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head like a queen. Cindy had said Jessica adored her, and no wonder. The woman wasn’t much taller than her students and had a small pointed chin, enormous black eyes, and slim high-arched eyebrows. She moved as gracefully as a small cat, approaching Humberto Garcia while there was a lull at the door. He greeted her with a happy smile, circled her waist with one arm, and gave her a squeeze.
    “Her name is Miss Garcia and her daddy owns this restaurant,” Jessica informed me happily. “Isn’t she simply beautiful?”
    “She certainly is. Is she a good teacher?”
    “The best I ever had.” Jessica dipped a nacho in the salsa and nibbled it. “She even makes math interesting.”
    Just then I saw Chief Muggins throw a dollar on his table and head for the door. Mr. Garcia stepped behind the cash register. Chief Muggins held out his money to the father, but kept his eyes on the daughter. You old lech, I thought. You’re older than her daddy and ugly, to boot.
    He sidled closer to her as he spoke. She moved away. He threw back his head and laughed. Mr. Garcia frowned and spoke to him. Chief Muggins laughed again as he took a handful of matches from the bowl on the counter and swaggered out.
    Just then a waiter in tight black pants and a black shirt trimmed in silver braid slid our meals before us. “The plates ees hot,” he informed me with a flash of white teeth.
    “Do you know which is what?” I asked my grandchil dren.
    Of course they did. Cindy’s children started eating international foods in the womb. “This is an enchilada,” Jessica informed me, “and this is a burrito.”
    “And this is a taco.” Tad picked up his and added, “Anybody knows that, Me-mama.” He tried unsuccessfully to take a bite without dropping anything out.
    Jessica wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re so messy.”
    “Am not. You’re a brat.”
    While they wrangled, I dug into my food and looked around. Marilee Muller sat with another woman at a table along the far wall, and I was tickled to see people pretending not to be impressed to be eating with a celebrity. Marilee caught my eye, smiled, and waved at me. I waved back and pretended not to be impressed she knew me.
    Eventually Miss Garcia worked her way to our table. “Hello. Are you having fun?”
    Jessica turned scarlet with pride and embarrassment. “Yes, ma’am. We sure are.”
    Miss Garcia gave me a questioning look. “Is this your grandmother, the judge?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    I tried not to feel hurt that Jessica didn’t sound as proud of me as she’d been of her teacher. After all, grandmothers are around every day. An exotic teacher is a rarity.
    Miss Garcia bent toward me. “My mother wants to speak to you. Just a moment.” She hurried toward the kitchen. In a minute she was back with a short round woman. Mrs. Garcia beamed down at me, hands clasped on her stomach.
    Miss Garcia shoved her forward a bit. “She wants to thank you for the potted croton you sent as a gift with the other plants.”
    I smiled at the older woman, who looked about my own age, and wondered how much English she understood. My Spanish sure wasn’t adequate to explain that while they hadn’t ordered any crotons—tropical shrubs with leaves that develop brilliant colors in sunlight and muted ones in shade—I had hoped they would enjoy one for their home. “It’s for your casa ,” I said slowly and distinctly. “Welcome to Hopemore.”
    Mrs. Garcia bobbed her head, still beaming. “Thanks so much. I’ve always loved crotons, particularly the ones that turn maroon and gold. I didn’t know they’d grow here.” Her accent was pure California.
    Jessica had turned stiff and pink with joy that her family was getting so much attention from her teacher. I turned bright pink to match, so embarrassed I didn’t know what to say. Cindy saved my bacon. “Aren’t crotons wonderful? I have several varieties in pots on my deck.”
    “In my last house, I also had different