“Okay,” she said. “You should try to nap.” Carmi most likely assumed I was having Chet-related problems that I didn’t want to share. Another text pinged in, and this one seemed less contentious, although—by her expression—disappointing. “Do you know how to play mahjong?” she asked. “We need another person for Saturday.”

Later she asked me if I was hungry, if I wanted to pass by Jollibee.

When we finally pulled up in front of Inchoy’s house, I realized that despite my hurry to get there, I was now filled with dread. A small yellow Toyota pulled up and I was relieved to see Zackito get out. He took a handkerchief and wiped his forehead, turning to look up the street just to delay the inevitable but saw me there instead. As I stepped out of the car, I realized I’d forgotten to change my shoes and was still wearing my slippers.

“Did you call Chet?” he asked.

“He’s coming.”

We stood by Inchoy’s gate, the flat steel expanse of it, the curled spikes at the top. On the other side a dog had started barking and in response a neighbor’s rooster, impervious to time of day, began to crow. Zackito raised his hand, hesitated, and then knocked.

The maid was soon pulling the bolt and then Zackito and I were standing in Inchoy’s entryway beside the Santo Niño, an extravagant Infant of Prague in rich robes and long Restoration hair, its gentle fingers raised in benediction, all contained in a glass dome. The statue was old and valuable, but I knew that Inchoy detested it, that his mother talked to it as if this child Jesus were her confidant, the one who agreed with all of her decisions. Inchoy would have preferred to have standing at his door one of those ferocious Ifugao guardians, carved from ancient wood, someone to protect him and his loved ones, someone who would do better than this ridiculous doll.

Inchoy was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that had a smiling old woman’s face on it above “Happy Birthday Mommy!” It wasn’t his mommy but probably a cousin’s, the T-shirt a remnant party favor.

“Oh,” he said when he saw us. “Did we have a plan?”

“No,” said Zackito.

A moment passed.

“Do you want a Coke?” Inchoy looked over to the table and we were moving slowly in that direction when the door banged open, startling us all. It was Chet. He saw our solemn faces and without saying anything went straight to Inchoy and grabbed him in a fierce hug.

“Paré,” he said. “I am so sorry.”