“Placida” by Nic Kelman
--page 6

        “Where were you?” asks Leti, as her mother comes around the hood of the car, “Did you forget we were coming?”
        “Oh,“ answers Placida, the crowsfeet at the corners of her eyes squeezing up, tensing, “never mind about that! It’s so good to see you!” she says, patting me on the shoulder, her hands so twisted now that she does so with a loosely curled fist instead of her palm, “Why would you want to drink those?” she adds, seeing the drinks, “They must be warm—you should come inside and have something cold!”
        “Mami,” Leti says, “Where were you—is everything OK? We’ve been waiting here for a couple hours.”
        “Oh mija,” she says, “Yes, don’t worry—everything’s fine—I just went to the airport to pick you up, that’s all. But you weren’t there, you decided to take a car instead, that’s fine.”
        “Mom,” Leti says, frowning, “Don’t try and pull that on me—I told you this morning just before we left that we were getting a car from the airport so you wouldn’t have to bother.”
        “I know you told me—but it was no problem—and I thought it would be nicer if I picked you up,” she looks at me, “Wouldn’t that have been nicer?” The sun is so bright now, shining right into my eyes as I face her, I can not see her smile, but I still know better than to answer.
        Sure enough, Letitia sighs. “Yes, mom, yes that would have been nicer,” she says, turning her back on her mother to return to the house through the dead front lawn, “but that wasn’t what happened, now was it?”

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