GABRIEL
“What are their names? My sons?”
“Um, Gabriel and Gianni.” I looked in the rearview mirror at the three very quiet kids in the back who were busy looking at each other. The twins used to do that, still do, in fact. It’s one of the ways they communicate. I’m trying to remember if they started as young as this, but it’s too far back to recall.
“Gabriel, I can’t go with you; I have to go back. I….”
“Go back where? To him? You want this guy to die? Tell me; you say he’s never been around my kids; how was he planning to marry a mother of three without ever meeting her kids?”
“Does it really matter?” She recoiled against the door from the look I gave her.
