What did Angelina mean. "Glass bones shining?"
In his easy chair, in the living room, he reread her letter; the last paragraph continued to bewilder him. He thought of showing the letter to Gabriel, but dismissed the idea and crumpled the sheet and tossed it into the fireplace. Holding out his hands to the blaze, he leaned his elbows on his knees. He did not need a confidant but needed to be alone. Wind puffed across the house, making a wintry sound. Raul felt disappointed when Father Gabriel appeared, rolling Fernando in his wheelchair.
Glass bones shining, Raul thought, seeing that his father was mere bones, sunken eyes, perhaps accented by his new glasses. Fernando stretched out his bony fingers toward the fire and sighed.
"The cold spell will help the corn," he said, his voice thin.
Raul could think of nothing to say.
"Nothing like a fireplace," said Gabriel, sitting down; he was tired, still fighting off his malaria; he, too, was hunting for thoughts. "Raul, I see you've had the Swiss clock repaired. I've always liked it."
"I brought it back from the jeweler's last week," Raul said.
All three eyed the clock on the mantel, a white marble clock veined with black, thin and tall.
"Humph ... you had your clock repaired, what of it?" Fernando said.
Raul and Gabriel waited, ill at ease.