As she drives by the farm, Antonia wonders how the Estela-Mario reunion has gone. On and off, she has thought of them. Did Estela catch the bus east? Who did Mario enlist to pick her up at the Burlington bus station? What is the living situation like? Has Roger relented? Antonia could turn into his place, park in front of the trailer, knock and ask, ?Cómo están? But this would be to encourage an ongoing dependency, which, like Officer Morgan with his reading, Antonia just doesn’t have the energy for right now.

Remember to take care of the caretaker, Outpost for Hope included on its downloadable checklist for families of missing persons. You’re entitled to a little TLC yourself. Antonia is missing two of the people she most loved in the world. Still, she dislikes these back-patting encouragements, entitled, deserve. You need a little me-time, a former colleague had recommended to Antonia when they bumped into each other in town. It smacks of a privileged mindset that believes itself exempt from the ills the rest of the world has to contend with. Antonia recalls the reporter in front of a devastated neighborhood in post-Katrina New Orleans noting with astonishment: We’re used to scenes like this in Haiti or Africa, but this isn’t supposed to happen here. Antonia played the clip to her classes. Does suffering hurt less if you’re poor? she asked the room full of young students.

Only the silent dark looks of her two minority students signaled to Professor Vega that they got what she was talking about.

But even though she disapproves of the attitude, Antonia finds herself partaking of that same privileged prerogative. Why should so much be heaped on her? I’m not Job, she reminds the God she only consults when she is feeling overwrought. Shades of Mami. So many promesas made and broken once it was clear God was not going to cede control. Maybe the only difference between Antonia and the blithe partakers is that she recognizes what she is doing.

And what good does that do anyone? She imagines Sam dismissing her easy exonerations. And maybe that is how he will keep coming back: periodically breaking through the firewalls of her narrow path with his insights, suggestions, questions.

And there it is, perched on top of the hill, the dream house Sam built on a small subdivision of their former lot, now left for her to inhabit alone, every detail something he researched: the awning windows that never allow rain to blow in; the doorknobs with levers instead of knobs, easier for them to handle as they grew old; the slate from a local quarry; the heated concrete floors; the CERV unit—she has no idea how it works. What normally brought pleasure, the sight of it there, quickening her heart as she approached, now brings on that ache in her chest. She recalls friends consoling her after Sam’s service, saying that the hole in her heart would heal with time. But Antonia suspects this is not quite what will happen. More likely she will learn to live with a hole in her heart.

She pulls into her driveway, hits the button for the garage door on her side, avoiding the sight of the empty space to the left of her car where Sam’s pickup used to be parked, now given away to the Good News garage up in Burlington that refurbishes used cars to donate to the needy, something she knows Sam would approve of—again, how he lives on, in her choices and in the vehicle’s afterlife. As she turns off the car, she notices the back door of the garage is ajar. In her avoidance of looking over to his side, she must have forgotten to lock it before she left home over a week ago. A burglar could have come in, walked across the space where Sam’s pickup used to be, and entered the house through the mudroom. What a good laugh Sam would have, pointing out how all her caution and precaution have again come to naught.

You never know, she always remarked, while also envying him his role as the trusting guy, the good cop. It’s not just the sisters with assigned roles. Maybe it’s part and parcel of being connected to others whom you have to discriminate a self from.

Now she hears a rustling sound from Sam’s side of the garage; an arrow of fear hits a bull’s-eye in her heart. Here it is at last: the day that she predicted, a burglar in wait for her to come home, and Sam not alive for her to tell him I told you so. But more likely it’s an animal, a raccoon or maybe a skunk, that got in somehow and couldn’t get out. Antonia turns cautiously to gaze into the dark corner, the garage door already having descended behind her. A human shape emerges from a nest made of patio-furniture cushions stacked on the floor, a big birdseed bag for a pillow. A girl or maybe a woman, hard to tell. The eyes are luminous pockets in her brown face, the black hair with strands escaping from the long braid. She seems to have been napping, and Antonia’s unexpected arrival has startled her awake.

Not a threatening burglar but a frightened girl, the smell of her now apparent, a body that hasn’t bathed in days. She stands up ready to bolt, and that’s when Antonia notices the large belly, so very pregnant that she might have come into the garage the way a wild animal seeks out a lair to give birth to its young.

?Qué te pasa? Antonia asks, some trigger in her brain telling her to speak in Spanish. The girl has to be Estela. And that’s right. Antonia counts back. Roger gave her a week’s reprieve, so this must mean her welcome next door ran out. And that belly couldn’t have made things any easier with Roger. Sly young fox, Mario, not to mention his girlfriend was pregnant.

?Estela? she queries the frightened girl.

When the girl doesn’t answer, Antonia tries again in a softer voice she might use on a frightened child. The girl hides her face in her hands, a silent weeping, not the dramatic wails of Tilly and Mona. ?Eres Estela?

The girl offers the slightest nod, her voice muffled, so it’s difficult to make out what she is saying. Something about having no one, no place to go. Es que estoy sola.

How can she be all alone in the world, when the boyfriend just moved heaven and earth to bring her all the way from Colorado to Vermont?

Tienes a Mario, Antonia reminds her. But the mention of her boyfriend brings on a new round of weeping, this time louder.

Antonia approaches slowly, concerned that the frightened girl might bolt. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s not a crime to be lonely. Ya, ya, she soothes, reaching out her hand.

five

Dar a luz

Once indoors, Antonia can see that Estela is still a girl on the cusp of womanhood. In fact, if hers had been a family of means back home, she’d probably be having her quincea?era, instead of getting herself in trouble with a boyfriend headed out of the country. Her face has a sweet, girlish roundness; her eyes, an astonishment that gives a child’s tug to the heart. She’s actually quite pretty, her brown skin so smooth and unblemished it looks polished. Antonia catches herself doing one of those Third-to-First-World makeovers she deplores in others: put on a little makeup, give her a nice haircut, dress her up in some trendy clothes, and Estela could be a model in one of those diversity-touting brands—the only problem again being the deplorable condition of her teeth, a few missing, one incisor that looks eaten away by what appears to be decay.

?Quieres algo de comer? Antonia offers. Not that there’s much in the house, as she had emptied the fridge and pantry of perishables when she left. Salsa and parmesan on crackers, for the main course; for dessert, the same crackers with Nutella—which she used to stock up on, as it was a favorite of Sam’s, all but the opened jar having gone to the local food pantry.

Just water, Estela says, downing a first glass, then a refill. After the desert crossing, she probably can’t get enough of it.

Antonia is aching to know what happened next door. Did Roger throw the girl off the farm when her week of grace was up? If so, what are Mario’s plans? But an ingrained sense of courtesy kicks in. When she taught The Odyssey, Antonia would point out to her students how being a host involved certain protocols: before all else, there was the greeting, the foot washing, the feeding. Only after the guest had been properly attended to came the payback: tell me your story.

One urgent question she does allow herself to ask Estela now. ?Cuándo vas a dar a luz?

The girl looks at her blankly. Dar a luz, Antonia repeats. Do they say it differently in Mexico? When is the baby due? She gestures a round belly, then turns her palms out.

The girl shrugs. Could it be she doesn’t know? Has no one taught her the science of her own body? But then, why does she look so worried? Perhaps she does understand but is afraid of giving a wrong answer.

It’s going to be soon enough, that much Antonia can tell. She’ll have to call the Open Door Clinic for an appointment as well as check on the hospital’s policy if the girl goes into labor. Would Admissions have to notify the authorities? Would Estela be rushed back across the border before the baby drops anchor stateside? How does that all work?

That’s for Mario to figure out, she reminds herself.