“He’s doing better than me, Querida, and he’s in a coma.”

I did know another number I could call. Another landline. I hadn’t used it in twelve years, but I’d had to memorize it before I ever had a cell phone, let alone one that supported a contacts list. Padre would not answer it, of course, and might never again. But Joaquim was almost certain still living there.

A little something light to start the weekend. . . .

The first three knew better than to play for money when Zora had a cue stick in her hand, and they’d been kind enough to warn Biggo off before he learned the hard way. Which is to say, the expensive way.

“So, you don’t think he’s got a problem with it all? Girly you, cray-cray me, us, kinda strangely put together lesbians?”

Gabe laughed. “No, I actually think he’s going to be okay with all that weirdness.”

Gabe searched her father’s face anxiously. Desperately wanting to say something, but unsure of what. “You came.”

She leaned back in her seat and her eyes narrowed. Oh, don’t you dare, young man!

The bridge crew looked at him, concern radiating from every face. The young woman at comms was first to find her voice. “Captain? Orders?”

Natalie looked at the coin on her wrist. “Three mornings in a row.”

“Life’s a bitch,” I said philosophically — or as close to it as I can manage, first thing in the A.M. “Two eggs, over easy, and dry toast for me,” I added helpfully.

Chloe O’Neil took a foolish risk without thinking. A common mistake, maybe, but in her case the bill came due and payable, with interest. Now her whole family is struggling to make things right, unable to see a path forward. Maybe they need a miracle.

There really isn’t anything more soporific than a thirteen-pound burrito . . . .