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“Not in the system,” Nico said. “But we connected seventeen crime scenes through his prints.”
“And that’s why the prisons are full,” our mother said as she walked into the living room and gave us both hugs.
“Because criminals are stupid,” Nico and I said in unison.
“No gloves is quite irresponsible for a thief,” she said. “But he also knows he has no record so no reason for law enforcement to have his prints.”
“Exactly,” Nico said. “Nothing popped in the major offenders database or federal. But if the police find a suspect, we’ll match.”
My dad got up from his desk—there was a den off the entry, which had been his office as long as I could remember.
“Nico! Margo!” he said with a smile, his blue eyes sparkling as he hugged us. To me he asked, “How’s the house coming along?”
I groaned. “A mess. Now that all the walls are out, I can see the great room concept is going to be fantastic, but I have tile in the kitchen, a different tile in the dining room, and the disgusting brown carpet in the living room, all of which can now be seen from yet the third type of tile in the entry. I need to rip everything out so I can hire someone to smooth the foundation and then Jack and I can lay the hardwood planks.”
“You know, your mom and I would be happy to lend you—”
“Nope. I told you when I bought the place last year that I wanted to do this myself. I’m doing fine, I have a firm budget, so if I have to live in an incomplete house for a couple of months, I’m okay.”
Or, I thought, a couple of years.
I considered what Faith said about Sergio not asking for help because of his pride. If I was in real dire straits—like I couldn’t pay my mortgage or had an emergency that my savings didn’t cover—I would go to my parents and knew they would help as much as they could. Sergio let Faith help him with the paperwork in his custody battle, so why wouldn’t he go to her or Antonio for help before pleading guilty to a capital crime of which he might be innocent?
We went into the kitchen where my mom checked on the casserole. My mom was an okay cook, it just wasn’t her favorite thing to do. Her mom, my abuela? Amazing in the kitchen, but that’s not surprising since she ran a taco stand outside the courthouse for years, which turned into a food truck, which turned into more food trucks, then into a business my Uncle Tom now ran—along with his own family restaurant. Aunt Rita often made huge pots of stew or soup that she shared with our clan. My Aunt Rita was one of those people who cooked to alleviate stress, and everything was delicious.
“Cooper,” Mom said as she moved to the stove where she was warming tortillas, “get Margo a beer.”
“I’m good,” I said.
“I found that winter porter you like,” Mom said.
“I thought they were all sold-out.”
“I know people,” Mom said with a smile.
“Just one,” I said. “Save the rest for Sunday dinner.”
Dad poured the microbrew specialty beer into a chilled mug and handed it to me.
I nibbled on chips and salsa and Lulu—only family called my little sister Lulu—came in. “I got these,” she said to Mom and took over cooking the tortillas. Nico and I exchanged a relieved glance. Mom regularly burned tortillas.
“Mom, what do you know about the foster care system?” I asked. “Specifically, Kinship Care, where a relative can take a kid into their home, like if the parent is in prison?”
“That’s a heavy question,” she said.
“Just something I’m working on.”
“Kinship Caregiving was instituted to help streamline the process for relatives to take in children—such as a grandchild when the parent can no longer take care of their needs for whatever reason. But layers of rules and regulations have made it nearly as cumbersome as the foster care system. Still, it’s better than having these children in a stranger’s home. As long as the environment is safe and the child is well cared for, I think the government should get out of the way.”
“Do you and Aunt Rita handle cases like that?”
“I haven’t, personally, but Rita has some experience, especially if there’s a custody issue. Most of the time you don’t need a lawyer. The process is straightforward—just extensive. You have someone who needs guidance?”
“Maybe.” I hesitated, then gave a version of the truth. “An acquaintance has been trying to gain guardianship of his minor siblings.” I gave her a brief rundown and explained how the social worker canceled two home visits. “I want to understand the process and how I might be able to help him.”
“I’ll ask Rita tomorrow, see if she knows of an advocate. This isn’t my area of expertise.”
“Thanks,” I said, grateful when Jack walked into the house so I could avoid any more probing questions. Jack had brought my nephew, Austin, who was also the love of my life. Austin was three and a half.
