Catalina Torres rapped on the door of an average looking suburban house, noting the handful of weeds in the lawn disapprovingly. Her knock was ignored despite the sound of a music box in the background, followed by the excited shriek of a toddler. Lips pressed together she knocked louder. Hurried footsteps sounded behind the door, something was dragged across the floor and the lock moved. A moment later the door was opened an inch and she found herself face to face with a curly haired two year old who gazed at her curiously.

'Where is your mother?' she demanded, struggling to remember what her friends said he was called.

The toddler blinked at her. 'Mommy's upstairs changing the baby,' he informed her, his speech well developed for a two and a half year old. He backed away, rushing down the hall leaving her standing on the doorstep. Incensed, she took a step forwards, stopping at the sight of a man hurrying towards her.

'How many times have I asked you not to open the door to strangers, m'ijo,' he scolded, the toddler in his arms. 'One of these days it'll be a bad man who'll steal you away and I won't know where to start looking.'

'But it's only an old lady,' the child protested. 'Ladies aren't bad!'

'You never know,' Marco informed him, tossing him into the air. 'Most aren't but someday you could well meet a witch if you're unlucky.' He reached the door, his polite smile frozen on his face. The hairs rose on his arms as he stared at the haughty female opposite him, unable to banish a horrible suspicion as to her identity.

'I'm looking for Rita,' the middle aged woman informed him icily, her face showing her disdain.

Marco gave in to his urge to rub his cheek as he recognized the voice from the hours spent hiding in his room in Miguel's apartment. 'I'll call her,' he said stiffly, pulling a chair from the door. 'You can wait in the lounge. Excuse the mess.'

She followed him in, her eyes taking in the appearance of the house without moving. A rack hung above the door overloaded with coats, pairs of shoes lined the wall and a toy truck occupied the middle of the corridor. The lounge was the first door to the right, a sunny room with simple furniture including a rocking horse, crammed full of toys of every description. A half eaten cookie lay on the coffee table beside a plastic cup of milk, crumbs lining the floor.

'Mine,' the child boasted, stuffing it into his mouth. Once he swallowed it he leapt onto the horse, riding it backwards, hands waving in the air. 'Hi Papa.'

'Careful, m'ijo. You'll break your neck,' Marco warned, glancing at his mother-in-law. She was impeccably attired in a blue suit with a crocodile skin handbag and shoes to match, completely out of place in her surroundings. 'I'll get Rita,' he forced out.

'Thank you,' she said coldly, taking in his worn sweater, faded jeans and swollen eye. Not for the life of her could she imagine what about the obviously unkempt young man had attracted her daughter. The toddler remained on the horse while he left the room, riding faster.

'What's your name?' she inquired icily, annoyed she failed to recall it.

'Tony,' he said, a finger in his mouth. 'It's my horse!'

She nodded. 'What's the baby called?'

'Janey,' he replied, leaping off the animal. 'My bear!' He handed her a much loved blue bear wearing a torn black ribbon. 'Bruno!'

'How nice,' she said, an eye on the door.

Unperturbed by her lack of interest the toddler persevered, throwing a cardboard book on her lap. 'Rocket,' he said, pointing to a picture of one flying through space. 'Car, truck, boat, air balloon!'

'Do you always suck your fingers?' she questioned disapprovingly.

'Yeah,' he replied, turning the page with a damp hand. 'Train!'

'Querida, your mother's here,' Marco said softly, entering the bedroom.

Rita's face paled. She shook her head, biting her lip when he nodded. 'Are you sure?'

Marco nodded grimly. 'Si. She looks like a visiting dignitary on a photo call handing out charity to the homeless! And I recognize her voice. Why don't you go talk to her and I'll finish Janey?'

Rita took his hand nervously. 'I'm not sure…'

'Princess, this is our house,' he comforted. 'You can tell her that if she annoys you. You can ask her to leave if you feel you must, but give her a chance to say her piece.' He paused, using all his self control to utter the next sentence. 'You're her daughter, she must love you. Quarrelling in a family is always bad. You need each other.'

'You're willing to forget what she done to you?' Rita asked disbelievingly.

'Si. Like I said, she's your mother, our children's grandmother. Tony's forgotten my parents long ago, and he's never met yours. It would be nice for them to do so.'

Rita leant her head on his chest feeling his heart beating beneath her ear. Meeting his eyes she found a firm assurance that he believed in what he had said. 'Come down soon,' she begged.

He nodded, walking to the landing with her. 'Sure.' He watched her descend the stairs and enter the lounge, straining to catch their voices. So she came! If only you'd known her intentions you'd have worn a shirt. This way you just confirmed her opinion of you. Heart pounding he leaned over the banisters.

'Mom,' she said emotionlessly.

'Margarita. I can see you've actually bought a house!'

Tony rushed to his mother before she could reply, tugging her leg. 'Play hide and seek, mommy. Play…'

'In a minute, sweetie. Yes, we got it last year. You're a long way from home,' she said softly, thinking back to the mansion a few streets back from Lake Michigan. 'I'm surprised you're even aware of these suburbs.'

'Emilia told me she saw you at Spanish dancing. You've taken it up again,' Catalina said, eyeing her daughter with her customary air of disdain. 'And whatever did you do to your hair?'

Rita ran a hand through her braid, smiling. 'I usually tie it up nowadays. The baby keeps pulling it,' she explained. Moving slowly she settled in an armchair across the room, half longing to rush into her mother's arms, half wishing to throw her out.

'Mommy, play hide-and-seek,' the toddler persisted.

'In a minute, baby. Tell Papa to make coffee,' she said, watching him bounce from the room.

'He looks like his father,' Catalina remarked, eyeing her daughter.

'He's the spitting image of him,' Rita agreed. 'Same smile, same frown, same narrowing of eyes, same rubbing of face. Sometimes I wonder whether he got anything apart from his temper from me!' Her face glowed with obvious pride as she spoke of him. 'Marco's real calm and has the patience of a saint. Tony does not!'

Marco appeared a moment later, handing a bundle to his wife. 'She's all done. I'll start the coffee.' He kissed her cheek before he left, the toddler bouncing after him.

'Be a wolf, Papa.'

Marco turned, bearing his teeth and growled ferociously. 'Better run, rabbit. I'm real hungry and I know what I want for dinner.'

'What,' Tony persisted, hopping a little closer.

'Roast rabbit,' Marco cried, chasing the shrieking child through the kitchen and into the garden before he returned to prepare the coffee.

Catalina stared after them with a shocked expression on her face. 'What was he doing?' she asked.

'Oh, it's a game they play. Tony likes this cartoon about a rabbit, and he likes to be chased so Marco acts the part of the hungry wolf. We're lucky he can work from home a couple of days a week, it makes things so much easier.'

'He'll never learn respect that way,' Catalina frowned. 'We would never have allowed such behavior.'

'I know that, Mama,' Rita assured her. Nobody ever laughed in our place. Even Miguel and I stopped when we were quite young. The moment we entered the place the happiness just died. Even the pot plants and the fish kept dying. That's what attracted me to Marco, the lack of bitterness in his face. You could tell from a mile away that he was a nice guy, happy with himself, confident he could get through life unassisted and not forever observing whether anyone overtook him. Money's not his prime consideration throughout the day. That's why I love him so much, for after your type of upbringing I find myself counting dollars in my head. I need him to remind me to enjoy life, to show me how to do that. She glanced at her mother, remaining silent. Like Marco had said, they were related and she had missed her. Resolved to let bygones be bygones she smiled, handing over the baby. 'This is Jane. She's seven months old now.'

Catalina observed her only granddaughter in detail. 'She also resembles her father,' she said regretfully, 'but she's got your eyes. I brought her a present.'

Rita stared in amazement at the package pushed into her arms. 'It's a dress I picked up with a matching hair band. I'm sorry about the other twin. What was her name?'

'Justine. I'll go check how the coffee's coming,' Rita muttered, managing to leave the room calmly before she wiped her eyes in the privacy of the kitchen. Strong arms engulfed her, holding her against him.

'I heard. Justine's resting, sweetheart. It's okay to talk about her.'

Rita shook her head. 'It's not okay. There's nothing okay about losing a baby.'

'I know,' he agreed gently, stroking her hair. 'You just gotta learn to say 'yeah,' when people offer condolences and steer the conversation away rather than flee.'

'Dammit, Marco, why couldn't that doctor have paid better attention?' she sobbed, clinging to him as she did every time she recalled her second daughter. 'There was no need for this. And now people just say idiotic things like they're sorry and they didn't even see her. She's mine, no one else got any right to mention her!'

'Hey, querida,' Marco said, frightened. 'It's gonna be okay. Justine's ours, just like the other two. She'll always be ours. We're never gonna forget her. I know it's tough right now but give it a couple more months and people will stop mentioning her. You okay now?'

Rita nodded shakily. 'I need a minute. Please go talk to my mother for a bit, sweetheart. I just need a minute.'

Oh God, do you know what you're asking me, querida? I never told you I heard her discussing me with Miguel, or what she said about me. Observing her struggle to stop her tears he nodded. 'Okay. I'll take the cookies.'

She's Rita's mother. You will be polite, Almeida, you'll even be friendly. So she hates your guts and thinks you're the lowest type of scum around, it makes no difference! You'll put it aside and treat her politely and maybe she'll 'forgive' Rita and allow Miguel to visit us. She misses him. Pulling an impassive mask on he laid the tray on the coffee table and sat on the couch. 'She'll be here in a sec.'

Catalina nodded, searching him for previously missed defects. She noticed a thin scar on his lower arm and a tattoo of an eagle on his upper right arm. Following her gaze he nodded. 'I got that in the army. Everyone else had girlfriends names put on but I had no one.' He chewed his lip, aware of her hatred. 'We were stationed in the mountains and there were lots of eagles, so someone suggested I should get that done.'

'You always follow the crowd?' she inquired, making little attempt to show him any warmth.

'No, Senora, I don't. I was just a kid then,' he reminded her.

'It's possible to get them removed,' she told him, watching his reaction.

He rubbed the back of his neck vigorously. 'I'll be honest with you, Senora. I like it. There's a sense of freedom about the mountains you don't get elsewhere.'

'So tell me, ah, Marco,' Catalina said, pretending to have difficulty remembering his name, 'what exactly drove you from your farm? I understand country life is so much less problematic than city life.'

You understand nothing about farming! 'I always felt an interest in designing buildings,' he replied politely, resisting the urge to rub his neck. 'I won a scholarship to UIC. It was like a dream come true.' A dream you almost destroyed.

Catalina's hawkish eyes bore into his own. 'And you felt no compunction leaving your parents?'

Marco gave in to the urge to rub his neck vigorously. Deep inside, despite knowing his three brothers lived nearby and assisted his parents he was unable to shake off a nagging guilt for having 'abandoned' them.

It appeared she could sense his discomfort. Her eyes hardened. 'How old are they now?'

'My father is 58,' Marco replied, his heart heavy. 'And I spent three weeks at home in the summer helping him.'

'Rita is blessed with a wonderful ability to cope with unruly toddlers,' her mother said, noting his unease.

Marco stirred restlessly. He had rushed home after helping with the busiest part of the harvest to be there for the birth of the twins. The power of speech temporarily deserted him as he gazed at the woman he was learning to dread above all others.

'Of course it can't be easy attempting to live in two countries simultaneously,' she continued. 'One is left with a certain guilt wherever one happens to be momentarily, as one realizes his presence is equally required by another party.'

Marco rose, his fingers trembling. 'I'll help Rita with the coffee,' he stammered, hastening to the kitchen. He saw her chasing Tony in the garden through the open window and seized the moment to pull out a bottle of tequila and take a swig. Telling himself all was well, he moved to intercept his son, swinging him into his arms. 'You're wet again,' he said patiently.

'It was raining,' Rita sighed. 'Tony seems to have a sixth sense for when to get wet. I'll go change him.'

'I'll do that,' Marco said hurriedly, grabbing the child before she could object. 'You wanna offer your mother some of that chocolate cake?'

Rita shrugged, feeling inadequate as usual in her mother's presence. 'I don't know. Is it really good?'

'It's fine,' he assured her.

'Cake,' Tony squealed, doing his best to wriggle from his father's arms. 'I'm hungry!'

'I'll bet,' Rita said fondly, ruffling his hair. 'Get dressed and you'll have some.'

One happy family, Marco thought to himself as they sat round the dining room table a few minutes later, the toddler on Rita's knee, the only one oblivious to the undercurrents present. He abandoned his spoon after the first bite, electing to seize his slice in both hands and squash as much as he could into his mouth. Cheeks puffed, he pointed to Rita's cake, tapping on the cherry. 'Mine!'

'Manners,' Catalina snapped. 'What do you say if you would like something, Antonio?'

'Cake!' Tony replied, his mouth a little less full.

'That child has atrocious manners,' Catalina exclaimed, turning to regard her son-in-law in disgust. 'No doubt it is perfectly acceptable back home, but here in the United States people eat with a fork and…'

'He's only a baby, mom,' Rita protested, noting Marco's face darken. 'He gets a little carried away when he's eating sweets. He can use a spoon real well.'

'I'm sure,' Catalina remarked, her tone indicating she doubted it. 'What do you imagine you're doing, Antonio?'

Marco turned to find Tony sticking his mother's cherry into his mouth. 'Mine,' he said, unabashed.

'He loves cherries. We always give him ours,' Rita explained, wishing her mother would leave.

Catalina looked horrified. 'And you take him with you to Spanish dancing! Margarita, I refuse to allow my friends to see him this way. You'd better teach him how to eat real soon!'

As though sensing her disapproval, the toddler reached forward, pointing to the remaining half of the cake. 'More cherry.'

'Not now, sweetheart,' Rita told him, ruffling his hair. 'It's for tomorrow.' Seeking to divert her mother's attention away from the child she so plainly disapproved of, she turned to her. 'How's Papa?'

'Oh, he's quite well, despite what you put him through! It wasn't easy for a man his age.'

What she put him through! What about what he put her through? Marco thought furiously. He stood by and allowed his only daughter to be chased from their home. What the hell type of father is he, anyway?

Rita's eyes lowered as she twisted her wedding band round her finger. 'Tell him I miss him,' she said quietly.

'Oh, I'll do that when the time comes,' Catalina replied cryptically, her mouth open to say more. 'Look at that!' she finished.

Marco squeezed his eyes shut for a second, having caught a glimpse of Tony who had wriggled successfully from Rita's arms and reached across the table to the cake, pulling a cherry from it. 'I'll go put it back in the fridge,' he said, winking at his son. Just keep going like this, muchacho, and she won't come too often. Somehow, you can live with that! He removed the cake, popping his head back inside. 'You gotta excuse me, sweetheart. These plans must be ready by 5:00. It was nice to meet you, Senora!'

In the end the day was wasted. He found himself staring at half drawn plans in fruitless incomprehension before he decided to allow the necessary time to elapse to regain his concentration. As during his entire life when faced with a needed break he went outdoors, zipping his coat to his throat and breathing in the cold air fresh with the scent of the morning showers. The garden gleamed with a myriad forms of life, the lawn, the vegetable patch that he tended religiously, and the weeds that persistently pushed their way through the slabs on the path. A weak patch of sunshine shone on him, not enough to warm him but adequate to cheer him. Breathing easier, he noted Tony peddling his tricycle through the deepest puddle in the garden, sinking in the mud. He slid off, dragging it forward by the handle bars until he reached a smoother patch of lawn and resumed his journey. Briefly he wondered why his son invariably chose the worst patch of lawn to cross when the relative comfort of the path was so close before he grinned. He's just like you, Almeida. Since when have you ever elected to choose an easy course? The rough bits are every bit as entertaining as the smooth, more so occasionally. Smiling at the thought of the two years meeting Rita clandestinely, he moved to aid the toddler who had tumbled from the tricycle. 'It doesn't go that way, m'ijo. It can't,' he explained patiently. The child ignored him, returning to the puddle with grim determination.

'He's quite a character,' Rita observed, slipping an arm about him. 'He'll keep going till there's no water left there and he'll cross it!'

Marco laughed. 'I know. We're gonna have our hands full, Mrs. Almeida!'

Rita drew him towards her, kissing his sore eye, a result of their daughter's spoon waved into it. 'You don't know the meaning of the term "hands full", Mr. Almeida.' Seeing his raised eyebrows she brushed a little hair from his forehead, hugging him tight. 'We agreed on six, remember? You're not thinking of backing out, are you?'

Marco glanced at her sparkling eyes and shook his head. 'I don't renege on my contracts, querida. If Marco Almeida promised something, he'll deliver.' Lowering his voice, he glanced at her mischievously. 'Who knows, we might even make one tonight!'

'Is that so?' she questioned, equally quietly. 'Well, that depends on how alert I'll be. Bath the kids, put them to bed and do the dishes, and we'll talk about it!'

'You got it,' he agreed, pressing his lips against hers.