Tres Leches

The younger children squealed when Marisol brought out the cake.

“It’s a lamb!” cried Anna.

“It’s just shaped like one,” said Marisol, setting it on the table. “I used a mold. The eyes are gumdrops, and the fleece is made of coconut.”

“What’s inside?” asked Luiz, the only boy at the party. “Guts?”

Marisol smiled. So like his father, brash. She wished he was here.

“No, Luiz. It’s cake. Tres Leches, your favorite.”

She cut it and served the slices on festive plates, stood back and watched them eat.

Her sister Carmen squeezed her arm. “We’ll hear from him soon.”

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