Engine off and headlights dead, it's just me and the ticking of cooling metal and the faint glow of the motion-sensor light that clicked on when I pulled in.
My hands are still wrapped around the steering wheel.
Chesca's inside. Probably finishing dinner, waiting for the bedtime story I promised this morning before rushing out the door. The medal is warm against my collarbone. I don't remember reaching for it.
Get out of the car, Angelina. Walk inside. Be her mother.
My fingers finally release the wheel. I grab my bag, check my phone—no emergencies, no missed calls from the facility about Dad—and force myself through the door into the kitchen.
The warmth hits me first. Then the smell. Garlic bread, marinara, and the rosemary lingering from whatever Sal made for dinner. A covered plate sits on the counter. The kitchen is spotless except for the pot he's rinsing in the sink, his broad shoulders relaxed in a way they never are during business hours.
"There she is." He turns, dish towel over his shoulder, and his face softens in a way it only does for family. "The honorable Judge Castellano finally graces us with her presence."
"Uncle Sal." I set my bag on the counter and let him pull me into a hug that smells like oregano and the cologne he's worn since I was twelve. Familiar and safe. And complicated.
Everything with family is complicated.
"Sorry you had to stay so late."
"Nonsense." He releases me, studying my face with those dark eyes that miss nothing. "Chesca and I had a lovely evening. She beat me at Go Fish three times. I'm beginning to suspect she cheats."
That pulls a real laugh out of me, rough-edged and surprising us both. "She counts cards. Gets it from Dad."
He doesn't let the grief land. "She's upstairs. Ate all her pasta, drank her milk. Already in the butterfly pajamas."
"The purple ones?"
"She insisted." He dries his hands, watching me. Patient. "You look tired, tesoro."
"Long day." I move to the refrigerator, pulling out water I don't want just to have something to do with my hands. "Conference ran late."
He doesn't push. That's the thing about Sal, he knows when to press and when to let silence do the work. Right now, he's choosing gentleness, and I'm grateful enough that my throat tightens.
"You work too hard." He kisses my forehead, grabbing his coat from the chair. "Get some sleep. I'll see myself out."
"Sal." I catch his arm. "Thank you."
His hand covers mine, warm and steady. "Family, Angelina. Always."
Something loosens in my chest now that he's handled this. Something else tightens at what that means.
The hallway stretches ahead, darkness broken only by the thin strip of light bleeding under Chesca's door. Ocean sounds drift through the wood. It's her white noise machine, the one that helps her sleep through the sirens and car alarms that punctuate San Francisco nights.
I push open the door, and everything else falls away.
She's awake, sitting up in bed with her stuffed rabbit tucked under one arm and a book splayed across her lap. Her dark hair is tangled from where she's been running her fingers through it—a nervous habit I haven't figured out how to break yet—and those brown eyes with their gold flecks track my entrance with an intensity that reminds me too much of my own reflection.
My girl. My whole heart walking around outside my body.
"Mamma." The word comes out soft and relieved. "You're home."
"Of course I'm home, bambina." I cross to her bed, setting my water on the nightstand beside the butterfly lamp casting a purple glow across her walls. "Where else would I be?"
She wrinkles her nose. "Uncle Sal said you were at a fancy party with boring people."
"Uncle Sal was absolutely right."
I reach for her hairbrush on the nightstand, pink plastic with a cartoon character I can never remember the name of, and gather her hair over one shoulder. "Turn around."