handicapped entrance and then into the living room.
“I making breakfast.” Maria Elena disappeared into the kitchen.
“Thank you.” I never imagined Maria Elena having to take care of me.
Owen helped me hop over to an ample-sized chair, then sat down on mother’s settee and began to move his head around, taking in each corner of the room. “So, where is he?”
I felt myself smile. I wanted to see him too. I shrugged and looked around since I never knew when he was going to appear.
“Not here, huh?” Owen let his shoulders droop in disappointment.
I shook my head, then I saw a shadow in the doorway.
“What has happened to you?” Abel was wearing a pair of my father’s silk pajamas. He ran to me and knelt down beside the chair. “Are you all right?” His cheeks caved in and his chocolate eyes searched me for other signs of injury.
“I’m fine,” I replied.
Owen had been sitting back on the settee. He pushed himself forward and clasped his hands together. “Is he here?”
I nodded.
“That scroundrel. Did he do this to you?” He eyed Owen as if he’d like to flick him away like an annoying mosquito.
“Of course not, Abel, I fell.”
“Then it was his fault. He should have taken better care of you.” He turned and faced Owen, folded his arms, and tapped his bare foot.
“I was alone when I slipped,” I said, but Abel didn’t appear to be listening to me.
Owen jumped up. “Where is he, Raquel?” On my mother’s oriental carpet, he pivoted on his dancer’s feet. “I want to meet him.”
I pointed to where Abel was standing, which was right beside me.
Owen walked toward Abel sticking his hand out. “Mr. Ghost, I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Abel glared at him.
“His name is Abel Rollins, Owen.”
“Mr. Abel Rollins, nice to meet you.” Owen looked like a wind up doll as he turned around trying to shake hands with something he couldn’t see.
Abel’s lips narrowed in anger. “If he hadn’t been so busy mucking about like a soused butterfly, you probably wouldn’t have hurt himself.”
“No, it wasn’t like that all,” I pleaded.
“What he needs is to face the enemy. To be on the wrong end of a gun.”
“He’s just trying to be nice. I’ve told him about you, and he just wants to meet you.”
“I tell you, he needs the barrel of a gun pointed at him, and he needs to know what it’s like to have mortar shells going off all around him.”
Owen was still holding his hand out. “Raquel, is he here? I don’t feel anything.”
Abel took Owen’s hand in his.
Owen gasped. “I feel it,” he squealed.
Abel’s left hand grabbed Owen’s elbow and pushed him to the ground.
“Abel,” I cried. “Why did you do something like that?”
Owen immediately jumped to his feet. “Okay, buddy, I’ll give you some o’ this.” He jumped around like a boxer ready to strike. “Tell me where that son of a bitch is.”
“Abel, how could you do that? He’s my friend.”
Owen punched at the air, artfully hopping around.
I struggled to my one foot and held on to the back of the chair.
Abel stepped toward me. “No, don’t stand up, you’ll…”
One of Owen’s swings slammed Abel on the side of his head.
Abel fell to his knees.
Owen began to howl, “I got him. I got that ghostly motherfucker.”
I bent down to see if Abel was all right. His skin had turned red where Owen had smacked him, but it looked like only his pride was wounded.
“Let me hit him again. Just tell me where he is, Raquel.” Owen was holding his fist out. “I’ll teach him to mess with ol’ Owen.”
Abel pushed himself to his feet and squared his shoulders.
“No, Abel, no more of this.” I turned to Owen. “Stop that this instant.”
Abel straightened out the sleeves of my father’s robe. “He isn’t so bad after all. I thought the little effeminate thing was made out of glass.” Abel looked at me. “Tell him I’d like to shake hands with him.”
Owen looked at me. “Did he
“I making breakfast.” Maria Elena disappeared into the kitchen.
“Thank you.” I never imagined Maria Elena having to take care of me.
Owen helped me hop over to an ample-sized chair, then sat down on mother’s settee and began to move his head around, taking in each corner of the room. “So, where is he?”
I felt myself smile. I wanted to see him too. I shrugged and looked around since I never knew when he was going to appear.
“Not here, huh?” Owen let his shoulders droop in disappointment.
I shook my head, then I saw a shadow in the doorway.
“What has happened to you?” Abel was wearing a pair of my father’s silk pajamas. He ran to me and knelt down beside the chair. “Are you all right?” His cheeks caved in and his chocolate eyes searched me for other signs of injury.
“I’m fine,” I replied.
Owen had been sitting back on the settee. He pushed himself forward and clasped his hands together. “Is he here?”
I nodded.
“That scroundrel. Did he do this to you?” He eyed Owen as if he’d like to flick him away like an annoying mosquito.
“Of course not, Abel, I fell.”
“Then it was his fault. He should have taken better care of you.” He turned and faced Owen, folded his arms, and tapped his bare foot.
“I was alone when I slipped,” I said, but Abel didn’t appear to be listening to me.
Owen jumped up. “Where is he, Raquel?” On my mother’s oriental carpet, he pivoted on his dancer’s feet. “I want to meet him.”
I pointed to where Abel was standing, which was right beside me.
Owen walked toward Abel sticking his hand out. “Mr. Ghost, I’m so pleased to meet you.”
Abel glared at him.
“His name is Abel Rollins, Owen.”
“Mr. Abel Rollins, nice to meet you.” Owen looked like a wind up doll as he turned around trying to shake hands with something he couldn’t see.
Abel’s lips narrowed in anger. “If he hadn’t been so busy mucking about like a soused butterfly, you probably wouldn’t have hurt himself.”
“No, it wasn’t like that all,” I pleaded.
“What he needs is to face the enemy. To be on the wrong end of a gun.”
“He’s just trying to be nice. I’ve told him about you, and he just wants to meet you.”
“I tell you, he needs the barrel of a gun pointed at him, and he needs to know what it’s like to have mortar shells going off all around him.”
Owen was still holding his hand out. “Raquel, is he here? I don’t feel anything.”
Abel took Owen’s hand in his.
Owen gasped. “I feel it,” he squealed.
Abel’s left hand grabbed Owen’s elbow and pushed him to the ground.
“Abel,” I cried. “Why did you do something like that?”
Owen immediately jumped to his feet. “Okay, buddy, I’ll give you some o’ this.” He jumped around like a boxer ready to strike. “Tell me where that son of a bitch is.”
“Abel, how could you do that? He’s my friend.”
Owen punched at the air, artfully hopping around.
I struggled to my one foot and held on to the back of the chair.
Abel stepped toward me. “No, don’t stand up, you’ll…”
One of Owen’s swings slammed Abel on the side of his head.
Abel fell to his knees.
Owen began to howl, “I got him. I got that ghostly motherfucker.”
I bent down to see if Abel was all right. His skin had turned red where Owen had smacked him, but it looked like only his pride was wounded.
“Let me hit him again. Just tell me where he is, Raquel.” Owen was holding his fist out. “I’ll teach him to mess with ol’ Owen.”
Abel pushed himself to his feet and squared his shoulders.
“No, Abel, no more of this.” I turned to Owen. “Stop that this instant.”
Abel straightened out the sleeves of my father’s robe. “He isn’t so bad after all. I thought the little effeminate thing was made out of glass.” Abel looked at me. “Tell him I’d like to shake hands with him.”
Owen looked at me. “Did he
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