Perched on the edge of the rocker with both hands on her beer, she stared at the embers of sunset. The man was very close; she could see the rhythmic bounce of his dark head against the fading coral slash of horizon. She fought back a dizziness. Inside her head,
men's voices, pleading then rising in anger until they all became one cacophonous roar. Woven through it, a woman's hum like a lullaby. She leaned back into the chair.
Yolanda closed her eyes, listened to her mother, her brothers, Juan, Javier, and her Carlos, all singing a loud disharmonious song. Padre Pietro blessed them, sprinkling them with holy water and winking at her with a sly grin.
Babies cried and faces moved through memory, sorting themselves in her life. Javier sat counting gold coins into a pile, and Jorge screamed as he ran into the moon.
