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jokes, his smile.” Teresa felt her jaw loosen as she recalled the earlier days with her father.
    He hadn’t always been a drunk. For years her dad had been a good family man. When Teresa and her sister, Angela, were little, they waited on the front porch for their dad to get home from work. How they both loved their wonderful daddy.
    At one point in her childhood, she did the math with her friends—Teresa’s parents were married the longest and seemed the happiest of all the couples around them. Many of her friends were growing up in single-parent homes, and most of those girls wanted to be at Teresa’s house on weekends. Her dad was the life of the party, and her beautiful mother knew how to cook and always took care of any guest. Teresa’s memories were of a home filled with love, until her mother’s cancer diagnosis. Their lives seemed to unravel from that point forward.
    “Well, his liver’s shot,” Aunt Jessie blurted out, interrupting Teresa’s short stroll down memory lane. “The priest said your father’s years of alcohol abuse have caught up with him.
    “I tried so hard, Auntie, to create a family like the one I thought I had as a child. My version was parents who loved each other, and I wanted a house full of children …” Teresa tore at the tissue in her hand. “I failed miserably, didn’t I?”
    “No, no. Never say that.” Her aunt took her hands. “You’ve raised a wonderful son, who adores you. Mija, look at your store as well. You’re a big success. I don’t want to hear you speak like that anymore.”
    “I swore I’d never let him hurt me, ever again. I’m not sure how to handle this. Did you say five years? He’s been sober …” Teresa’s head pounded. She pushed down the emotions that tried to engulf her, memories of the bleak, lonely time—such a heavy feeling of despair. Teresa squeezed both of her eyes shut.
    “Yes. He’s been living in the maintenance quarters at St. Augustine’s on Third Street for almost the last five years. He’s like a saint to the people there. In fact, the priest had no idea your dad had a family until Joe went into the hospital.”
    Her Aunt Jessie stared in her coffee cup for a couple of seconds and then continued. “The father wants both of us to come by the church first. Before we see your dad … if we see your dad. Though, I don’t know how I’m going to call Joe, Juan.”
    They sat in silence, Teresa’s energy already depleted, yet another sign that Juan Joseph Torres was around if only in spirit. But the past was the past, Teresa reminded herself as she rocked her body back and forth. She looked at the floor and thought about the bucket her aunt kept under the sink, and then she dismissed her irrational desire to mop.
    “Well, Auntie, I’m not sure I want to see my selfish dad. He couldn’t pull it together at the worst possible time when Mama and Angela died. And now that he’s dying he wants his family around him?” Teresa’s cheeks filled with heat.
    “Yes, I know, Mija.” Her aunt touched Teresa’s arm and spoke in a soothing voice. “It doesn’t have to be about him. It could be about you. We’re all hurt over what happened during that time.”
    With no warning or reason, Teresa’s insides suddenly filled with warmth, and her anger fell away. It was a feeling she’d had before, and always at the oddest moments in her life, but never close enough to the surface for her to quite retain the memory. A sensation of overwhelming softness which began in the core of her being and then spread slowly like a glow-light throughout her body.
    It was odd to feel such delight during what seemed to be the most distressing periods of her life. She hoped the sensation was a sign from her mother, but as always, as quickly as the feeling arose, it disappeared. She touched her stomach for a moment, almost forgetting why, and dismissed the warm impression from seconds ago as just her imagination.

CHAPTER 3  
    ANGEL PUT AN ARM AROUND