When Dad Came Back by Gary Soto

as a black brother in a sombrero.
    There was mercy in the world.
    The puppy had free rein in the living room. He poked his nose in all the corners, climbed the recliner and couch, and put his paws up on the coffee table. But when he began to gnaw on the legs of an end table, Gabe put a stop to his play. He cuddled his puppy with all his heart and christened him Lucky. He plied him with lunch meat and set a water bowl near the back door. Outside, on the patio, he washed the puppy with a hose. He squeezed two ticks from under his chin and watched him frolic in the yard.
    â€œLucky,” he answered, when his mother pushed open the front door and asked, “Who's this?” She set her purse down on the coffee table and looked absently at the mail. The bills and junk mail held no interest.
    â€œIsn't he cool, Mom?” He reminded her that she had promised him a dog.
    She groaned. She was too tired to argue about the surprising presence of a dog—she kicked off her shoes and headed to the bathroom, lingering a moment in the hallway to enjoy the air from the cooler vent in the ceiling. Then there was the sound of water running in the bathroom. Gabe surmised that his mother was sitting on the edge of the bathtub and running cold water over her tired feet.
    â€œYou want dinner?” she called, after she stepped out of the bathtub and stamped her feet on the bathmat.
    â€œNah, Mom,” Gabe answered.
    â€œGood! Because it's too hot to cook.”
    Then her next ritual: she clawed ice cubes from the refrigerator, arranged them in a washcloth, and plopped into the recliner. She patted her cheeks, throat, and the back of her neck. She smiled at the puppy licking his paws.
    â€œWhere's he from?” she finally asked. “And when is he going back?”
    â€œI found him in the street,” Gabe lied. But it was a small lie that would not darken his soul. He knew that he had rescued the dog from a terrible fate. He deplored the image of Frankie tickling Lucky's throat with a large toe. “I know you're joking, huh? I can keep him, huh?”
    When Lucky pulled a sock from under the couch, and began to wrestle with it, his mother smiled. “He's talented. He can find your dirty clothes. But he has to stay outside.” She placed the washcloth on her forehead.
    Gabe sprang from the couch and knelt next to his mother. He ran a hand tenderly through her hair. He patted her chubby hand and noticed the small dent in her ring finger, where her wedding ring had once shone the color of imitation gold.
    She opened one eye, then the other. She scooted up in her recliner to a sitting position. “I saw your father today,” she announced.
    Gabe waited.
    â€œHe was over on Belmont,” she added, in a low voice. She played with the doily on the armrest and released something like a sigh. “He was pulling a suitcase. How pathetic.”
    There was silence. Even Lucky had stopped teething on the sock to sit with his tiny paws crossed. His tongue hung from his mouth.
    â€œMom,” Gabe began. “He's sick. Let's take him in for a while.”
    â€œHe wasn't very nice to us,” she remarked, without emotion.
    Gabe couldn't offer an argument, other than to say, “He's my dad.”
    â€œYou can change husbands,” she reflected. “But you can't change fathers.”
    Gabe could tell that his mother was rummaging through memories. There had been plenty of bad days, but he had sometimes made her laugh, and he had sometimes surprised her with kindness. Gabe recalled how he once took her up in a balloon, where they drank champagne, she said, and dropped flowers and small candies on the party below. It had been their fifth wedding anniversary, when Gabe, their love child, was six.
    â€œI don't know,” she said.
    Gabe thought “I don't know” sounded closer to “yes” than “no.” Excited, he leaped to his feet, ran into the kitchen, and fixed his mother