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would only suffer more, but if I can prevent you from making this horrible mistake, I’ll tell you now.” She leaned on her broom, and her face softened with the memory. “I was praying for a miracle, looking up at our Lord as He hung on the cross, when a beam of light entered through the window above and illuminated His crown. At first I didn’t know what it meant, but then He spoke to me.” She closed her milky eyes, and swayed a bit on her feet. “He told me that you must bear your mark bravely and give your suffering to the Lord. It is your very own crown of thorns, and one day it will bring you glory.” She opened her eyes, as clear as the desert night. “So you see, if you go north you’ll be disappointed as always and this time you’ll be alone…”
    â€œI’ll be with Tía Carmen,”
    â€œThat’s even worse!” Gabriela began sweeping again with such a fury that dust clouds rose up all around them. “God alone knows what kind of life that girl’s made for herself. She tells me she goes to church every Sunday, but I don’t believe her, and I’m sure she’s drinking more than ever. It’s a miracle she’s able to send any money at all.”
    Jamilet captured her grandmother’s broom and set it aside. She took hold of her hands, pressing them into her own. “I never told you this before, Abuela , but God spoke to me too. When I was deep in prayer as Mama was dying, He told me I should go north and there I would find the cure.” Jamilet waited for her revelation to take effect.
    â€œHow did He sound?” Gabriela asked, intrigued and moved that her granddaughter could have had a religious experience when she usually couldn’t be bothered to say Grace before a meal.
    Jamilet looked directly into her grandmother’s eyes with some regret, for she wasn’t comfortable telling tales about that which her grandmother held so dear. “It wasn’t like the voice of a person. It was more like soft thunder, holding back its strength so you’ll listen and know that it’s God without feeling afraid.”
    â€œSoft thunder,” Gabriela repeated twice. “That’s how he sounded for me too.”
    Â 
    The twelve-hour bus ride was the only rest Jamilet would get for several days. She tried her best to sleep, but was so exhilarated that she couldn’t keep her eyes closed for more than a minute or two. She studied the words on the paper that she knew to be her aunt’s address in Los Angeles, and tried to recall the woman she’d last seen, over ten years ago. Everyone always said that they’d never known two sisters to be more different. Jamilet pictured her mother sitting quietly in the corner, observing the world through large dark eyes and offering a hesitant smile if circumstances required. Carmen liked to laugh out loud at her own jokes, and she was always looking for a reason to fill her enormous lungs with air and bellow out her good humor or anger—whichever the case might be, as if breathing like everybody else wasn’t interesting enough.
    Jamilet watched the Mexican desert sweep past her window, smudges of tan and green layering over each other and blurring into the panorama of endless horizons as the rhythmic sounds of the engine and wheels became an anxious lullaby, more appropriate to bouncing than rocking, but soothing nonetheless. In this hypnotic repose she clearly remembered her aunt sitting at the kitchen table, feet propped up like the man of the house, unconcerned that her broad thighs and buttocks were partially visible to whoever was present.
    â€œLower your legs,” Gabriela would say. “Do you have to show all the world your business?”
    â€œThe world? Do you see the world in here, Jami?”
    Jamilet looked around the room, eager to demonstrate how well she was able to follow directions, and then shook her head in agreement. But if