It was Sadie, in the bathroom, singing "In the Bleak Midwinter" to herself in front of the mirror, wearing her new black ankle boots. You could hear the heels clicking on the tile when she shifted her weight. I don't know how Abuela heard it. She had ears like a bat when she wanted to.
"That's Sadie. She's practicing for her solo."
"In tap shoes?"
"They're boots. They're new." I don't know why I said it. Maybe I wanted her to know. Maybe I didn't. "Her dad sent money for shoes. She got three pairs."
There was a silence on the line that I can only describe as mechanical. It was the silence of a machine that has stopped because something has been put into it that doesn't belong.
"Brent," she said. "Brent Vail sent money."
"That's what Mom said."
"Three pairs."
"Sneakers, winter boots, and those ones for the concert."
"When?"
"Yesterday. She brought them home yesterday."