Don't I Know You? by Karen Shepard

pulling back, holding his shoulders, looking at him and crying. She hung on him; her girls hung on her, one to each leg. They were some kind of giant puppet, some extinct animal.
    â€œTina,” Manuel said, putting a hand on her shoulder, “give the boy some air.”
    She shrugged his hand off. “I’ll give you some air,” she said without any crabbiness at all.
    He sighed and reached down to the girls. “Come,” he said. “Let your mother alone.” He took the girls across the room to the flower arrangements by the front door.
    Tina leaned in close. “Your neighbors,” she said. “My door doesn’t stop ringing with people wanting to know business that isn’t theirs.”
    Manuel was pointing to flowers and the girls were announcing the colors. His back was to Steven.
    His father was next to Manuel, waving Steven over. Steven could see the black limo out the open door behind his father. He wondered if he could ask for Manuel to ride with them.
    His father and Manuel started talking. When had they met? The girls played hide-and-seek behind the men’s legs.
    Could it have been his father in the apartment? He tried to hear the voice for the nine-hundreth time. “I owe you.” “I owe you.” He watched his father’s mouth and laid the line over what he was seeing.
    â€œMrs. Carpanetti,” Tina said. “She’s the only human being in the whole building. She asked about you, and nothing else.”
    A reporter, Steven thought. Could it have been a reporter? He didn’t think Manuel would’ve let a reporter in.
    Manuel was nodding and looking at his feet. It was weird to see him in something other than work shoes. He was acting the way he acted around people he worked for.
    Juan came over. “The car’s ready,” he said. “Your dad said to get you.”
    â€œI need to talk to Manuel,” Steven said.
    â€œMy Manuel?” Tina asked.
    â€œHere?” Juan said.
    Steven asked Tina if she’d mind telling his father that he needed a minute, and asking Manuel if he’d come over.
    She looked a little surprised, and a little like she was about to smile, but she said, “Sure,” and headed over to the two men.
    Juan said, “What’re you thinking?”
    â€œI need to know who was in the apartment,” Steven said.
    â€œI know,” he said. “But now? Here?”
    The three grown-ups were talking. His father checked his watch. Manuel looked over. Steven tried to make his face look kind.
    Juan swung Steven’s arm a little. “Are you okay?”
    Everyone was worried. Everyone had been watching him for warning signs, danger signals. First, they’d been worried he’d be feeling too much. Then, not enough.
    His father was walking out to the limo driver. Tina was rounding up the girls. Manuel was heading Steven’s way.
    â€œOne thing about my mother dying,” Steven said. “It’s a whole lot easier to get my way.”
    â€œSteven,” Juan said. He almost never used Steven’s real name.
    â€œI’m okay,” Steven said.
    He could see Juan deciding to let it go.
    â€œMaybe your life is gonna be better,” Juan said. But when he saw Steven’s face, he apologized.
    T hey sat in the room they’d just come out of. The coffin was gone. The chairs were lined up as if things were about to begin instead of already over.
    Manuel sat the way he sat in the old dining chair he pulled out to the stoop. His expression said: I’m worried.
    â€œWho was with you the other day in the apartment?” Steven asked.
    He tried to watch Manuel the way McGuire watched people. He had no idea what he was looking for. There was more worry. He couldn’t tell if Manuel was thinking about lying.
    â€œWhat other day?” he asked.
    â€œI was there,” Steven said.
    â€œYou were there,” he repeated, as if Steven were speaking another