Free When Tito Loved Clara by Jon Michaud Page B

would have styled Deysei's hair that way. She would have ironed it flat.
    â€œWhat can I get for you?” Thomas asked.
    â€œUmm. Just salad, Tío. Thanks.”
    â€œReally? You didn't eat anything at lunch either.”
    â€œWe stopped at a McDonald's in the airport,” said Clara.
    â€œOh,” said Thomas. “Well, I'm glad I didn't go to any trouble with dinner or anything.”
    Clara ignored this. “I was telling Deysei how I always sent you out for a Big Mac when I was pregnant with Guillermo.”
    â€œYou too, huh, Deysei? Craving that special sauce?”
    Deysei shrugged. “I don't know, Tío. I was just hungry. I won't be asking you to get me no Big Macs in the middle of the night.”
    â€œThat's what you're saying now,” Clara said, laughing.
    â€œAnd don't forget french fries!” said Guillermo—another item on his restricted menu. Clara found that she often discounted her son as a listener only to discover that he'd taken in every word.
    â€œThe fish is delicious, Thomas,” Clara said, and it was.
    â€œThanks. You want to try some, Gilly?” asked Thomas.
    â€œYuck!” said Guillermo. “Fish eat people who die in the ocean.”
    â€œThere you go,” said Clara, who, with Deysei, was laughing. Guillermo, pleased with himself, beamed at his father—a
fuck you
grin if Clara had ever seen one.
    â€œRight. Whatever,” said Thomas, and took a drink of his beer.
    A FTER THEY HAD finished eating, Thomas, as the unemployed member of the family, cleared and washed up, while Guillermo savored a last half-hour of cartoons. Clara and Deysei went into the sunroom and called the Dominican Republic to make sure that Yunis had arrived safely. Clara's mother answered. Fromthe music and chatter in the background and her mother's tone of voice, it was obvious to Clara that Yunis had said nothing about Deysei's pregnancy.
    â€œIs it good to have her there, Mami?” Clara asked. Her mother and sister did not always get along (there was, in fact, nobody that Yunis
always
got along with), but that didn't stop her mother from complaining that she never got to see her children or her grand-children anymore.
    â€œIt's good right now,” said her mother. “But she just got here. There's plenty of time for her to make me mad.”
    â€œIt'll be fine,” said Clara, and realized that it was actually something of a relief to have her sister out of the country—that she wouldn't be calling unexpectedly to ask for money or to borrow the car.
    â€œI hope you told that to Yunis,” said her mother.
    â€œCan we talk to her?”
    In a moment Yunis was on the line. “Yo, Sis. We're having a little party up in here. Chi Chi, Angel, Plinio, Porfirio, Kenya, they all came. I'm getting real nice on Plinio's Brugal.”
    â€œI'm glad you made it safely,” said Clara. “Be sure to say hi to everyone for me.”
    â€œHow's my girl doing? Let me talk to her,” said Yunis.
    Clara handed the phone to Deysei, whose part of the conversation consisted of three words repeated in varying sequence: “
Sí,
Mami. . . . Sí . . . . Sí . . . . Bye. . . . Sí, Mami. Sí. Bye.”
    â€œEverything OK?” said Clara when Deysi had turned off the phone.
    â€œYeah. I think she was drunk.”
    T HE ENVELOPE REMAINED unopened as Clara put Guillermo to bed. She loved their nighttime ritual, loved her role as the arbiter of his slumber. She dreaded the day when her son would no longer need her in this way, when he would be able tobrush his teeth properly, put his own pajamas on, read his own bedtime stories, and fall asleep without her in the room. Since their first night in the hospital together, when she had disobeyed her nurse's orders and let him lie on her chest, Clara had found this—sleep—to be the strongest bond between them. (Breastfeeding was too painful and too much work and she'd