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pastry cases were nearly empty.
    â€œYou give it all away?”
    â€œIt won’t be fresh tomorrow.”
    â€œBag everything up and call it ‘Day Old.’ Even the grocery stores do that. Put a fake high price on the bag, then write a cheaper price underneath. People will think it’s a bargain.”
    Uncle smiled wanly. “I’ll make more tonight.”
    He’d never been a very good businessman, even when he’d worked with us in the Palace in Nebraska. If it hadn’t been for Ma taking over, he’d never have turned a profit. If not for his old buddy Mr. Chhay paying off his loans, Uncle would have lost everything.
    I wondered how La Petite Pâtisserie was doing financially.As the sun was setting and dark shadows were seeping across the parking lot, there was nothing left but donut holes, and, finally, Uncle said it was time to close up. Anita took out the final half dozen and set them on paper doilies. “You have to try these, Nea,” she said. “But no peeking.”
    â€œBut they’re all the same,” I argued.
    â€œClose your eyes and just taste one. Your Uncle’s secret recipe. Tastes different to everyone who tries them. That Mexican priest swears on his Bible they taste like the candy skulls he used to eat growing up, and to some of the bums your uncle feeds at the soup kitchen it tastes like their last home-cooked meal. To the gangbangers who drop by, it’s all adrenaline and buzz. They call these things ‘crack.’ ”
    â€œGreat,” I said. “Like an R-rated version of Willie Wonka.”
    â€œClose your eyes,” Anita insisted. “Try one and tell me what you taste.”
    So I obliged.
    The dough was soft and chewy, the sugar rough like sand against my tongue. I chewed and chewed, but I couldn’t seem to break the donut hole down. It just grew more rubbery, like chewing gum, but without the flavor. I tried to swallow but the mound of dough clung to my teeth. Finally I snatched one of the doilies off the countertop and, turning away, spat out the remains as discreetly as possible.
    â€œTastes like dust,” I gasped, nearly gagging.
    â€œHmm,” Anita looked at me curiously, not as shocked or appalled as I would have imagined. “That’s what your uncle always says.”
    For her part, Anita plucked the remaining donut holes off the counter and popped them into her mouth. “Mmm, mmm,” she raved, closing her eyes as she chewed. She swallowed. “Cotton candy, theater popcorn, and a touch of anise.”
    I was too busy washing the dusty, dry taste away at the fountain, gulping down mouthful after mouthful of water, to answer.
    â€œShall I stay and help you clean up?” Anita asked Uncle behind me.
    â€œNo, it’s okay. Take some time off. My niece can help.”
    â€œAll right, sugar,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turned just in time to see Anita leaning in close to Uncle, and at first I thought she was going to whisper something into his ear, but instead I could have sworn her lips grazed his cheek in a kiss.
    Embarrassed, I turned around quickly. I busied myself at the water fountain, pressing the cool metal button and watching the steady stream of water arc back into the basin as though it were the most fascinating thing on earth. I didn’t turn even as Anita called out to me, “ ’Bye, Nea. Sure is nice to meet you!”
    The door jangled open and then shut, and I watched Anita walking through the parking lot to her car. The sky was ablaze with pinks and reds, but the temperature was dropping rapidly. I could feel the cold seeping through the glass as the sunlight disappeared. Anita turned once at the end of the parking lot and waved enthusiastically. Composed now, I waved back.
    Uncle appeared not to have noticed that I had seen him and Anita. He waved a hand around the room casually. “I can sweep up later when I come back