“He’d be much more comfortable in a hospital,” said Lidia suddenly.

“So they tell me, but he wants to be at home as long as possible. They’re going to hospitalize him soon.”

Gaspar’s house was already like a hospital. Vicky had only been by once, recently, but she’d noticed the change. It was warm, with the heaters turned on. She’d gotten a look into Juan’s room: they’d bought a new bed that would make it easier to tend to him, tall, with railings and a lever to raise the head, and she’d seen all the medicines neatly organized on a bedside table. The nurse slept there, and the doctor almost always did too. Vicky’s mom also helped out on her days off from the hospital. That was all fine, Vicky thought, but she realized that in the meantime, no one was paying much attention to Gaspar, who rode his bike around the streets or went swimming or to the movies, where he watched one film after another. He looked so sad, so skinny, and he didn’t even seem happy when he was watching soccer anymore. Plus, he was skipping school.

“Gaspar is doing really bad,” said Vicky.

Luis looked at her, the mate straw between his lips, his turquoise eyes very attentive. He set the gourd on the table, poured hot water in, and handed it to Vicky.

“He’s really messed up, it’s true, because of his dad. And on top of that he had two accidents in a few months, poor thing’s had some bad luck.”

“Still, they don’t really get along.”

“My brother was never an easy guy, and I think Gaspar is having a hard time accepting that he’s going to have to say goodbye to his dad.”

Vicky was taken aback by this man who spoke to her so seriously, like she was an adult, who looked at her so frankly, and who made great mate.

“Are you going to adopt him?”

“I already started the process. I’m now Gaspar’s guardian.”

“What’s that?”

“It means I’m the adult in charge of taking care of him.”

“Then maybe you should pay a little more attention, because you sure aren’t taking very good care of him.”

Luis folded his hands on his lap and thought for a bit before answering.

“Look, Vicky. What you’re saying is true. I would like for Gaspar to listen to me more, spend more time at home. He’s still little. Everyone deals with the death of their father or mother as best they can. My mom died when I was just a little older than Gaspar. It was a very ugly illness and I rebelled a little, too. I’m sure that you all, as his friends, can help him better than I can, because you know him better.”

Vicky crossed her legs on the sofa; she was wearing her gym sweatpants.

“I don’t know how,” she said.

“See what I mean?” said Luis. “No one knows.”