Carmen Morales is a twenty-nine-year-old transwoman who works for an insurance broker in Orange County while attending law school at night. She and her two roommates are celebrating the successful conclusion of her spring semester when she is summoned back to the Kern County home she was kicked out of twelve years before, by the Grandmother – “Abuela” – who refused to intervene. Her father has had a stroke and is in a coma. She spends several days there and determines that he has no health insurance, and Abuela convinces her to apply to be his temporary conservator. Carmen makes a brief trip back to Orange County, then returns to Buttonwillow.

In the course of her time in Buttonwillow, Carmen has reconnected with several members of her padre’s extended family in addition to Abuela. Her brother Joaquim (“Ximo”) and her cousins Kelsey, Inés, Lupe, and Jesus have been wary, but mostly supportive; another cousin, Gabriella, has been less so. Her Uncle Augustin was very accepting, but her senior aunt (Maria), married to Abuela’s oldest son Angel, was extremely hostile. At the end of Chapter 15, as Carmen is driving Abuela home from the hospital, Abuela insists that they stop at Angel and Maria’s house, where they surprise three of the brothers and their wives having a discussion about the conservatorship from which they were clearly supposed to be excluded.

Chapter 16: Family Court

How often had I seen them in this very spot? They were the icons of my youth. Uncle Angel, Abuela’s eldest. Master of the grill; hospitable, but always serious, always conscious of his position as the eldest. Grayer now – much grayer! – the droop of his mustache gave him a sad look. Maria, his wife, beautiful but gaunt, spitting fire from her eyes, and visibly annoyed at Abuela’s (and my) appearance. Uncle Augustin, the second eldest, solid and still strong; his salt and pepper eyebrows bristled with irritation, though it didn’t appear to be directed at the new arrivals. Tia Consolación, his wife, and often Aunt Maria’s shadow. More mouse-like than ever; hair white, eyes downcast. Tio Javier, grim and silent, slumped back in his wheelchair, looked like he’d seen a ghost. He was the second youngest of Abuela’s five children, but he easily appeared to be the eldest. His wife Juana sat to his left, plump, competent, exuding an air of amusement.

And there, in the place where padre might have been (had he not been indisposed), or Uncle Fernando (had he not been in prison), was Angel and Maria’s only son Francisco, trying desperately to look serious and adult. He was having trouble making it stick, since he was Ximo’s age and the only person in my generation present, apart from me. Of course, since my part in the drama seemed to be in the role of the accused, I had a reason to be there that poor Paco lacked.

Even if the plan had apparently been a trial in abscentia.

I would have quailed before the elders as a child. I had, at various times, and for a bunch of reasons, each of which appeared in retrospect to be a pretty trivial infraction. Dunking one of the more annoying cousins. Stealing tomatoes Aunt Maria had been growing by the side of the house, in a couple of neat rows. Trying to lay the blame for some escapade or other at the feet of someone else. Kid stuff.

Others might see them as simple, working-class folks, but they had been the powers of my very small world when I was growing up. And here they were, assembled together, looking for all the world like some kind of family court.

Katie’s words, from my brief trip back home, stiffened my spine and caused me to stand tall and draw my shoulders back. “Just remember, that’s not your world now. Even if you’ve gotta pop in now and then to keep the rednecks from fucking everything up.”

Abuela had challenged them to voice any objections to my serving as padre’s conservator. Aunt Maria, unsurprisingly, was the one who actually gave an answer, having first looked at her husband and determined that he would not do so. Though her eyes were angry, she managed to keep her tone respectful. “¡Suegra! This is my house! How can you bring that filth here?”

“I couldn’t walk here without assistance – which you failed to provide, for some reason. Besides, your discussion concerns Carmen, and Carmen’s padre. Who happens to be my son.”

Aunt Maria’s ability to maintain a respectful tone did not survive a single exchange. “There is no ‘Carmen’ here!” She gestured furiously in my direction and sneered, “From the looks of this person, there’s not much left of Carlos, either.”

Abuela waved her objection aside. “Names aren’t important. This is Juan’s eldest. Do you deny it?”

Tio Javier spoke, his voice the gravely bass I remembered. “It’s her eldest, that’s for damned sure.”

That earned him a sharp look from his wife.

Before I could respond, Aunt Maria weighed back in. “Yes, fine, it’s Juan’s eldest. And Kathy’s. If names aren’t important, I’ll stick with ‘Carlos.’ But whatever you want to call him, I don’t want him here. I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

“Carmen can look after Juan’s affairs without consulting you,” Abuela pointed out.

Aunt Maria shook her head. “He shouldn’t be put in charge of Juan.”

Tia Consola looked up for the first time, her eyes darting to Abuela, then to me. “Why does Juan even need a ‘conservator?’ Surely what happens to him is in God’s hands. Shouldn’t we trust in our Lord, and in our Blessed Mother?”

I decided I’d been quiet long enough. “Tia Consola. It’s good to see you.” I ignored her flinch and kept going. “Uncle Augustin mentioned that you have your health care with Kaiser, right?”

Her eyes flashed to her husband, before returning to me. “Sí, of course. I thought everyone had it.”

“That doesn’t mean you have lost faith in God, does it?”

“No! What are you saying???”

“Padre didn’t get his own insurance, and he needs it. So someone needs to get him covered, and to protect his assets while he can’t. That doesn’t mean we stopped trusting in God.”

Aunt Maria leapt back into the fray. “You dare to speak the name of God? You???”

“Don’t tell me you took out a copyright?" I shot back.

“Maria, please!” Tia Consola begged. “You have arguments to make, so make them. There is no need to be rude.” Turning to me, she said. “I don’t understand what you’ve done. To . . . to yourself. To your body! Even though Inés tried to explain it to me, I can’t see how it’s right. I can’t. But I offered prayers of thanksgiving when I heard that you still live. I had feared the worst.”

“This is the worst,” Aunt Maria spat. “An abomination! We need him gone. Out of our lives.”

Tia Consola looked shocked. “Don’t close your heart to love! He is your godson!”

“He turned his back on God.” Aunt Maria remained adamant.

Abuela hadn’t moved to intervene, listening to the argument go back and forth. Now she said, “Enough theology, both of you. There’s a job that needs doing. Carmen can do it. Do you think she is incapable?”

“Suegra,” Aunt Maria said, “How can you call your grandson a ‘she,’ or give him a female name? This is not right!”

Abuela threw up her hands in disgust. “Names again!”

I said, “I call you ‘Aunt Maria,’ not ‘tia.’ Why? Because you asked me to. As a matter of respect. I do the same for each and every one of you! Uncle Angel, Uncle Augustin. Tio Javier. Tia Consola and tia Juana. Why is it beyond you to do the same for me?”

Aunt Maria was unmoved. “I am your elder! You owe me respect, just as I owe suegra respect. I owe you nothing!”

“Enough!” Uncle Augustin banged his fist on the arm of his chair, his face flushed. “I won’t listen to any more of this!”

“Augustin, please!” tia Consola pleaded.

“No, wife!” His eyes flashed. “No! We were invited to a pool party! Did anyone say anything to you about . . . about . . . .” He waved his arm in disgust. “All of this? Any of it?”

“I didn’t hide anything,” Aunt Maria said, looking prim.

Tia Consola’s downcast eyes were all the answer anyone might need.

“We will speak of this later,” he warned his wife. “And as for not hiding anything, Maria . . . you certainly seem to have kept this from mamá!”

Visibly affronted, Aunt Maria looked at her husband and hissed, “Angel! Say something!”

He looked flustered. “Say what?”

“How can you let your younger brother speak to me like that? At my own house, no less!”

“Well, but . . . . “ Uncle Angel sputtered, then appeared to sputter out.

I decided to get the inquest back on track. “However we all ended up here, we’re here now. So let’s have this out. I didn’t ask to be appointed conservator. I don’t want the job.”

Aunt Maria opened her mouth, and I raised my hand to stop her. “But . . . I agreed to do it, temporarily, at Abuela’s request, because I know the things that need to get done right away if padre is to have any hope of having assets left. I’m more than happy to let someone else do it – if they know what they're doing.”

“Angel is the eldest,” Aunt Maria asserted — as if we didn’t already know that.

“That’s right,” Uncle Angel agreed, since even Captain Obvious needs a flunky.

“It isn’t some high honor or something.” I tried to keep the irritation from my voice. Abuela hadn’t trusted any of them with the task, and I was beginning to understand why. “It’s a job, and it’ll be a lot of work.”

“What sorts of things need to be done?” Uncle Augustin asked, seemingly in an effort to get the conversation onto a useful track.

“First, we need to get a full listing of his assets, so that we can apply for government programs that will cover insurance and possibly pay disability benefits.”

“You expect help from the government?” Aunt Maria’s disgust was evident. “When have they ever done anything for us? Or for anyone? Nothing but blood-suckers who steal our money so they can pay women to kill their own babies!”

I couldn’t keep the incredulity from my tone. “What are you even talking about?”

She looked triumphant. “I’m talking about your precious ‘government!’ Nothing but servants of Satan!”

“So, if you were the conservator – or, sorry, if Uncle Angel were the conservator – you wouldn’t apply for government-sponsored insurance?”

Uncle Angel looked annoyed, but Aunt Maria ignored him. “Certainly not! I tell you, they’re evil. At best, the government is useless!”

¡Dios mío! “What’s useless,” I retorted, “is sitting on our asses waiting for some kind of a miracle, when we have the ability to actually do something about padre’s problems! Do you plan to pay for his medical bills with your madre’s rosary beads?”

Aunt Maria lost it. “I will not be spoken to like that! Least of all by you! Angel, DO something!”

Before Uncle Angel missed another chance to prove his worth in his wife’s eyes, and before I had the opportunity to bite her head off, tia Juana intervened. “Oh, stop it, Maria.” Her tone was mostly affectionate. “You can’t go barking at everyone, then get offended when someone barks back.”

“I wasn’t ‘barking!’”

“Pick a different word, then.” Tia Juana waved a hand lazily. “Look, hermana, you called us all here, but you and me and Consola shouldn’t even be part of this conversation. Juan’s not our brother. Let the men hash it out with suegra.”

“You think this does not concern us? Who will have to answer, when we speak to our friends at church? The men?” Aunt Maria laughed harshly at the absurdity of that notion. “No. It will be us. And what should we say, when they ask us why we entrusted Juan’s health and his property to this . . . freak? What will we tell Father Jorge? Or Deacon Raul? Or our neighbors?”

“You worry too much about things that don’t matter. Tell them what you want. I intend to say it’s none of my business.” Tia Juana rose and looked down at her husband. “You’ll be alright for a bit?”

He grunted something affirmative.

She looked at my number two aunt. “Consola?”

Tia Consola’s eyes darted between the other two aunts before dropping to the hands she was literally wringing in her lap. “Well, I . . . ah . . . .”

Aunt Maria’s words were urgent. “Consolación! You know I am right in this!”

“I don’t know what to think anymore!” Tia Consola’s cry was anguished. “None of this seems right! And I pray and I pray, and I still can’t see what God is asking of us! What He is calling us to do!”

“Go on, Viejita,” Uncle Augui murmured. “I’ll deal with this.”

She nodded miserably, then cast a final, apologetic glance at Aunt Maria. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to think. What to do.” With that, she rose to leave.

“Come on, Maria,” tia Juana urged, an amused smile pulling at her lips. “Make us some tea, will you?”

“Tea!”

“I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to something stronger. But come on inside.”

For a moment it looked like she might agree, but then her expression hardened. “No! I will not be silenced like this! Angel! Husband, for the love of God, SAY something!”

He nodded, doing his best to look decisive. “You should stay.”

“Oh, please, Angelito,” tia Juana said affectionately. “Surely you can speak for your branch of the family?”

“It’s not that,” he huffed. “It’s just that . . . .” Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought of a good way to end the sentence before he began it, so it just hung there, unfinished, like a bad poem.

Aunt Maria rolled her eyes, disgusted.

Abruptly, I said, “She should stay.”

That got everyone’s attention. Even Abuela’s face turned my way, a slight smile cracking the corner of her lip.

“Aunt Maria has the strongest objections. We need to deal with them. Now, not later. I’m meeting with the investigator tomorrow morning.”

Tia Juana’s eyebrow rose, part surprise and – I liked to think – part respect. But she said, “Suit yourself. Maria, surely poor Paco doesn’t need to sit through this, does he?”

Cousin Francisco’s face was a battle of relief at having an escape, and umbrage at not being considered one of “the men.” In fairness, I guess it’s hard to know how to be a man, even at 25, when you’re surrounded by family elders. He had no place in the meeting, yet felt compelled to stay because his parents – his mother, most likely – had wanted to pad their numbers in the discussion.

Aunt Maria, naturally, decided to press her advantage. “He can stay if he wants to!”

He dithered for a moment before rising and attempting a dignified exit. “I think Carlos is a disgrace to the family. But I have nothing more to say on the subject.” His voice, like his walk, was stiff and formal, almost to the point of being pompous.

I should have been irritated at his deliberate rudeness, but I had bigger fish to fry. He was an irrelevance; at least he’d had the sense to know it.

Once they had all gone into the house, Abuela said, “Alright, Maria. We’re listening. Try to leave out the insults. They aren’t helping.”

“Out of my respect for you, suegra – and only for you! – I will, though I fully share Francisco’s opinion.”

“More likely, he shares yours,” Uncle Augustin remarked.

“He has more sense than you do,” she shot back, giving her brother-in-law a venomous look.

Before Uncle Augustin could respond, Abuela rasped, “Enough! Maria . . . your objections?”

“Fine, then. This ‘conservator.’ The person is supposed to act for Juan, right?”

“Yes,” Abuela answered.

“Do what Juan would do, if he were competent?”

Abuela turned that one over to me. “Carmen?”

“Not . . . exactly.”

Aunt Maria pounced. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly?’”

“The conservator has to act in padre’s best interest. That may or may not line up with what padre would choose to do himself, if he were awake.”

Uncle Augustin leaned forward. “Can you give us an example? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, umm . . . .” I thought quickly. “Like, if padre’s car had to be sold to pay his mortgage or his taxes, the conservator should do it, even if padre himself might have really, really liked the car.”

Aunt Maria nodded vigorously, like I’d somehow made her point for her. “So the conservator uses their own judgment? Their own values?”

“I don’t know about values. But judgment, for sure.”

“Well, one thing we know ‘for sure’ – Juan didn’t agree with your values or your judgment. He disowned you. Tossed you out. So you are the last person he would trust to make decisions for him!”

“I have no daughter. And YOU are not my son!” I fought my memories and wondered once again why the actual fuck I was here. I didn’t ask for this. Any of it.

But I refused to let my Aunt’s bigotry drive me from the obligation I had shouldered, especially when she’d confirmed that padre wouldn’t get any government assistance if she or her puppet were put in charge of his care. “You might be right,” I said tightly. “I don’t know. But despite how he felt about me, I will do my best for him here.”

“Why?” Tio Javier’s question came as a surprise; he’d barely said anything since I arrived.

Unsure where he was coming from, I tried not to be too defensive. “Tio? Why what?”

He cleared his throat. “Why do you want to help him? Love? Duty?”

Might as well be truthful. “No. I agreed to do it because Abuela asked me to.”

“Nothing more?” he pressed.

“I’m sorry, tio. No.” I raised my hands in a gesture of helplessness. “You all know he threw me out, and why. Some of you agree with him. I think all of you at least understand it. I was angry for a long time. A very long time.”

“You were angry?” Aunt Maria was theatrically incredulous. “You had no right–”

Tio Javi waved her down. “Hush, woman! I want to hear this” He glowered at me. “Go on.”

I nodded, feeling oddly uncertain, both of my own feelings, and of how much I wanted to share. My first words were a surprise, even to me. “I’m not angry at him anymore.” I shook my head, almost in wonder. “I’m not. I think . . . I don’t understand why padre was the way he was, just like padre couldn’t understand why I’m the way I am. Maybe someday, we’ll be able to talk about it, and maybe then we can start to understand each other better. I don’t know. Maybe that’s just a pipe dream. But for the first time in a long time, I guess I hope we can.”

Aunt Maria’s snort made her opinion on the likelihood of that happening apparent.

But Uncle Augustin nodded. “So . . . you don’t love him, but you don’t hate him, either.”

I agreed.

“If you take this conservator job,” he continued, “you’ll do your absolute best to do what’s right for him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know the things that have to be done? The government programs? All the rest?”

“I do.”

He leaned back. “Good enough for me.”

Tio Javi grunted.

Abuela seemed to interpret the grunt as some sort of approval; she turned toward her eldest and made his name a question. “Angel?”

Uncle Angel looked nervously at his wife. “What do you think, Maria?”

She rolled her eyes. But, rather than snap at her husband, she said, “Let’s talk about the hard issue. It’s not the money. If Juan’s even got any, I’d be shocked. What happens when the doctors all come and say, ‘I don’t think he’s going to recover. It’s time to pull the plug.’ What will you do then, Carlos?”

Uncle Augustin positively growled at her stubborn insistence on deadnaming me. “Stop with the name, Maria.”

I shot him a grateful glance, but raised a hand to forestall further argument on that issue. “It’s alright, Uncle Augui. It’s a fair question . . . once you strip out the snark. And I’ve given it a lot of thought.”

“I’ll bet you have,” Aunt Maria said acidly. “I expect you’ve been dreaming of your revenge all week. Maybe planning it for years. And there’s your padre, finally at your mercy!”

Uncle Augustin looked disgusted. “That’s ¡loco!”

“Is it?” Aunt Maria shook her head. “Admit it – you’re thinking exactly the same thing. I believe Carlos when he says he was angry at his padre. But the rest of it is nothing but lies. He’s got poor Juan right where he—”

“¡Ya estás!” Abuela barked. “Just stop it, Maria!”

“I will not—”

Abuela’s hard voice effortlessly overrode Aunt Maria’s protest. “Yes, you will! You raised an important objection, and I want to hear the answer – even if you don’t!”

“Anything he says will just be a lie!”

“That, we can judge,” Abuela ground out. “You will let Carmen respond!”

Aunt Maria glared at her Mother in Law, but said nothing.

My turn, then. “If the doctors recommend taking padre off of life support, I will tell them ‘no.’ From everything they’ve said, that’s not a decision that would ever need to be made in any kind of a hurry. I’m only accepting the job of temporary conservator. If the issue comes up at all, it’s something that will need to be addressed by the long-term conservator.”

“And who will that be?” Aunt Maria seemed unmoved by my assertion. “Won’t suegra just force us all to accept you as the ‘permanent conservator’ too? Since clearly she thinks none of us are competent?”

“You go too far, nuera!” Abuela’s voice was cold and dangerous.

“It’s true, and you know it!”

I jumped in before things got worse. “No, it isn’t. I’ve been very clear with Abuela: I have a job, and a life, back in Orange County. I can manage the temporary conservatorship. Barely. But I can’t do the job long-term. Someone else will have to do that.”

“You say that now!”

“Get real, Aunt Maria!” I tried – and failed – to keep the bitterness from my voice. “Do you think I enjoy having you scream at me and accuse me of things? Or having poor tia Consola worry over the state of my soul? Hearing your son, who I remember as a snot-nosed brat, tell me that I’m a disgrace to my family?”

“You are a disgrace!”

“Maybe I am,” I said, my voice shaking. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m going to rot in hell for all eternity. But I know for a fact that I’ll see you there if I do!”

“More insults!” She shot out of her seat and glared at Abuela. “Fine! Have it your way. Put this maricón in charge of your son. Why should I care? Juan was always a hijo de mamá!”

Uncle Angel surged to his feet. “Maria! Apologize!”

“Oh, for this you stir yourself, husband?” She turned her attention back to Abuela. “You must be so proud of your ‘boys,’ suegra! Will you ever let them off your apron strings?”

Thunderous silence greeted her outburst. Aunt Maria threw up her hands in disgust and said, “Christ on the Cross, are there any men in this family?” She spun on her heel and charged off, heading for the house.

Uncle Augustin and tio Javier both looked outraged and Abuela’s expression was murderous.

Uncle Angel saw their reactions and unloaded his anger and frustration on me. “This is all your fault! Bringing divisions into this family! Disturbing our peace! Just like your madre! God! I wish you’d stayed away. Or even better, that you’d never been born!”

“My fault? Mine?” I was done with being polite. He would object, or he wouldn’t. Whatever. I got right in his face and punched an index finger to within an inch of his ribs. “Your brother is in a coma, he may not live, and if he does, he may still lose everything. His home. His money. And all you can think about is your pinche peace and quiet?”

He stepped back a pace, shocked at my attack.

But I wasn’t close to being finished. “I answered your questions. I put up with your wife’s attacks. And it’s my fault that she’s blowing up at everyone? My fault she’s mocking your precious manhood?”

“If you hadn’t disgraced your padre–”

“Oh, stop! Fuck your stupidity, and fuck your bigotry, and while I’m at it, fuck you! For most of my life, ‘Angel’ was my middle name, because you were my Godfather. Because I was supposed to look up to you.” I gave him a scathing look, both up and down. “I’m glad I dropped it.”

“Demonio!”

“DemoniA,” I insisted. If you’re going to call me a demon, at least get the gender right! But I was done. Finished. I pointedly turned my back on him.

Uncle Angel made a rude noise and stomped off toward the house, presumably to make peace with the harridan he married, the woman who’d sucked out his life and left nothing but a pathetic husk. But he bumped into tio Javier’s wheelchair and stopped, his arm caught in a vice-like grip.

“’mano,” the younger man grated out. “You and Maria can argue with the hijos anytime you want. You can call me names. What do I care? I’ve heard worse.” His glare was cold steel on a battlefield. “But I won’t sit here and listen to someone treat mamá like that. Not even your wife. ¿Comprende?”

“Just what am I supposed to do about it?” Uncle Angel snapped.

“I’m with Javi, Ang.” Uncle Augui told him. “You tell her she needs to make this right.”

Uncle Angel glared at his brothers, then, somewhat sheepishly, looked to where his mother sat, silent and grim.

“​Mamá . . . . I’m sorry. Maria was provoked, though. You have to see that!”

Abuela turned her face away, looking both stony and cold.

“​Mamá!”

She ignored him.

Uncle Angel wrenched his arm free of his brother’s grip and stumbled away, cursing. A moment later, he was inside the house, and we could hear his voice raised in anger.

I’d stood my ground against unfounded attacks by my elders, but I felt deflated and defeated. It seemed likely that Uncle Angel and Aunt Maria would try to derail the conservator appointment, and God knows what that would mean for padre, assuming he survived. Abuela had brought me there in the hopes of answering any objections, and I’d failed her. Me and my pinche temper!

It had always been inevitable that the investigator would learn that padre and I were estranged and why. With the family’s unified backing, he probably would still recommend my appointment to the Court. But without it?

Maybe they’d even appoint Uncle Angel.

Though it probably wouldn’t be enough to matter, I had to try to consolidate the backing of the other brothers. “Tio’s?” My voice sounded tired, even to me. “I apologize. Were there any other questions you wanted to ask about the whole conservatorship issue?”

Uncle Augui shook his head. “I’m good. You know you have my support.”

I looked at tio Javi, and Lupe’s words from earlier in the day came back to me. “When I saw your face . . . I thought to myself, ‘that’s someone who’s been through a lot.’” In a flash of memory, I saw him, whole and uninjured, dark, strong, laughing as he tossed me in the air and caught me. “Wayhay, Carlos! You can fly!” I remembered screeching in terror and joy all rolled into one, always certain that he would pull me from the air and land me back on my feet . . . . He’d only been thirty when he lost his leg. Just a year older than I was, now.

Surprising myself again, I dropped to one knee so that I wouldn’t be looking down at him. “Tio?”

He looked surprised . . . and maybe a bit suspicious. “Sí?”

“Do I have your blessing, to do this thing?”

“Why do you care?” he grunted.

“Because I do.”

He glowered at me for a long moment, then said. “You have my blessing . . . Carmen.”

It got me, every time. Just say my name, people. Just say my name! Is it really so hard? I choked up, but managed to murmur, “Gracias, tio Javier.”

I rose and stood before my Grandmother. “I’m sorry, Abuela. I lost my temper, and I may have ruined any hope of getting the conservatorship done quickly.”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Maria’s anger can’t be turned by soft words.”

I nodded. She was probably right. “Can I take you home?”

She raised her face toward mine. “Go, child. I still have business here, with mi nuera. And with mi hijo.”

And that business, I had no doubt, would go much more smoothly if I weren’t around to set Aunt Maria’s hair on fire just by breathing.

“I’ll see she gets home, Carmen,” Uncle Augui assured me.

“Okay.” Feeling at a loss for what to say, I ended, lamely, “I’ll let you know how things go with the investigator tomorrow.”

She waved a hand in acknowledgement. Or, perhaps, dismissal.

With that, I had to be content. Within a few minutes, I was headed back to my motel, feeling like I’d just been through combat.

— To be continued

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