One afternoon, I finally asked her why.
“Ma, apenas tenemos suficiente dinero nosotros mismos. ¿Por qué pagas por extraños?”
Dejó de limpiar el mostrador.
“Frankie, do you know what I see when someone like that walks through the door?”
I shrugged.
“Someone who doesn’t have money?”
She gave me a patient look.
“I see somebody’s child. Someone whose mother probably spent years worrying whether he had enough to eat. Maybe that mother isn’t around anymore. So for a little while, someone else needs to care.”
Volvió a su trabajo.
“Hoy, ese alguien soy yo”.
Mamá falleció hace dieciocho años después de una breve batalla contra el cáncer de páncreas.
Cerca del final, me sostuvo la mano en la habitación de su hospital.
“You’re going to build something worthwhile one day,” she whispered.
“I hope so, Ma.”
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
