Abuela moved slowly around the kitchen, but there was nothing weak about her. She was small and thin, her back slightly bent with age, gray hair pulled tight into a bun at the back of her head. Deep lines marked her face, especially around her mouth and eyes, but those eyes were still sharp. They watched everything.
She placed the pan back on the stove and turned to look at Iyisha again.
"¿Dónde está ese hombre?" she asked, squinting slightly. "Malcolm, sí?"
Iyisha shrugged.
"I don't know," she said, lowering her head again.
Abuela studied her for a moment, her eyes moving slowly over Iyisha's face. Then she muttered something under her breath.
Iyisha looked up.
Abuela was already turning away, but not before glancing at Marybeth with a small grin.
"He went out in the middle of the night," Iyisha muttered.
Marybeth's expression softened immediately.
"Oh," she said.
Abuela snorted softly from the stove.
"Ese hombre frío," she muttered, shaking her head.
