1 MAY 1961

Trill, trill, triiiiill went the telephone.

Victoria ignored it. She had wanted to try her hand at pastry to make empanadas and was literally covered in dough. Besides, the phone never rang for her family. The ring tone had to be two shorts and a long and that was—

Trill, trill, triiiiill. Trill, trill, triiiiill!

“Contesta el teléfono. It’s for us,” Victoria called, but with Mami in the bedroom and the others in the pool, she was the closest.

Trill, trill—

Victoria knocked over the receiver with her elbow and leaned her head uncomfortably to the black plastic ear and mouthpiece. “Sí, hello, Pino del Mar.”

“I have an international collect call from Cuba from…,” said the nasal voice of the phone operator.

Tío Rodrigo’s deep voice came on for just a second. “Mataron a Alto.”

The dough dropped to the floor with a splat.

“Do you accept the charges?”

“Yes, I accept!” she yelled into the receiver.

But it was too late. They’d been disconnected.