A year after my unexpected return to Carmona, I came home again without warning.
This time, the front door was open.
Music played from the kitchen.
I heard voices before I reached the porch.
Derek was arguing with Dad over the correct finish for a walnut table.
Veronica was telling them both they were impossible.
Mom was laughing.
Luis had flown in for the weekend.
I stepped inside carrying groceries.
Mom looked up.
“Gabriel!”
“You need help?”
“No.”
She pointed toward the table.
“Sit.”
I obeyed.
Dad looked at the grocery bags.
“You bought the wrong coffee.”
“I bought the coffee you asked for.”
“I changed my mind.”
Luis shook his head.
“He has always been like this.”
“You left for forty years,” Dad replied. “You don’t qualify as an expert.”
“Forty years gave me perspective.”
“Forty years gave you bad coffee.”
They began arguing.
Mom leaned toward me.
