“My mom ran off with a trucker,” Russ said, because it was what he’d been saying for eighteen years. Mrs. Baca went into his parents’ bedroom like someone who knew the way, and came back with the plaster Virgin of Guadalupe from his mother’s dresser, candle wax dripped down to the base. “Your mother didn’t go anywhere. No woman leaves without her saints.” She crossed herself. “I kept quiet too. I heard things. Your dad gave me soup bones and I said thank you. You keep quiet, and after a while you don’t know how to stop. It turns into a habit, like praying.”