La novia does not speak English. She has no pasaporte. She has only her mother and little sisters, the father died, no brothers to protect her. The coyotes would bring her door-to-door for more money than Mario has. Many have made the journey safely by bus. Mario answers every one of la do?ita’s questions readily. But then he comes to a full stop. Here be his dragon: el patrón. Se?or Roger is a hard man, Mario offers, watching to see if Antonia will agree before he goes on to admit that el patrón does not know Mario’s girlfriend will be arriving at his doorstep to live with him.

Antonia looks back at the young face, the high cheekbones, the carved features. Eighteen, he’s told her, no older than her first-years at the college. But although he has the slender body of a boy, Mario’s eyes are those of an old soul, the brown iris almost filling the socket, only a thin white rim showing, like the sun right before a full eclipse. If she continues to stare at them, will she go blind? And small as he is, Mario could kill her, cut her throat. The disquieting thought surprises her. More and more in her post-Sam life, things previously not dangerous now seem potentially so. No wonder all religions urge followers to care for the widow. Widow. What a name. Girlfriend, novia, esposa, viuda.

And when are you planning to tell el patrón?

Mario bows his head like a penitent boy. Maybe la do?ita can help him with this?

Why would el patrón listen to me? I don’t know him. We’re just neighbors. Antonia can hear her mother’s scolding voice coming out of her mouth. She doesn’t want to berate him. He’s worried enough. But she can’t seem to help herself, some bully impulse to keep swinging even when your victim is down. And if I ask el patrón, and he says no, what are you going to do then, eh?

Mario doesn’t have to reply; what he is thinking is written all over his face. He now has seen the wing with its three bedrooms: her study, the master bedroom, and a guest room. Perhaps that’s what he was doing by taking the liberty? Checking out the accommodations for the girlfriend.

Anything else you need? she made the mistake of asking. In a similar situation, wouldn’t anyone ask as much? A Sam question. If there were any dinner parties coming up—not the obligation suppers friends and acquaintances have been inviting her to, but a freewheeling dinner party with sparkling conversation—she would bring up the question. Who do we ask for help when we’ve run out of options?

She hands the phone to Mario, then exits the room, not only out of respect for their privacy. She cannot bear to hear the happy voices of lovers reconnecting.

Do?ita, Mario calls, toward the bedroom wing where she has disappeared. Mi novia quiere darle las gracias.

Thank her for what? Antonia hasn’t agreed to anything. But how can she refuse just talking to the girl? What is the minimum one owes another? Another dinner-party question.

Do?ita, muchísimas gracias. The girl sounds timid, scared, her voice just above a whisper. And yet she has been gutsy enough to make the perilous journey north from the southern tip of Mexico—where Mario has told her he is from—the whole length of the country, over the border, through the desert, braving la migra, dubious smugglers, fellow travelers. All the dragons.

Gracias, gracias, the girl keeps saying. Her gratitude is hard to bear. De nada, Antonia replies, a more accurate rejoinder than you’re welcome: she has done nothing to be thanked for.

She considers sending Mario back on foot, across the back pasture, by the tree line, safely out of sight of the road. This might give him the message that she is not available for further favors: making arrangements for the bus ticket, picking up Estela in Burlington, getting her some warm clothes.

But Antonia cedes, as she always did with Sam, the good cop, who seems to be resurrecting inside her. A part of you dies with them, Antonia now knows, but wait awhile, and they return, bringing you back with them. So, is this all his afterlife will amount to? Sam-inspired deeds from the people who loved him?

She drives Mario home, and once there, decides to get it over and done with. She knocks at Roger’s back door, as she has never seen anyone come in or go out the front door in her thirty years on this road. When he doesn’t answer, Antonia is relieved. She has done her part.

Mario is waiting for her beside the car. He looks relieved as well. Maybe it is best if la do?ita talks to el patrón after the girlfriend arrives?

And where will you put her if he says no? Antonia asks crossly.

Just then, Roger comes out from the barn, looking annoyed, too. Maybe he’s had an altercation with one of his cows or an old piece of machinery quit or José broke it—or does Roger even need a reason? Seems he’s always cranky. The old Vermonter. Makes it easier when you can pin someone down as a type with a ringtone or label. What type would Sam be? Have been, she corrects herself. And she? The bereft widow? The whiny widow? The wise widow? What kind of widow does she want to be?

Before she’s done conveying Mario’s request, Roger is shaking his head. No, he says, n-o, same word in Spanish as in English. He glares at Mario, who takes a step back as if the fire keeping him warm has suddenly flared up.

Got enough trouble with the two of them. He better start packing.

She doesn’t have to translate for Mario. It’s quite clear what Roger is saying. A hard man, el patrón, Mario said so himself.

But the girl is already on her way, Antonia pleads.

That’s his problem, Roger says, red-faced. I didn’t give you permission, he hollers at the cowering Mario. His nostrils flare, he lurches forward, his forehead lowered like a bull going after the red cape. It occurs to Antonia how much certain people remind her of animals. If he doesn’t calm down, Roger might end up with a heart attack. What if Antonia has to drive him over to the ER? When did life become so fraught? Pre or post Sam’s passing?

Roger stomps off toward the trailer. What’s he planning to do? Throw all of Mario’s things out in the yard?

Tell el patrón that I will find her another accommodation. Mario pleads. Por favor.

Roger! Antonia calls, and when he doesn’t stop, she runs after him. Mario will find her another place.

Roger swivels on the spot, taking Antonia’s measure, in case she has a trick up her sleeve. Where’s he going to put her? Your house?

It’s Antonia’s turn to shake her head. I can’t handle something like this right now. I’ve got enough troubles.

Roger stares back at her, his eyes small and mean in their puffy eye sockets, like the eyes of the pigs he fattens and slaughters and sells at his honor store. People drive out from town to buy his bacon and pork chops, his Thanksgiving turkeys, the fresh eggs he’s not allowed to say are organic because he’d have to pay some company to investigate and certify it is so.

You’re the ones always saying everybody’s welcome. Roger points at Antonia. He must mean Sam. A few years back Roger posted a sign by his mailbox, Take Back Vermont. No use pointing out the irony: he’s now hiring Mexicans. People can be full of paradoxes when their own pockets are affected. Sam retaliated with his own, Take Vermont Forward. Needless to say, the two neighbors did not see eye to eye.

Dr. Sawyer always was the bleeding heart, Roger indicts Sam now.

Antonia feels the anger rising inside her. The man has no delicacy. Maybe no one’s told him that Sam died of an aortic aneurysm? In spite of her efforts, the big wave hits, the anger turns to tears, soul-gouging sobs of someone who has been holding back her sadness, her fears for months. Both Roger and Mario come to her, one at each arm, as if she is too weak to hold herself up.

No need to start bawling, the farmer says gruffly. The girlfriend can stay, a week tops. Just a week, he adds, when her face lights up with relief. He scowls with the exertion of drawing this kindness out from deep inside him. A miracle that these feelings persist in his hard heart. Goes to show, she or Sam would have later commented to each other. Roger’s not as much a type as we thought.

We shall see. Que será, será. Mami again. Will all the dead be resurrecting now?

Back at the house, there’s a message on her machine. Do?ita, por favor, dígale a Mario que el coyote quiere mas dinero para soltarme. The girl’s voice is shaky. Then a man is shouting. You want us to release your girl, you better wire what you owe.

Antonia keeps dialing the number, but no one picks up.

What now? Does she drive back over and tell Mario? Didn’t he say he was all paid up except for the bus ticket? Maybe the coyotes are pissed Mario didn’t buy the door-to-door package? Who knows? Mario, Estela, José—they are all residents of dragon country, no man’s land beyond the gated communities of belonging.