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that boy.” She finishes motioning towards the pictures of the children. 
    Brother? They look nothing alike.  I don’t ask how it is possible, instead I look back at the photos.  My eyes focus in on one of the pictures. 
    “He was in high school in that picture; he and Rachel had just moved in with me.” She motions towards the shot of an adolescent Bowie in a football uniform, with a baby wrapped around his leg.  “That was taken right before his first game in the Varsity league.”
    “I remember that day.” Bowie says, walking into the living room with a coffee in his hand.  “I didn’t think Priss was gonna let me play.”
    Nina laughs, looking over her shoulder at Bowie.  “Rachel just wanted to play too.”
    Bowie shakes his head and chuckles. “She wasn’t even a year old.  Not sure she could have hung with the guys on the team.”
    “Your sister would’ve put them all on the ground.”
    Sister?  I look back the wall and stare at the girl’s face.  I look from picture to picture, watching her grow from a toddler to child and finally a teen.  It takes me a minute, but I can see the resemblance.  A small tip to the end of each of their noses; it’s barely there, but definitely noticeable.  I move my eyes to the pictures of Nina’s son.  Again, the tip of the nose is visible.  Judging by the different skin tones, hair and eye colors: I can only assume they had different moms, but all shared the same father. 
    “I see you are confused, cariño .” Nina says, with a smile on her face. 
    “A little, maybe,” I admit.
    She never loses her smile, as she explains the ins and outs of their family. “Their dad is a womanizing bastard.  He has children spread across this country.   Two of those women weren’t willing to be the mother the kids needed, so I stepped in.”
    Bowie steps beside her and throws his arm across her shoulder. Leaning down and kissing her cheek, he says, “And you are the best mamá in the whole fuckin’ world.”
    Without hesitation, she sends the back of her hand into his stomach.  “Watch your mouth, hijo .”
    He leans down and kisses her cheek again.  “I gotta head out. I got shit to do when I get to the clubhouse.”
    Nina narrows her eyes, when he curses again, but she doesn’t reprimand him a second time.  “I will take care of your woman, don’t worry.”
    “I’m not worried.” He says, as he pulls away from her and looks at me.  “If you need me for anything, just tell Nina.  She can get in touch with me.”
    Not yet ready to let him leave me, I move closer to him.  “When are you coming back?”
    He looks towards Nina, a faint splash of red on his cheeks.  Finally looking back at me, he shrugs.  “I’m not sure.”
    “What do you mean?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.  He has no intention of coming back; Bowie is done with me. 
    He shakes his head, not wanting to tell me the truth.  “Like I said, I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
    “He’ll be back soon; he can’t stay away for long.  He’ll miss my homemade enchiladas if he does.” Nina answers for him, trying to break the tension in the room. 
    Knowing that my last link to my family is leaving me behind causes a wave of panic to course through my body, but I fight to conceal it.  I square my shoulders and paste on the serene face that I learned so well during my marriage.  “I’ll be fine.”
    “Of course, you will.” Nina says, as she steps next to me and grabs my hand.  “Come on, cariño .”
    Without looking back at him, I follow her down the hall.  “What does cariño mean?”
    My grasp of the Spanish language is limited at best.  I understood hijo , because our housekeeper used to tell me stories of her young son all the time.  Cariño is new to me though.
    “It is a term of endearment.” She explains as we continue down the hall.  “Similar to sweetheart.”
    I nod at her explanation.  “It sounds prettier in your