Fredo leaned in the doorway of Abuela's hacienda. Wistfully, his mind strayed far away from his surroundings. He pictured a little girl on a swing. Her pigtails flew out behind her, and she sang, "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head."

His lips formed the name Elsa.

Fredo wasted his years in Mexico. Doing chores for his grandmother left him unfulfilled. Empty...his life remained empty.

During the previous week, Dolores returned. Her wealthy husband died of a heart attack, leaving her nothing. Ten years ago, her slim figure attracted him. However, time had not played favorably with her looks. Rotund Dolores's heavy jowls quivered when she laughed. Her thick lips looked like slabs of cured ham. Fredo shuddered as he considered his one-time love for her.

Behind his eyes, Fredo pictured Elsa. His memory did not age his lost love. To him, she remained young and beautiful. He longed for her; he wished he had made better choices in the past.

The long ago days beckoned him. Joyful laughter traveled through lost time. Reflectively, Fredo stared at the desert. Miles upon miles of vast orange landscape greeted him. Its dullness fitted his mood.

Abuela listened to Fredo's plans. She would miss her grandson. Nevertheless, she realized he did not belong to Mexico. He grew up in the United States. Regardless of his heritage, she agreed he should return.