It rang four times. I could hear my own heart. I could hear Moxie, downstairs, whining at the door to go out. I could hear the refrigerator, and the clock over the stove, and my mother breathing through her nose.
"Yeah," said a man's voice, thick and annoyed, with wind behind it, like he was outdoors. "Who's this?"
"Brent, this is Connie Arriaga. Lalo's mother. Noemi's grandmother."
A pause. "Uh. Okay. Hi. What—is everything okay? Is Sadie okay?"
"Sadie is fine. Sadie is right here. I'm at Joanna's. I'm calling because I wanted to thank you."
"Thank me for what?"
"For the shoes," Abuela said. "Three pairs. For Sadie. That was very generous."
"What shoes?"
"The money you sent for shoes."
The wind on the line gusted. There was a clanking sound, like a metal hatch. When he spoke again, his voice had changed. It had gotten flat and defensive and fast, the voice of a man who's been asked for money a lot and has a speech ready.
"I didn't send any money for shoes. Okay? I haven't sent anything since February, and Jo knows why, I told her, I got let go from the lot in March and I'm doing side stuff and I'm figuring it out. I'm not trying to be a deadbeat here. If she's got her lawyer calling me now, or you, or whoever—"