“Good evening, Mrs. Gonzales. Thanks for the tamales you gave me yesterday. They were muy deliciosos.” Turning to Joshua, Liz spoke in a low voice. “Her name is Socorro Gonzales. She brings food to everyone on our floor. She’s been like a mother from the first day I moved into the building.” Now the woman trundled forward, speaking Spanish and gesturing with great animation at Joshua. “Mi amigo,” Liz explained. “This is my friend. I’m going to show him the pictures of Africa. Mis fotos.” The door swung open, and all three entered the studio apartment. There would be no keeping Mrs. Gonzales at bay, Joshua realized. So much for private conversation with Liz. The woman was already rummaging around in the cupboard as though she owned the place. “Galletas?” she asked. “No, I don’t have any cookies,” Liz said. “It’s all right.
