Near the end of the interminable afternoon, Antonia is sitting on the couch, staring in mute exhaustion, when the crowd in her living room seems to part like a zipper being undone as three tall, gray-suit-clad, slick-haired men with clean faces and very shiny shoes walk in. One of them is her uncle Joey, and the other two look familiar: hard-shouldered, bold-eyed, faces gleaming under close new shaves, looking warily around the room. She recognizes them from Sunday dinners, from the circle of men who hunch together in the living room until the food is served.

They remove their hats in unison.

The crowd in the living room is thick with silence. Suddenly, Lina emerges from where she has been cowering under the weight of her own sorrow and fear in the bedroom. “Get out,” she says.

“Lina,” says Uncle Joey. “No one is sorrier than I am.”

“Get out. Get out of my house,” says Lina, whose own voice is strong and clear for the first time in days. “How dare you bring them here. How dare you bring this into my home.” Antonia can feel herself swimming toward the surface of this moment. There is something about it that sings with significance.

“Lina, I understand why you’re angry,” says Joey. “He was my best friend.”

“You bastard. You get them out of here right now.” Lina gestures at the men flanking Uncle Joey. Antonia cannot place them. She does not understand why her mamma is growling so ferociously at Uncle Joey, who has just come to say he is sorry, like all the other adults in the room. But she is grateful and relieved to see the light of Lina’s life shining for the first time in days, like there is still a person under there.

“Lina, please—”

“OUT!” Antonia’s mother stands up to her full height of five feet two inches and points a shaking finger at the door.

“Okay,” says Uncle Joey, deflating like a popped balloon. He jerks his head. It is subtle, but the two men with him turn and walk away at once. The silent crowd swivels its necks in unison to watch them leave.

“Lina, I’m sorry,” says Uncle Joey, twisting a hat between his hands. “I don’t know how to do this. I’ll call you—” but he stops himself at the hateful face Lina is making. “I’ll have Rosa call you,” he says. And then Uncle Joey turns to go, and Aunt Rosa clasps him around the arm as he walks past her. Antonia can hear her say, it’s okay. It’s okay.

Lina collapses shaking on the floor. Suddenly, Antonia understands human beings as water droplets, part of a cosmic and liquid whole.

“Mamma,” asks Antonia, “why did you make them leave?”