Page 22 of Broken Grump

Her jaw drops. “You’re kidding me.”

My head tilts. “Afraid not.”

Addie glances at the plans one more time. “So, this is the ‘special project.’” She kind of chuckles. “Wow.”

“Well?” Teddy chimes in. “What do you think?”

She pauses before confessing, “I love them.”

“Really?” I look over at Teddy and nod. “Really?”

He shrugs one shoulder and lifts the corresponding arm up with the palm of his hand out. The simultaneous motion causes a ripple of wrinkles to appear along his neck.

Addie picks up the drawings and continues to marvel at them. “They’re—they’re perfect. I love the way that the colonial style and indigenous influences blend perfectly together.”

“Uh, exactly,” I respond as if I have any idea what she’s talking about.

“And those arches. They look a lot like the church my abuelo grew up going to as a kid.” She continues, “Iglesia Santa Maria de los Doloresin Tegucigalpa.”

The city name sounds familiar. “Tegucigalpa. That’s where Sal was from, no?”

Her eyes light up. “Yeah. Did he talk to you about it?”

The corner of my mouth raises up. “A little.”

When she smiles, I can see the faintest evidence of dimples in the middle of her cheeks. “Of course. That was his favorite topic.”

One particular memory comes to mind. “I remember this one time he told me about his favorite mango tree.”

She beams up at me with a grin that somehow reaches past her eyes. “In his grandmother’s backyard.”

“That’s the one.” I enunciate my words with my wagging finger. “He loved to read Hemingway under that tree, is that right?”

“Yeah.A Farewell to Armswas always his favorite.”

By the look on her face, I can tell my recollection has touched her, and I’m glad. Then, I try to wrack my brain for anything else. “Oh, and then there was that old cobbler’s place.”

“Zippy’sZapatos.”

I close my eyes for a moment and throw my head back. “Of course. Zippy’sZapatos. How could I forget a name like that?”

She giggles. “Real creative, I know.Zapatosis shoes in Spanish.”

“I figured as much, yeah.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, he learned how to ride his bike outside that shop.”

Together, we mimic him and say, “It only took me two tries before I got the hang of it.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “God, I miss him and those crazy stories.”

“Me too.” And I’m not even related to the man, so I can’t imagine how it feels for her.

With an eyebrow arched, she asks, “You ever hear about the one aboutMami Chula?”

“I don’t think so.” If I had, I’m sure I would’ve remembered. That seems highly specific.

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