God Sits High and Looks Higher
The light through the blinds came thin and gray, soft enough not to wake her yet. The AC hummed steady against the early Georgia heat, pushing cool air across the room. Caine sat at the edge of the mattress, bare feet flat to the floor, holding Camila in his lap. Her legs hung heavy over one of his, her cheek pressed to his chest, small hand still curled around the collar of his shirt.
She’d fought sleep last night, giddy over the promise of balloons and cake, and now she was out cold—mouth parted, hair stuck in every direction from the pillow. Every so often she mumbled, some half-dreamed word that never finished, then quieted again.
Caine rested a palm over her back, feeling the slow lift and fall beneath his hand. Her weight wasn’t baby-light anymore. His thumb brushed the hem of her pajama shirt, soft with wash wear, and he caught himself smiling without meaning to.
The apartment sat still around them. The only sound was the unit in the window and a pipe ticking somewhere inside the wall. The air smelled faintly of detergent and the fried chicken Mireya had brought in last night from the gas station off the highway.
On the nightstand lay her little plastic crown from the dollar store, the kind with cheap rhinestones. Mireya had picked it up at the same stop, laughing that it would break before noon. A pack of candles waited beside it.
He hadn’t checked the time. The day would start soon—film, weights, practice—but he stayed where he was, one arm looped around his daughter, thumb tracing slow circles against her spine. Camila sighed once and shifted, her small knee pressing against his side. Her hair smelled faintly of strawberries.
Behind him, the bed creaked as Mireya stirred. Sheets rustled. She pushed herself upright just enough to see him sitting there. He didn’t turn. He already felt her eyes on him.
The mattress dipped when she scooted forward, careful not to wake the girl. The warmth of her moved closer until her chest met his back. She slid her arms under his, wrapping around his forearms where they held Camila, and rested her head between his shoulders. Her breath came out slow, syncing with his before either of them noticed.
The three of them stayed like that.
Camila’s breath puffed steady against the front of his shirt. Mireya’s cheek warmed the cotton at his back. The room settled into the quiet of it—the hum of the vent, a bird outside starting up and cutting off, the far-off sound of tires in the lot.
A light line pushed higher across the wall as the sun came up. Caine blinked toward it, let the brightness creep in. His leg had gone numb under Camila’s weight, but he didn’t shift. Mireya’s hands tightened once over his arms then eased again.
The air smelled clean, sharp with soap and the faint sweetness from Camila’s lotion. Somewhere, a clock turned over another minute. The world could wait.
He let his chin drop near the crown of his daughter’s head, close enough to feel her warmth. Mireya’s head stayed against his back, her arms locked around his.
The hum of the AC deepened once more and then steadied.
~~~
The church lot had already turned bright and mean by midmorning. Heat lifted off the concrete in slow breaths, and gnats made halos over the grass that edged the daycare fence. The back porch door stood propped open with a folded cardboard box, the cool air from inside barely touching the threshold before it gave up. Sara and Mireya worked in the shade line where the roof ended and the sun began, dragging two folding tables out of the shed and walking them open until the legs locked with a hollow click.
“Other one goes right there,” Sara said, nodding to a patch of level ground under the eaves. Sweat darkened the back of her T-shirt. She planted her foot, braced the table, and shouldered it a few inches left so the edges squared.
Mireya bent to tape the plastic tablecloth. The roll stuck to itself and then to her fingers. She pulled it straight, smoothed the creases with the flat of her hand, and pressed a strip of tape hard so the wind wouldn’t get ideas. Her hair clung at the nape. Across the way, Camila chased a drifting shimmer of soap, one of those cheap wands clutched in her fist. Bubbles drifted, caught the light, popped against her forearm. She laughed, breathy and sure, then tried again, cheeks puffed like she was serious about the job.
“Careful, mija,” Mireya called, without looking up from the wrinkle she was fighting. “Don’t spill it.”
“I not” Camila answered, the promise small and confident, already tipping the wand back toward the little cup.
The daycare door eased wider and footsteps crossed the porch. Laney came out holding two sweating cups of lemonade. Her dress was simple, clean, the hem moving only when she did. She stepped off the last board and into the light.
“Y’all look parched,” she said. “Figured I’d bring you a lil’ somethin’ cold.”
She handed one cup to Sara, one to Mireya. The lemonade was the church kind—sweet and sharp—ice already fighting and losing. Mireya took a long drink.
“Thank you,” she said. “And thanks for letting us do this here. Caine’s place is too small.”
Laney waved it off, mouth tugging like it wasn’t worth credit. “Ain’t no trouble. Gonna be quiet ’round here today anyhow. Stomach bug done ripped through the daycare this week.” She tilted her head toward the playground. “Half the babies laid up at home.”
Sara looked at Laney then, really looked. There was a tired that lived behind other people’s eyes she recognized quick, the kind you carried even when you were upright and handling what needed handling. She touched the nearest chair with two fingers, a small invitation.
“Why don’t you sit down for a moment?”
Laney blew a breath through her nose and shook her head. “I can’t. Got a plenty to do. Just wanted y’all to have a drink since it’s hot as the inside a farmer’s boots.” The corner of her mouth twitched, apology and humor sharing space.
From the grass, Camila’s voice lifted. “Mommy! Mommy, look!” She’d made three bubbles in a row and was trying to herd them with her free hand. One kissed her wrist and vanished. She squealed and went for another.
Mireya set the cup down, already moving. “I got her.” She crossed to the grass, crouched beside Camila, and showed her how to dip the wand slower, how to pull it up steady and blow soft. “Like this,” she said. Camila nodded hard and blew a stream that strung itself into fat orbs before the heat took them.
Sara watched them a second, soft at the edges, then turned back to Laney. “How many do you have?”
Laney didn’t need the question repeated. “Three.”
Sara’s eyebrow tipped. “All boys?”
Laney nodded, amused despite herself. “How’d you guess?”
“Just the way you carry yourself.” Sara took another sip of lemonade, the ice knocking her lip.
A faint smile showed on Laney’s face and was gone. “I’m dreadin’ the teenage years.”
Sara laughed, a sound that came from somewhere used to hard days. “I don’t have any advice. I was barely in my thirties when Caine hit thirteen.”
Laney’s eyes followed Mireya and Camila for a beat. “I’ll be thirty-three, so not much better.”
“I could tell that, too,” Sara said. Not a tease. Just a read.
They stood there with the heat pushing and the shade doing what it could. On the far side of the lot a truck rolled past and the driver raised his chin the way people did when they didn’t want to lean out the window. From inside the daycare came the faint scrape of a chair and the hush of a cartoon that hadn’t been turned off yet. A swallow under the eave clicked its throat and settled.
Laney took a breath that looked like it might turn into sitting after all, then shook her head clear. “Well, let me get outta y’all’s hair. I’ll be inside if you need anything.”
“Caine knows where whatever is,” Sara said. “He’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about us.”
Laney nodded once, grateful that didn’t need a thank-you. “Alright then.” She headed back toward the porch. Sun hit her bare forearms and turned the fine hairs bright. At the door, she nudged the stop with her foot and slipped inside, the cool swallowing her.
Sara watched the doorway a long heartbeat after it closed, lemon on her tongue, the sweat drying at her temples. She set the cup on the table, palmed the tablecloth edge flat where the tape had bubbled, then turned toward the grass.
Mireya had Camila on her hip now, the wand tucked into the cup and held high so it wouldn’t spill. Camila’s cheeks were pink and damp, eyes bright like birthday morning already belonged to her. Mireya shifted her weight, readjusted the child’s legs with practiced hands, and held the cup out to Sara for safekeeping.
She joined them.
~~~
Heat lay flat over the church lot, the kind that made the lines in the asphalt look soft. Ramon eased the car into a space, cut the engine, and exhaled. His spine complained from the hours. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stood, rolling his neck until it cracked.
E.J. slid out behind him, arms high in a stretch. Tyree came around from the passenger side, blinking against the brightness. For a second none of them spoke. The building sat clean and brick-red against a big sky, the daycare wing tucked along the side, a white cross steady over the entrance.
“It look like they’d hang a nigga out here,” E.J. said, turning a slow circle.
Tyree laughed. “That’s why I fell asleep when we crossed out of Montgomery. I ain’t wanna know when one of them sheriffs decided to put that hood on.”
Ramon sucked his teeth, rubbing his lower back with the heel of his hand. “Nigga, fuck you. You went to sleep in Montgomery because you knew your ass was supposed to drive here from there.”
Tyree put both hands up. “Shit somebody be fresh.”
“Be fresh at the trunk,” Ramon said, pointing. “Get that shit out there.”
“Why we gotta do that?” E.J. said, but he was already moving.
“Because I fucking drove seven of the nine hours,” Ramon answered, voice flat.
The trunk popped and pushed out a wave of hot plastic. Tyree gripped a small black grill, one leg taped from a previous life. E.J. hauled two bags of charcoal and set them down with a dull thump. Under a hoodie, they found three toy sets—bright boxes half-wrapped, tape wrinkled, a bow stuck sideways on one.
E.J. nudged Ramon with his elbow and tipped his chin toward the driveway. “Ay, who that?”
Two rental SUVs rolled in clean and quiet, fresh plates flashing. Doors opened and women stepped out in quick sequence, light on their feet. One of the women set a child on the ground. Trunks went up. Wrists hooked under handles. Gift bags and wrapped boxes stacked fast, tissue paper flaring in the sun.
Ramon shrugged. “Must be Mireya’s friends or some shit.”
Tyree let out a low whistle. “They all finer than a motherfucker.”
“We at a fucking church, bro,” Ramon said.
Tyree pointed when Alejandra rounded the tailgate, shorts and a top that didn’t leave much to wonder, expensive sunglasses perched on her nose. “Her fucking ass and titties out.”
E.J. grinned, head tilted. “He ain’t lying, though, brudda. Them bitches is bad. Good thing we in a different state.”
Ramon shook his head and reached for the lighter fluid. “C’mon, man.”
Around the SUVs, Jaslene shifted a stack of boxes against her hip, a ribbon trailing. Hayley lifted a handled tote layered with bags. Liana and Bianca carried a big plush thing between them, wrapped crooked, laughing when one corner caved and had to be fixed on the fly. Mari shouldered a cluster of gift bags and closed a trunk with her wrist. None of them looked travel-worn.
“Grab the rest that shit,” Ramon said without looking back.
Tyree looped two gift bags up his forearm beside the grill. E.J. hooked a finger through the plastic handle of a toy set and lifted the charcoal again with the other hand. The sun pressed against their shoulders. A cicada rang from the pines at the lot’s edge. Somewhere a door closed with a clean church sound.
E.J. jerked his chin toward the group again. “Bruh, I’m tryna figure out which one suck dick the best”
“Chill the fuck out,” Ramon said.
Tyree laughed under his breath and adjusted his grip. He nodded at Bianca but didn’t say anything.
The women’s line angled toward the far corner where the building turned. Paper rustled. Ribbon ends flicked. One bag’s tag spun and flashed Camila’s name in marker before the wind laid it flat again. E.J. and Tyree stood there a beat too long, watching the pace of it.
Ramon flicked a glance between them and the path, his face giving nothing. He jerked his chin toward the back of the church and started walking.
~~~
The sun sat hard on the church lot, heat rising off the blacktop and drifting under the eaves. Folding tables made skinny shadows along the grass by the daycare. Mireya had a cluster of women around her, bright nails and expensive clothing catching light, gift bags stacked near their feet. Tyree and E.J. hovered close, talking too loud and smiling too wide.
Caine came around the corner still damp from the shower, black tank clinging clean across his shoulders. The tattoos on his chest and arm flashing as he moved.
Sara looked up from a stack of paper plates. Her face broke into a smile that started in her eyes. “Mijo,” she said, soft.
Before he could answer, a small body peeled off from the far table. Camila had been crouched with a little girl he didn’t recognize, heads bent over a set of bracelets. She saw him and sprang up, curls bouncing, voice bright and sure. “Daddy!”
He bent and scooped her in one motion, her knees hitting his hip, her hands finding the back of his neck. He kissed her cheek and kept on toward the tables. Sweat and lemonade and charcoal mixed on the air.
Ramon was nearest the coolers. Caine shifted Camila to his other arm and dapped him up, then Tyree, then E.J. “Appreciate y’all coming out,” he said.
“Had to, bruh,” Ramon answered. Tyree grinned at the women. E.J. nodded at the gift pile and said something Caine let pass.
He leaned down to Mireya’s ear, close enough that Camila’s curls brushed her shoulder. “¿Quiénes son?”
“Mis amigas del trabajo.” Mireya tipped her chin toward the women without moving much. Her voice stayed even. She pointed to the little girl with a pink bow. “Esa es la hija de Mari.” She nodded toward Mari, who sat turned on the bench so she could keep an eye in two places, quiet watch on her daughter.
Caine met Mireya’s eyes for a beat, then looked over to the women. “Appreciate y’all being here,” he said, the thanks landing easy. “We happy y’all here.” He meant it and let it show. Jaslene lifted a hand. Alejandra smiled quick. Mari gave a small nod, the kind moms exchanged in rooms like this.
He set Camila down on her feet. “Go play with your friend, nena. Voy a hablar con abuela.”
Camila tightened her grip on his fingers, not ready to let go. He crouched so they were eye to eye and pointed to a metal chair next to Sara. “I’m gonna be sitting right there.” He touched her forehead with his. “Estoy aquí.”
She turned to run back and stopped again, looking over her shoulder to make sure he was where he said he’d be. He flicked two fingers toward the grass. “Sigues.”
She went, small sneakers flashing, already calling “Graci—mira!” before she reached the other girl.
He straightened and crossed to his mother. Sara was already standing. She pulled him in, both arms around his back, cheek to his shoulder. He let the weight of it settle, eyes closing for one breath. When she stepped back, she pressed a palm to his ribs and clucked her tongue.
“You getting skinny,” she said.
“The food nasty out here,” he said, mouth pulling at one corner.
“You should know how to cook.” She said it with a little laugh, the kind that remembered a dozen lectures.
“I don’t got time.”
She shook her head, same as always, then eased down into the chair beside the one he pointed out to Camila.
He sat with a small groan he didn’t bother to hide. The day’s two practices still lived in his legs. Sweat had already found its way back to his neck. From the other side of the grass, Tyree threw a line at one of the women. and E.J. tried to back it up. Mireya ignored them, chatting with Mari.
“The schedule,” Sara said. “Dime. I need to know so I can come to a game.”
He rubbed a thumb over the knuckles of his other hand. “I’ma send it. You don’t gotta do all that though, Ma. It’s gonna get expensive.”
She didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him the way only a mother could, seeing more than he said, less than he hid. The noise of the lot pressed close—ice shifting in a cooler, a lawnmower starting up somewhere on another lot, Camila’s high voice mixing with the older girl’s. Sara reached up and pushed her fingers through his dreads, slow from scalp to ends.
Her smile didn’t need words.
~~~
The heat came off the concrete in slow waves, bending the air between the picnic tables and the low chain-link. Smoke drifted from the little black grill in the corner. Caine stood over it, arms flexing when he leaned to flip a row of drumsticks, cracking jokes with Tyree, E.J., and Ramon. Tongs clacked. Somebody whistled at a flare. The men laughed and shoved one another when one said something a bit too wild.
Bianca leaned across the table, elbow on the plastic cloth, chin tilted toward the grill. “I ain’t expect your baby daddy to look like that.”
Mireya didn’t turn right away. She watched the smoke ride the heat, listened to Camila and Graciela counting chalk lines by the curb. Then she raised an eyebrow. “What you mean by that?”
Hayley snorted into her cup. “I’m with Bee, girl.”
Liana glanced over, mouth already curling. “They mean ’cause he a hood nigga.”
Mireya rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if I’d describe him like that.”
Mari popped her gum and flicked her gaze to the three men crowding Caine at the grill. “If those his friends, that’s exactly how I’d describe him.”
Mireya waved it off, wrist loose. “He met them in jail.” The words came too fast. She heard them land and saw the faces tilt. “Whatever,” she added, softer, but the damage was done.
They broke into laughter, the easy kind that ran under the music from someone’s phone. Bianca slapped the table once. Liana leaned back, head thrown a little, bun catching the sun. Hayley hid her smile inside her cup.
Across the yard, Tyree said something that had E.J. punching him in the chest. Caine shook his head and laughed at them, smoke ghosting his shoulder. He reached for a bottle of sauce and poured a slow line over the meat, forearm flexed, chain tucked to his collarbone. Ramon said something and Caine nudged him with his elbow, still working the tongs.
Alejandra’s eyes stayed on the grill. “I know he pounds the shit out of you, too.”
Jaslene let out a small, approving hum. “He’s Latino, también. Seguro es bien apasionado.”
Mireya looked over the rim of her cup. “Y’all know y’all talking about my child’s father, right?”
Jaslene lifted one shoulder, not taking it back. “Didn’t you say the other day y’all not together?”
Bianca cut in, quick and unbothered. “Well, fuck, if you ain’t fucking him—”
“Ay,” Mari said, half a laugh in it.
Alejandra added, still watching the grill, “He look like he got stamina, though.”
Hayley nodded, lips pressed like she was trying not to grin. “A lot of it.”
They cracked up again. Mireya sucked her teeth.
~~~
The candle shook in the light wind, a tiny flame working hard against the heat that sat heavy over the lot. The folding table rocked once when Camila climbed onto the chair, both hands on the edge, chin just above the cake. Gnats stitched lazy circles in the sun. Smoke from the grill curled past the eaves and drifted toward the chain-link where gift bags waited in a bright pile.
“Feliz cumple—” Bianca started, then laughed and waved for help.
“Cumpleaños,” Liana tried, landing somewhere close.
“Feh-LEES,” Hayley said, earnest and off.
Ramon clapped on the wrong beat. Tyree leaned in, loud. “Feliz cumpleaños a ti,” he sang, words stumbling but proud. E.J. dragged the last note.
Camila’s grin shut into a serious puff. She blew hard. The flame guttered and went. A cheer hit the air. The wind took the smoke away fast.
“Pides un deseo, mija,” Mireya said, steadying the plate with her palm.
Caine pinched the wick to be sure. The grill popped behind him and Tyree jogged back to flip a wing before it charred.
Plates moved down the table. Plastic forks tapped. Ice knocked in cups that sweated through paper towels. The speaker sat on a windowsill, low under the church eave, bleeding a soft song no one caught. Sara wiped the knife between slices and passed a corner piece to Camila. Frosting smeared her nose quick as she leaned in.
They ate in that loose summer quiet that lives outside. Sun laid a hot hand on forearms. Shade under the eaves felt thin but welcome. Laughter rose and fell.
When the cake was nicked and the foil pans of chicken and rice were picked near clean, Camila looked across the table at her father. The icing spot still sat bright on her nose.
“Daddy,” she said, voice small and clear over the fan. “Can you dance with Mommy?”
Mireya wiped her hands on a napkin and touched Camila’s wrist. “Daddy is probably tired from football, baby.”
“I’m good,” Caine said. No strain in it. He glanced to Sara.
Sara already leaned across his arm, warm fingers on his bicep. “The birthday girl gets what she wants.” She pushed off the table, crossed to the speaker, and started scrolling. “Hold on.”
“Bailar,” Camila called, bouncing on her heels.
“Sí,” Sara answered without looking back. The right track snapped on. Strings burst bright in the heat. A drumline rode under it.
Caine stood and offered his hand. Mireya took it without thinking and stepped in close. His palm found her lower back and stayed. Her other hand settled in his, fingers relaxed, a grip that knew its place. The first steps landed light and exact, their weight talking in the dirt grit on the concrete. The song caught them and they went with it.
Forward and back. Turn. Reset. No hesitation anywhere. Their bodies fit the space between them like it had been measured. Caine’s shoulders stayed easy, guiding with a pressure she answered. Mireya’s chin tipped up on the tight turn, hair lifting at her neck in the breeze coming around the building. He spun them and brought them back on time. Their feet stitched the rhythm into the ground.
“Okay then,” Bianca said, clapping a beat that half-matched. “Go off.”
Caine pulled her through a clean circle and they slid into a diagonal across the concrete, shoes whispering sand. He set her and spun her again, smaller this time. She came back to him on the exact count, body tucking where he put her, breath hitting the same pocket of air.
Sara lifted the volume a notch. The strings climbed. Heat sat on their backs and still they made their own breeze. She followed without thinking. Their feet kept speaking.
Camila’s hands rose to her cheeks and fell again to clap. “Otra,” she yelled, laughing. “Otra vez.”
They gave her one more turn, tight and sweet.
Caine eased them toward a finish, a last spin that let Mireya float a second before she came back to him and stilled, steps planted, bodies close and breathing. The music ran on. He smiled, catching breath. Mireya’s face was warm and bright, eyes on his for a heartbeat, then away to their daughter.
Camila dodged a napkin in Sara’s hand and clapped harder, small palms smacking air in fast, happy bursts while the music still played and everyone around her hyped the two of them.
~~~
The music carried through the walls, thick with bass and laughter. Laney set down her pen and sat still for a moment, waiting for it to fade. It didn’t. She could hear the rhythm pushing up from the back of the church, bright and heavy, the kind of beat meant for bodies more than ears.
She left her office and walked to the kitchen. The air smelled faintly of cleaner and charcoal smoke. She poured a paper cup of water, drank half, then paused by the open door. The sound outside was clearer now—the scrape of shoes on grass, the pulse of a drum, Camila’s laughter cutting through everything.
Laney looked through the doorway.
Out in the yard, the heat hung low. She took in the people outside of her father’s church. Smiling and bright-faced, dressed in a way that didn’t seem to fit the location. And none of them seemed to care.
Caine stood near the middle. Camila was in his arms, squealing, her small hands pressed to his shoulders as he spun her around in tight circles. Her laughter carried, full and wild.
When he set her down, she turned and pointed toward Mireya, calling out to her, hopping in place until Caine followed her gaze. Mireya came forward without hesitation, moving through the crowd with an easy confidence. Caine reached his hand out. She took it.
Laney leaned her weight against the counter. The song shifted, the beat quickening. Caine drew Mireya in close—chests touching, his hand finding her lower back and staying there. She set her other hand flat on his shoulder, fingers spread. They started moving together, steps matched from the first count.
It wasn’t polite dancing. It was tight, physical, hips and thighs aligned, their rhythm built on pressure and pull. Every shift came through contact—his grip, her response, the curve of her body meeting his. She didn’t resist, didn’t need instruction. Their timing was perfect, practiced somewhere far from there.
Laney watched them, the motion small but precise. He guided her with the slow drag of his hand, his forearm pressed to her ribs, the space between them never breaking. Mireya followed his lead with a kind of ease that didn’t ask permission. The heat in their movement wasn’t loud, but it was alive.
Caine turned them with a low pivot. She stayed molded against him, their steps quick and contained. The music climbed, strings cutting through the air, and they moved faster—his hand sliding lower at her waist, her weight tipping into him on each beat. Every turn pulled them tighter together.
Laney couldn’t hear the words from the others in the yard, only the rise of their voices—clapping, laughing, cheering them on. Camila’s voice pierced through, shrill with joy. Laney could still see her at the edge of the crowd, clapping, watching her parents as if the world had narrowed down to them.
Caine shifted again. Mireya seemed to float through the steps, Laney unable to tell if she was moving or if Caine was moving her. The way he looked at her, even from this distance, carried no uncertainty. His mouth close to her ear, her head tipped toward him—everything about it felt too personal for an audience.
Laney felt it too, standing there in the doorway. The air conditioning behind her and the heavy heat beyond blurred together. She looked away from the glass, then back again, unable not to.
Laney stepped back from the door. The laughter outside swelled again, the sound of hands clapping, voices overlapping. She rinsed her cup, set it in the sink, and turned down the hall toward her office.
The last thing she heard was the little girl’s laughter, bright and carrying over the music.
~~~
Tyree and E.J. still worked the crowd that had never really been theirs, throwing lines toward Jaslene, Alejandra, Hayley, Bianca, Liana and Mari. Their voices rose and fell with the cicadas, bright for a second, then lost under the shuffle of plastic cups and folding chairs.
Mireya and Sara had claimed the strip of shade under the tree Caine rested under when he was working. Sara’s arm rested across Mireya’s shoulders, quiet and sure. A little way out, Camila and Graciela moved from chalk to bubbles and back again, skirts of soap trailing the wands, bubbles breaking as fast as they formed. Camila’s laugh carried clean across the yard every time a bigger one floated up and popped.
Caine stood with a wire brush in his hand, the grill grate tipped toward the light. Each drag of the bristles shaved a line through grease until the metal showed. Ash dusted his shoes. Smoke clung to him.
Ramon came up and stretched his back once, shoes planted. He watched the grate for a beat and then spoke.
“You trying to make some money, lil’ brudda?”
Caine kept the grate balanced and turned it a quarter. “Depends on what it is.”
“You ain’t gotta do nothing. We just got an opportunity to make some runs to Atlanta.”
Caine’s brow nudged up. “Weight?”
Ramon nodded. “I ain’t trying to fuck up your shit here but it’d be a help if this could be a mid-way stop.”
“Ain’t very mid-way,” Caine said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“No, but it’s out the way.” Ramon dragged a thumb over a grease mark on the lid. “All we need is somewhere to stay where we ain’t on no cameras that people expecting us to be on. We sleep at your crib for a night or two. You get $300.”
Caine looked past the grate to the shade. Sara’s hand smoothed a strand of hair behind Mireya’s ear. Camila clapped when a fat bubble survived long enough to drift. He dropped his eyes back to the grate and took another slow run with the brush.
“Alright.”
Ramon tipped his chin. “Bet.”
Caine straightened and wiped his palm down his jeans. He dapped up Ramon. “And I appreciate you coming through for Mireya on that money.”
Ramon waved it off. “It wasn’t nothing. We got some money off that lick, too.”
Caine nodded. He lifted the grate again to get the underside, more habit than need. Sweat had turned the dust on his forearm into a gray paste. The brush rasped. A mosquito hovered near his ear and he pinched it away without looking.
Across the yard, Camila pointed at a bubble that had landed whole on the grass. Graciela crouched, breath held. It burst and Camila threw her head back and laughed, high and clean, cutting through the rest.
Ramon’s eyes followed the sound and then slid past it. He looked toward the edge of the shade where Mireya sat angled toward the yard, shoulders loose under Sara’s arm. From here he could see only the back of her head, the twist of hair against her T-shirt, the tilt that meant she was trying to track the girls without getting up. His gaze held a second longer, then another. He nodded then he looked back at the grate.
Caine set the brush down and knocked ash from the grate with a knuckle.
He glanced once more toward the tree where Sara and Mireya sat. Sara shifted, said something in Mireya’s ear. Mireya nodded without looking up.
~~~
The yard had gone quiet except for the faint scrape of chairs and the hum of the air units along the church wall. The last of the balloons sagged against their strings. Out by the big oak near the fence, Caine sat under the shade with Camila in front of him, her knees dusty, little hands working at the grass. Each time she pulled up a blade, she held it out for him to see. He nodded, the corners of his mouth tugging in the smallest grin.
Mireya and Sara sat off to the side where the heat didn’t press as hard, a shared folding chair pulled just out of the sun. Sara’s arm rested around Mireya’s shoulders. They watched the two under the tree for a long while without speaking. Caine leaned forward to listen to something Camila said, his forearm resting on his thigh.
Sara shifted slightly, her voice low. “You’re doing a great job.”
Mireya turned her head, eyebrow raised. “At what?”
Sara nodded toward the tree. “Making this work. I know it’s expensive for you to come out here and you have your own burdens.”
Mireya looked back at Caine and Camila. “Just takes some budgeting.”
Sara followed her gaze for a moment before glancing toward the group of women still at the far tables. “The cleaning company, huh?”
Mireya nodded. “Been getting a lot of overtime.”
Sara studied her a second longer, then reached over and smoothed down a strand of Mireya’s hair that had come loose. She leaned in and kissed the side of her head. “Te amo, mija.”
Mireya nodded, her throat tight, and ran her hand under her eye, catching the tear before it could fall.
The air shifted behind them—the faint creak of the church’s back door. Both of them turned.
Laney stood just outside the doorway, one hand resting against the frame. She took in the scene in front of her—the quiet between Mireya and Sara, the man and his daughter beneath the tree, the soft play of light over the yard. Her face didn’t change much, but something in her mouth drew tight before she gave a small, polite smile.
Neither woman moved. They just watched her.
Laney stepped off the stoop, her shoes crunching over the thin gravel that lined the edge of the concrete path. The music from someone’s phone had dwindled to a low hum, broken by the sound of Camila’s laughter—sharp, pure, echoing back toward the church. Laney’s eyes followed the sound for a moment before she started across the lot.
Sara’s arm stayed around Mireya’s shoulders. They both turned their heads, following Laney’s slow path toward the van parked by the fence. The sky had started to bleed its color out, leaving the asphalt soft gray.
Laney opened the door, paused, and looked back once. Then she climbed in, shut the door, and started the engine.
The van rolled out through the lot, tires crunching over loose rock until the sound gave way to pavement. Mireya and Sara watched until the taillights disappeared down the road, the faint rumble of the engine fading into the thick evening air.
Camila’s voice reached them again from the tree, her laugh bright enough to fill the space.
