Free To Catch a Falling Star by L. Duarte Page A

still hold my suspicions that she only married Will because of Maritza’s culinary skills.”
    The preacher places a hand over my shoulder and ushers me out of the ruins. What the fuck? Aren’t we supposed to dig deeper into the soul-searching crap? What just happened?
    On our return, the preacher alternates between silence and small talk. He seems pensive at times. That irritating grin never leaves his face.
    “Do you have any plans for when you are going back to work?” he asks.
    “My manager is lining up some gigs for me. But I need a court release before I can go anywhere.”
    “I see.”
    He drives past the church and parks on the driveway of his house.
    “Come on, son, it looks like you can use a good meal. You’ve lost a great deal of weight.”
    I follow him inside. The house is just as I remember it, simple and warm. Right after I cross the threshold of the front door, an older version of Mel pulls me into a tight embrace.
    “Welcome back, Tarry. Finally, you decide to come and visit with us. Portia talks so much about you, that it feels like we are lifelong friends. Come, we were just waiting for you to start eating.”
    “Thank you. It is a pleasure to see you again,” I say politely.
    In the kitchen, my eyes search unconsciously until I find Mel. She stands at the counter with Dominick hanging from her hip. She is chatting with Lucas. Wow, it’s a fucking family reunion.
    I see Portia’s father, Mr. McGee shaking hands with the preacher. Un-fucking-believable, the tycoon seems right at home. With his arm draped over Portia’s shoulder, he laughs at whatever the preacher tells him.
    I restrain myself from scratching my chest and stride across the room to greet Lucas and Mel.
    “Hey, man, how’s going?” Lucas grins. Yeah, the grinning thing is a family trait.
    “Just back from hiking. Man, you had better work me hard next week. It sucks to have a preacher kick my lame ass,” I say. To my surprise, I hear Mel’s crystal laugh resonating through the room.
    “Don’t worry, Tarry. Dad is a professional hiker, if there is such a thing. He kicks ass at it.”
    “No shit,” I say.
    We talk for a while, before Maritza directs us to the dining room. A long table overtakes the small room. I steer close to Mel and sit next to her. From the opposite side of the room, Portia glances my way with a speculative look, but I ignore her. I fucking crave Mel and, the weird thing is, near her I can almost forget the damn craving that haunts me all day.
    If Mel notices my clinginess, she does not display it. Our elbows bump slightly every time Mel brings the fork to her lips. I’m relieved that Lucas sits beside us. He pretty much carries all the conversation.
    To my surprise, the empanadas and tortilla soup are delicious. I eat more than I’ve been eating. I can tell from Portia’s expression that my appetite appeases her.
    After dinner, we gather in a living room adjoined to the kitchen. I swear this is true: Mr. McGee and the preacher wash the dishes. Lucas, Will, and I get a free pass. I wonder if the New Yorker has published a piece about how well Mr. McGee can organize a dishwasher.
    I stand on the doorsill of the living room to observe the peculiar family—including Portia—at their prime. Dominick and Ella are playing catch when he stumbles into me.
    “Sorry, Uncle Tally,” Dominick says.
    “It is Uncle Tarry, Dominick,” Ella corrects him.
    “That’s what I said, Ella,” Dominick says.
    “Let’s watch Dora,” Ella proposes, rolling her eyes just like her mother.
    “No, can we watch Diego?” Dominick asks.
    “Okay,” Ella shrugs and they both run to the family room.
    Maritza sets a tray with coffee on the center table.
    “Mom, is my navy suit here?” Mel asks.
    “Yeah, I think I picked it up from the laundry awhile back and forgot to give it to you. Why, do you need it?” Maritza pours a cup of Colombian coffee and hands it to me.
    “Lisa, from the homeless shelter, is going for a