Widows' Watch Read Online Free PDF

found the time for any major shopping expeditions. Now the insurance money was gone. She sighed and put her dinner and beer on the tiled hearth of the round corner fireplace while she unfolded a TV table and set it up. Then she sat down on the hearth to eat.
    â€œWho’s looking after Pop?” she asked.
    Harmony continued to weave. “Josie and Armstrong are back in Chimayo, so your father’s staying with them.”
    Elena nodded. Her middle sister Josie had married the artist Armstrong Carr when she was eighteen. During the tourist and opera season, they lived in Santa Fe, where he had a studio and gallery. In the fall they moved back to his house in Chimayo with their nine-year-old daughter, Cleo. “Armstrong’s going to go crazy with Pop’s calls coming in day and night.”
    â€œArmstrong’s taken to painting with earphones on. Then he names the canvas after whatever music inspired it, usually something from the chamber music programs. He’ll never hear the telephone.” Harmony settled onto a high stool she had carried into the room, and studied the first six inches of her pattern. Then she turned to Elena, who was dipping tostados into guacamole. “I brought you a cordless telephone and an answering machine.”
    â€œHow come?” Elena wrapped a slice of the brisket in a flour tortilla, garnished it with beans, and bit into her improvised burrito.
    â€œBecause I haven’t been able to get hold of you for three weeks.” Harmony had resumed her weaving. “They’re in the bag by what’s left of your television.”
    â€œWhen I’m home, I’m usually out back,” said Elena, feeling guilty that she hadn’t written or called in so long. “I’ve been working on the rock wall.”
    â€œI thought it was something like that,” Harmony murmured. “I do worry about you, Elena. Now you can answer from outside or return my calls.”
    â€œSorry, Mom. I promise to do better.” Elena finished the last bite of her dinner and rose to examine the two gifts. Very high-tech. “Listen, Mom, these are way too expensive. You better take them back and—”
    â€œNonsense. I bought them at a discount store in Albuquerque. Besides that, I have more money than I know what to do with.”
    â€œSince when?”
    â€œSince I started using my fabrics to make coats and dresses for the Santa Fe tourists. Armstrong’s gallery on Canyon Road is handling my creations.” Harmony laughed. “He can’t very well charge his mother-in-law a commission, and the last coat sold for twelve hundred dollars.”
    â€œYou’re kidding!” said Elena, astonished. That was more than she and Frank had put down on the house when they took out their V.A. loan. “How does Pop feel about it? You must be making more than he does.”
    â€œNot yet, but I’m thinking of hiring other weavers. And your father hasn’t complained.” Harmony finished her row and started a new one. “How’s Dimitra?”
    â€œCelebrating, would be my guess.” Elena carried her plate to the sink and tossed her beer can into a large wooden waste basket, handsomely antiqued in green and lined with a plastic garbage bag. “How come Pop doesn’t mind?” she called, rinsing plate and silverware and putting them into the dishwasher. Her father was the quintessential Hispanic male. She couldn’t imagine that he’d be cool about his wife making tons of money.
    â€œRuben’s busy trying to find out who’s been taking more than their share from the acequias,” said Harmony, “and it’s not as if our lifestyle has changed. I’m using my profits to send Maria spending money while she’s in med school, and I’ve put some into Johnny and Betts’s business.”
    Elena had returned to the living room. “Right. Portillo Southwestern kitsch.”
    â€œNow,