They tooled around the south side for about ten minutes, going up and down through the gears. The car ran fine. Chuy was struck again by what a good driver Tomas was, confident but cautious, so unlike the typical teenage boy. They didn't talk much because Chuy was intent on the sound of the engine and Tomas knew to keep quiet. When Chuy was satisfied with his repairs, he told Tomas to head home, and that set Chuy to an old line of thought.

"How's your mother doing?" he said.

Tomas shrugged.

"Better, I guess."

"She still drinks?"

"Yeah. But not as much. She doesn't get drunk so often."

Chuy glanced at a billboard. A group of half-naked Latinas played in a fountain next to a giant beer bottle.

"You hear from your father lately?" Chuy said.

Tomas shook his head. Chuy left him alone. A few minutes later, as they turned into the little dead-end street, the front door of Tomas's house opened, and his mother stepped outside.

"Speak of the devil," Tomas said.

Chuy snorted and suppressed a grin. His sister met them in the driveway. She was still in her work clothes, the pale green uniform she wore to clean rooms at the hotel up on the highway. Her hair needed to be washed. She had let it down and it spilled across her shoulders and her back.

Chuy and Tomas climbed out of the car. Chuy's sister took a pack of Newports and a butane lighter from a big pocket on the front of her dress.

"How's it runnin'?" she said.

Tomas looked at Chuy.

"Good," Chuy said. "How're you?"

She shrugged and tapped a cigarette from the pack. She put it between her lips, lit it, tilted her head back, and blew smoke up in the air. She dropped the cigarettes and lighter back in her big pocket.

"Fine," she said.

Chuy nodded.

"Good."

Tomas fidgeted with his keys. Chuy took a deep breath. His sister let out another jet of smoke.

"I should go," Chuy said.

His sister squinted up at him.

"Sure," she said.

Chuy turned to Tomas.

"Let me know if it acts up again."

"Thanks, Unc."

"Sure."

Chuy went down the short drive and got in his truck. He started it up and pulled away. He turned around in the tight cul-de-sac at the end of the little dead-end street. His sister and his nephew were still out front when he went past. He waved at them and they waved back. His sister spoke to Tomas as Chuy turned out of the little dead-end street. Her voice bounced off the houses and the asphalt and into Chuy's truck as he accelerated away, back toward the highway and Los Huertos.

"I hate it when you call him 'Unc'," she said.