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on the stereo?”
    Denny grinned and pecked me on the cheek. “A CD Josh wanted me to hear—a demo of a punk rock group called Head Noise.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Jesus People. You wouldn’t like it.” He yelled down the hall toward the bedrooms, “Josh? You coming?”
    I already knew I didn’t like it. I mean, gospel groups like Radical for Christ or Kirk Franklin were one thing—loud, but at least you could hear the words—but heavy metal? punk? It might be Christian, but it didn’t qualify as real music.
    Josh appeared, jingling his own set of car keys. “I’ll drive.”
    I raised an eyebrow at Denny. “Josh going to work with you?”
    â€œNah. He’s going to drop me off, then pick up some of the guys and go down to Jesus People to hear this band. They’ve got a couple of gigs today.” Denny winked at me and followed Josh out the back door.
    I looked down at Willie Wonka, who was sniffing the back door as though checking for positive ID of who’d just gone out. “Well, looks like it’s just you and me,Willie,” I said and headed for the computer. I had a few things I needed to do, and a quiet house with nobody needing clean socks or help with homework was an unexpected bonus.
    I checked e-mail first, deleted half of the new ones, scrolled past messages addressed to Josh or Amanda, and opened one from Hoshi Takahashi.
    To: Yada Yada
From: [email protected]
Re: Mark and Nony
    Dear Sisters,
    Just got an e-mail from Dr. Mark and Nony. They are leaving Johannesburg today and will be arriving home tomorrow, Saturday, Jan. 4. Nony says hi and she’s missed everyone so much and has lots to tell us.
    I am also so happy to see them again! This house is not the same without Marcus and Michael.
    Love, Hoshi
    Bless Hoshi! Mark Smith had asked if she’d be willing to house-sit the fish tank, geckos, and houseplants when he left to join his wife and sons in South Africa a month ago. It actually worked out for Hoshi, since the dorms at Northwestern University closed for winter break. But it’d been pretty lonely too. Most Northwestern students went home for the holidays; “home” for Hoshi was Tokyo—and Hoshi’s parents hadn’t called or written since their disastrous visit last September.
    My heart squeezed. A lot had happened since that crazy woman—now in prison at Lincoln Correctional Center—had sliced Mrs. Takahashi’s hand during a robbery at our house. The doctor who stitched Mrs.T’s hand had assured Hoshi that her mother’s wound would heal quickly. Yet the deeper wound to Hoshi’s family was still open and raw. “This is what happens when a daughter is dis-obedient and forsakes her religion!” her father had fumed.
    I made a note to call Hoshi. What time were the Sisulu-Smiths flying in? Was anyone picking them up? That’d be fun—maybe Denny and I could do it. We’d still have room for their family of four in the Caravan, though luggage might be a problem.
    I called up Google and typed “quinceanera” into the search line.Wow! Lots of hits. I poured myself a cup of the coffee still sitting in the coffeemaker— ugh! Too bitter. I made some fresh coffee and settled down to read up on the party José wanted to give Amanda.
    I was not happy at what I found. I mean, it sounded practically like a wedding, with a fancy gown, a special mass—which was a problem, since we weren’t Catholic, and neither was the Enriquez family, for that matter—and maids of honor and chambelánes, for Pete’s sake. Not to mention food, favors, a live mariachi band, and a huge birthday cake for the “hundreds of guests.”
    Good grief! What is Delores thinking, encouraging José in this crazy idea? Well, there was no way Denny and I could afford such a celebration. Sometimes this multi-cultural stuff went too far.
    I printed out some