“Is that The Golden Girls?” she inquired.

“What, that?” Bo asked, pointing to the TV as though he were an alien who’d just been dropped off and couldn’t be sure of what things were called on this planet. “Nuh-uh, no. Or, maybe. I wasn’t paying too much attention to what I flipped past between games.”

“Dude, what happened to Dorothy?” a voice called from the back of the trailer.

Jiminy turned to see a stocky redhead emerge from the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

“Oh,” he said, as he spotted Jiminy.

“Jiminy, this is Cole,” Bo said. “Cole, Jiminy.”

Bo had told Jiminy about Cole—his best friend from growing up, his roommate for the summer—but she hadn’t actually encountered him until now.

“Hey,” Jiminy said.

Cole stared back.

“We were just watching a game,” he claimed.

“I heard,” Jiminy replied. “It’s too bad, because I love The Golden Girls.”

Both men looked relieved.

“Oh, yeah?” Bo asked.

Jiminy nodded.

“They’re the best, right?” Cole enthused. “Turn it back on, Bo.”

The TV sprang to life as Bo happily complied.

“I’ll go back so you can see it from the beginning,” he offered.

“You have it recorded?” Jiminy asked.

“All of ’em,” Bo confirmed.

He was looking sheepish again. And handsome, in his white T-shirt and jeans. After Cole disappeared back into the bathroom, Jiminy leaned in and kissed him.

“How’d the studying go?”

“Good,” Bo replied, sliding his arm around her and pulling her into him. “Ask me anything about the regulation of kidney function, or just kidneys in general. Anything. I own the kidneys now.”

“Why do so many people shape swimming pools like them?”

Bo paused. He nodded his head sagely, as though he was admiring the sophistication of the question.

“Just know that I know and that the answer is classified. Top secret renal reasons, is all I can say.”

“Hmm. I assumed it had something to do with how often kids pee in them.”

“I see you have high-level clearance,” Bo replied in an exaggeratedly impressed tone.

Jiminy laughed. She looked around the small trailer. It belonged to Cole’s family, who owned the cattle farm on which it was parked. Cole’s parents resided in the large house a half mile away, but Cole preferred the trailer in the summertime. He worked the farm during the day and applied to sports agencies in his free time. He’d only received rejections so far, but he firmly believed he was the next undiscovered Jerry Maguire. He knew it would take a little time to make his mark. He wasn’t in a big hurry.

“All right, I’m outta here, see ya,” Cole called as he exited the trailer. “Nice to meet you, Jiminy, don’t be a stranger.”

Jiminy wondered if Cole really had someplace to go, or if he was just clearing out for her and Bo’s sake.

As the sound of Cole’s footfalls receded, Bo pulled Jiminy onto his lap.

“How was the pool?” he asked as he twisted a piece of her hair around his finger. “Besides being shaped like a human organ.”

Jiminy shrugged.

“Okay, I guess. You know what it’s like.”

But Bo was shaking his head.

“Nope. Never been there.”

Jiminy didn’t believe him.

“Seriously,” he insisted.

“You’re kidding me. Not even once?”

“I’ve driven by. But I’ve never actually gone in.”

“Why not?” Jiminy asked. “The slide looks fun if you’re ten years old with a death wish. You were ten once. Didn’t you want to go?”

Bo thought about it. He could remember being ten years old. Could remember how hot the sun felt on his head and shoulders in July in the yard where he’d set up his toy soldiers in the dirt. He’d never gone to the pool, but he’d gone to the river once. He’d been scared of it, but he’d overcome his hesitation and jumped off a big rock into the surprisingly frigid water. He remembered how his lungs had frozen up, how his blood had suddenly felt like ice water in his veins. And how a cloud had blocked the sun just when he’d climbed out on the bank, causing him to shiver on a hot July day.

Jiminy suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Oh my God, were you not allowed in the pool?” she asked. “Because people . . . because of . . .”

Bo snapped back to the present, away from his river memory.

“It wasn’t anything official,” he answered. “I didn’t care much about going anyway, but I doubt it’s changed. Did you see any black kids there?”

Jiminy shook her head. Why hadn’t she noticed that earlier?

“Well, when I was driving home today, I saw some Mexican kids on a Slip ’n Slide,” Bo said. “So we slum it a little, but there are ways around the system.”

Loud, canned laughter sounded from the television, but both of them had lost track of the story line. Bo wanted Jiminy to take her pitying eyes someplace else. He didn’t want that emotion introduced into their relationship.

“You know what? I should probably get some more studying done,” he said suddenly, shifting her off his lap and standing up.

“Really?” Jiminy asked. “I thought we were doing something.”

“Maybe later. Let’s talk later.”

Jiminy nodded slowly, clearly confused. She stood and began to leave the trailer, then paused and turned back.

“Did you know your aunt Lyn worked for the Brayers at one point?” she asked.

Bo stared at her a moment.

“No, I didn’t. She can’t stand the Brayers.”

“Really?” Jiminy asked. “Why not?”

“She never said,” Bo answered. “It’s just something I always knew. We used to take the long way home from school just to avoid going by their place.”

Jiminy nodded thoughtfully, her face full of further questions. Bo studied her and internally debated whether he could reverse course and invite her to stay. But now she was walking away, across the grass, toward Willa’s Buick. She started to turn back again, but stopped herself and climbed into the car. Above her, the sky was bruised with another dying day.

Chapter 7

By the time Juan Gonzales bought the building that would become Tortillas, it had stood empty for nearly thirty years. In its basement, he found furniture that he assumed was from the abandoned movie theater next door: an old ticket-taking booth, a broken counter, and five wooden chairs. The chairs didn’t look like actual theater chairs to Juan, but he hadn’t examined them too closely. When his wife saw them, she decided they’d look nice arranged on the front patio of the restaurant, and she commissioned him to clean them up. Juan personally didn’t consider it worth the effort, but he enjoyed the perks that came with keeping Rosa happy, so he had bent to his task with a rag and bucket of soapy water.

Once the layers of dust and dirt had been cleaned away, the chairs actually did look pretty good. They were made of wood and impressively crafted. They were also each adorned with a shiny metal plate, previously unnoticeable thanks to the grime, attached to the top of the seat back. Engraved on each plate were the initials “K.S.O.” Juan assumed they were the initials of the company that had owned the theater, or made the chairs, or distributed the films. He had pointed them out to Rosa and rubbed them harder to make them shine. She’d smiled excitedly before returning inside to check on the specially made tortillas for which their new restaurant was named.

“Where’d you get those?”

Juan was pleasantly surprised to see Grady standing just at the edge of the patio. Juan admired the success of Grady’s Grill and hoped his own restaurant could inspire such a loyal clientele.

“They came with the place,” Juan answered. “In the basement.”

Juan recognized the empty bottle Grady carried in his hand and wondered if he was going to be asked for his hot sauce recipe. He’d sell Grady all the sauce he wanted, but he wasn’t going to reveal its secret, and he hoped that wouldn’t make things awkward.