But it was not the weeping of a woman frightened by a near-miss.

She turned her head and looked at me, and the look in her eyes was one I had not seen in twenty years.

“Marianita,” she said.

And my heart stopped, because no one had called me Marianita since I was a little girl.

She pressed her hands to her temples, the tears pouring down.

“I remember,” she gasped.

“I remember what happened to your father.”

Chapter 14 — Marianita