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Your name isn’t mud just because of a little mistake.”
    â€œYour father will think it is.”
    â€œIt’s just a little mistake,” I repeated, but I didn’t sound convincing even to myself.
    He gave me the dirtiest look anyone has ever given me, and he spat out the words, very slowly: “You don’t know anything!”
    But right behind the brown of his eyes were the beginnings of tears.
    I just stood there and watched Esteban pick up his tool belt and march out the door. Soon I heard his car start, the wheels skidding down the driveway.

SEVEN
    S ATURDAY MORNING .
    â€œLarkin?” I said as she stood in the doorway. “Are you Larkin?” I had almost mistaken her for Esteban, her hair was so short and dark.
    â€œAnd you must be Annabel.”
    â€œCome in. My father should be right back.”
    â€œI was so sure he said to come at noon.”
    â€œHe did. Please come in. Something came up he had to attend to.”
    â€œNothing serious, I hope.”
    â€œOh no. Nothing serious.”
    Â 
    My father was a wreck. He had come in late last night, so he had not seen the ceiling until this morning. I’d told him how Esteban had left practically in tears, that he was ashamed of what he’d done. I said he wouldn’t even eat some food I’d ordered from the Pantigo Deli. I often bought takeout for two even when I was alone, because of the delivery charge, and because I could always eat leftovers.
    â€œSince when does one of my workers get invited to dinner?”
    â€œI just felt so sorry for him, Dad.”
    â€œWait till you see him when I’m finished with him!”
    Last night I had put away the tablecloth, the swan salt and pepper shakers, the candles, our good dishes, everything that spelled out romance. All morning I had tried to reach Esteban on his cell phone. He always answered it; he was alwayslooking for work. But that morning there was just his recorded voice.
    Larkin walked by me, and I knew instantly she had style and grace: the long yellow skirt with the white high-heeled sandals, the low-cut orange top, the tiny gold earrings, no other jewelry. She seemed to glide past me.
    My father has a unique way of showing rage. Not anger—rage. He gets quiet. He speaks in a low tone, so often you have to lean forward to hear him, as though you were slightly deaf. He even gives you these quick little smiles when he says things like “I told that kid how important this job was!”
    â€œHe knew it was, Dad.”
    â€œHow could he be so sloppy?”
    â€œHe felt ashamed, Dad, so ashamed.”
    â€œHe should have.”
    Quick little smile.
    He said, “I’m going down to that house where they all live.”
    I realized I had no idea where Esteban lived, or who “they” were. Gioconda, I thought, andhadn’t he mentioned some man named Dario, someone who had to take a driving test?
    My father said, “Be welcoming to Larkin, Annabel. If that boy calls, tell him to get his butt over here on the double!”
    â€œYou could serve Larkin paella,” I said. “You know I always order too much.”
    â€œI don’t eat Latino crap!” he snarled.
    In fact he loved all of it, particularly paella.
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    â€œI don’t mind that your father’s late,” Larkin said.
    â€œHe really isn’t late. There was an emergency.”
    â€œThat will give us time to get acquainted, Annabel. I love that name. There was a poem by Poe about a great love between two very young people. ‘I was a child and she was a child—’”
    â€œâ€˜In our kingdom by the sea,’” I continued the poem.
    â€œYes. That’s it. Her name was Annabel Lee.”
    â€œI was named for her. It was my mother’s favorite poem.”
    â€œMine too,” Larkin said.
    You’d turn around on the street if you passedher, just to get another glimpse. She was not really beautiful, but