We’re crossing into Arizona when Mom looks into the rearview mirror and says to me, We’re never going back. And she’s wearing her hot pink nail polish so I know she means it. I lean against the window, cheek pressed to the glass, and watch the telephone poles whiz by. There isn’t much
Spaniel I I see her through the window coming up the sidewalk and I know it’s mija. It’s my daughter. I never knew what her mother told her in the beginning, whether she told her I died or wasn’t her papá at all, just some stranger who visited once.