniel held an arm toward Dolores and brought her down on top of him. He kissed her neck. She sighed and moaned. She had planned to do whatever it took, to bear it, to hope Daniel had sex with her and then immediately fell asleep, as he so often did. But she didn’t have to go that far. He kissed her neck, and then turned his head, eyes fluttering, and drifted into easy, drunken sleep. He started to snore.

Dolores waited a few minutes to be sure he wasn’t going to wake. Then she eased away from Daniel’s body and gently kicked off her high heels. Barefoot, she tiptoed out the back door and shut it behind her. She had to feel her way through the dirt and shrubs in near perfect darkness. In the middle of July, even the nights were made of an engulfing, wet heat. She could feel herself damp under the tight linen of her red dress and could feel the spongey dirt give way beneath her. She found the machete. Hesitated only a moment before grabbing its handle.