Read When Tito Loved Clara for Free Online Page A

had received in life. Within the bag he leafed through the sheaf of birthday cards, valentines, and love letters until he found the note from Clara. He knew the words by heart, but still he unfolded the single page from its smudged and wrinkled envelope and read the following:
    Dearest Tito,
    I'm sorry I did not write sooner. You are probably wondering what happened to me. I want you to know that I am safe and happy. Don't worry about me and please don't try to find me. I'm sorry I did not have a chance to say goodbye.
    Clara
    He folded the note and returned it to the envelope, put the envelope into the Ziploc bag, and dropped the bag back into the box. Then he went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink.
    M S. A LMONTE CALLED him a few days later and accepted his offer but only if she could move that Saturday, a week sooner than she'd told him. Tito, who had not worked a move since being promoted into the sales force, would have to drive the truck himself. He scrambled to put together a crew. On such short notice, he had to scrounge around to find a couple of warm bodies. One of them, Hector, had been working for Cruz Brothers since Tito was a crew chief on the trucks, and Tito was grateful to have him. Hector was an older guy from El Salvador who was shaped like a fire hydrant, didn't speak any English, and could carry objects twice his size. He was religious and, even in Spanish, kept his thoughts mostly to himself. Tito felt less fortunate with his other grunt, a young Dominican named Raúl who had muscles on his muscles but also a reputation for surliness and inappropriate behavior—including hitting on young female clients during moves. There was no one else available, though, so Tito was obliged to go with the team he had. He signed the truck out of the garage and picked up Hector and Raúl in the yard on Tenth.
    â€œSo, where we going? Jersey?” asked Raúl, as they drove down Broadway to the bridge, the cab bouncing in response to the potholes.
    â€œJersey,” said Tito. “Yes.”
    Raúl looked like he'd sooner go to hell. “Jersey ain't nothing but a big landfill.”
    â€œThat's Staten Island,” said Tito.
    â€œSame damn difference,” said Raúl. On the far side of the cab, Hector sat with his arms crossed, napping. Tito remembered this about him: He could sleep anywhere, seemingly at will.
    Ms. Almonte was ready for them. She'd gone through the house tagging everything that was to be taken with Postit notes, sometimes even writing out explicit directions about how an item should be packed. Normally this would have pissed Tito off, but he knew to expect nothing else from her. How could she fail to be a difficult customer? They got to work. He sent Raúl and Hector to do the kitchen, hoping that Hector's example would keep Raúl out of trouble. Once he saw that they were filling boxes with pots and cutlery, he started on the books in the den. Tito wanted to work alone. He had the vague, hopeful idea that he might find something. He kept looking over his shoulder as he worked, waiting for Ms. Almonte to appear to make sure he was packing the right things or to complain about the mess his boys were making in the kitchen, but once she'd let them into the house, she left them alone, and this made Tito even more nervous. After an hour, he poked his head into the kitchen and saw that Raúl was not there. “Where did he go?” he asked Hector.
    Hector mimed a man urinating. Then there was the flush of the toilet. Raúl came back into the kitchen, buckling his belt. “What?” he said.
    â€œNothing,” said Tito. “Get back to work.”
    â€œMan can't even drain his lizard,” said Raúl, shaking his head.
    Tito returned to the books. (There were a lot of books.) He heard her footfalls upstairs and wondered where the husband was. From the wedding photo in the living room, he looked to Tito like anuptight businessman—the sort