Ashes of Foreverland by Tony Bertauski Page B

broke.”
    â€œThen why do you limp?”
    â€œOld men are supposed to limp.”
    â€œYou’re saying your past makes you who you are? Sounds like someone isn’t present.”
    â€œI’m saying I’m exactly who I should be. Old men die and babies suck on mother’s milk.”
    â€œEnough.” Madre slapped the table. “No more talk of niños . Look at your cards before I take them.”
    Lines carved her forehead, but these were different than the ones Alex feared. This expression Madre reserved for her husband, when he forgot to take out the trash or pushed arguments too far.
    He scooped up his cards, adding a twinkling wink that said meet me out back later and we’ll finish this. Samuel came back with a fresh bottle and filled all the glasses. The game resumed; cards were played.
    Jazz streamed through the speakers and somewhere outside children were playing. Samuel began to whistle and Hank asked him to stop and Madre told them to behave themselves. The hand was almost over when someone said.
    â€œDon’t forget who you are.”
    â€œWhat?” Alex said.
    â€œYour play,” Hank said.
    â€œNo, what’d you say?”
    The others looked confused. “It’s your play, Alex,” Samuel added.
    â€œNo, he said something else.” Don’t forget who you are.
    Alex waited. She wanted to push more, but Madre’s lines of impatience could turn to worry, so she dropped a card. Madre smiled, played her trump cards, and the hand ended soon enough.
    Samuel corralled the deck.
    Alex noticed the subtle tracks on the polished surface, a light dusting. She dragged her finger across the table, wondering where all the debris was coming from.
    â€œSome things you can’t forget,” Hank said. “Or shouldn’t.”
    But when she looked up, the old man was finishing his wine. And Samuel was eating a cracker. Madre tallied the points.
    She didn’t ask him to repeat it. Instead, she excused herself to the bathroom.
    Madre didn’t need to see her breakdown.
    â€”—————————————
    A lex went to the bathroom then hauled the recycling out to the garage.
    She didn’t explain why she felt compelled to do it before the card game was over, just called out from the kitchen and walked out before anyone could argue.
    Hank got to me.
    The old man never argued with Samuel. Maybe because Samuel was a lawyer, a damn good one, or a man. Or maybe because Hank knew Alex would give him a good fight but, in the end, he’d get the final word. She couldn’t recall anyone ever winning a debate with Hank, whether it was politics or Chinese checkers.
    But she’d never heard him pretend not to say things.
    She didn’t imagine that. He wasn’t pretending. He couldn’t have said it because he had a throat full of wine .
    She took a deep breath, made a detour through the backyard, and cleared her mind. Despite the cloudless sky, it was brisk. She hugged herself against the chill and wished she would warm up. She needed to clear the clutter in her head. Maybe a nap. Sleeping had been doing her good lately. She always woke up refreshed and happy.
    And happy wasn’t a word she wore often.
    She dumped the recycling and crossed the driveway. The neighbor across the road waved from his mailbox. Alex waved back and slowly made her way out to the curb.
    The street was lined with mature elms that arched overhead. Despite the dappled shade, it was warmer out there, almost ten degrees. She already felt good inside and out. Must’ve been the fresh air. Sometimes a short walk is the remedy.
    There was a wad of envelopes stuffed in the mailbox; she sifted through them on the way back, half of it junk. The garage door was still open. She tossed all of it into the recycling bin but noticed the address on a large envelope.
    Alessandra.
    A wave of gooseflesh raced down her arms. Alex