But it never came.
The moment Lucia saw Carmen, her whole face softened with sincere warmth. She walked quickly toward her, bent down, took the older woman’s hand, and said as naturally as if she had known her for years, “Mama Carmen, I’m finally here. Have you eaten? Are your knees hurting today? Let me look at you.”
Diego stood still.
His mother was stunned too, her old eyes suddenly wet.
Lucia did not seem bothered by the dirt yard, the old walls, or the smell of wood smoke in the air. She set down her bag, rolled up her sleeves, helped Carmen into the house, asked where the kitchen was, found water, and checked whether there were tortillas left to warm.
Diego had not even spoken when Lucia turned to him, reached into the pocket of her jacket, and handed him a folded paper.
“Read this, Diego.”
He frowned and took it.
The paper was a handwritten list, neat and careful. At the top, it said:
Things Mama Carmen May Need After the Wedding
Diego stared at the title.
Under it were lines written in Lucia’s small, tidy handwriting.
A monthly grocery budget for Carmen.
A plan to send money for medicine.
A note to ask the church if someone could drive Carmen to doctor appointments.
A reminder to check whether the roof could be repaired before the rainy season.
A list of knee specialists near San Antonio.
A note that said: “Ask Diego gently if he wants his mom to live with us someday. Don’t pressure him. He may feel guilty.”
