“Two alleys over, by the dumpster that homeless guy sleeps next to. He let me use his tarp to throw over the trunk.”

If I chose that location of the many I’d found the last few months to hide my car, that homeless guy always did that for me. I didn’t know why. I didn’t ever give him money, though I had brought him some of Mrs. Jimenez’s tamales. Maybe that was it. Or maybe he saw in me what he’d seen in himself prior to his current situation.

Either way, I was grateful.

“Bien, querida,” Mrs. Jimenez approved then her eyes moved to my feet. “You walk back in those shoes?”

“Yes, but I can’t feel my feet considering I’m hungover,” I replied.

Her eyes came to mine and lit with interest, considering I’d never said that to her before and a hangover would indicate having a good time and she hadn’t heard of me having any of those before either (unless I was at her place eating tamales or chilaquiles and gabbing with her).

Thus, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to her velour, old-lady couch.

“Hungover?” she prompted.

“I did a job for Esposito yesterday,” I explained as we both sat.

“Dios mio,” she muttered, the light dying out of her eyes and concern washing in, knowing me, knowing Tia and knowing and not liking what she knew about Esposito.

“No, actually, it was good,” I told her. “The man I had to deliver Esposito’s message to…he was nice. He was…” I looked away then back at her. “He was kind. He gave me a hamburger, a pool lesson, a lot of booze and good advice.”

She studied me astutely, and considering the time of day and the obvious fact I’d just returned home in yesterday’s clothes, more than likely knowing I left out the fact he gave me multiple orgasms, and remarked, “You could use some good advice.”

It couldn’t be denied, she was not wrong about that.

“I need to use your phone,” I said words she’d heard dozens of times.

I always used her phone. This was because I didn’t have the money to have one in my apartment or to carry a cell.

I promised myself, one day, when I was out of my mess, I’d return the many favors she’d done for me and take care of Mrs. Jimenez. I just hoped she stayed of this world long enough for me to do that because it seemed this mission of mine might take a while.

“Of course, cariña,” she replied as she always did.

“And I need to talk to you,” I continued.

Her beautiful, warm brown eyes focused even more sharply on me.

“I’m packing all my stuff, getting Tia and leaving town,” I announced.

She closed those beautiful, warm brown eyes as relief flooded her face.

She opened them and whispered, “I’m so glad, Clara.”

“It’s what Buck told me to do,” I continued.

“Buck?” she asked, her head tilting to the side.

“The man I met yesterday. The one who gave me advice.”

“Well then, this Buck is a smart man,” she declared.

“You think it’s the right thing to do?” I asked.

“Querida, yes,” she answered, coming close and taking my hand. “Fresh start away from here. I can’t say I won’t miss you and your linda sonrisa, but I can say I’ll sleep easier knowing you and tu amiga are somewhere safe.”

I’d miss her too. She wasn’t only about good tamales. She was funny. She was sweet. I loved her family. And she was the closest thing I’d ever had to a grandma.

I’d been wrong when I told Buck all I had was Tia.

I had Mrs. Jimenez too.

And, maybe, that homeless man.

I smiled at her and leaned in, putting my hand on hers. “Thanks, Mrs. Jimenez.”

Her free hand covered mine and gave it a squeeze. Then she let me go, got up and walked to the wooden chest where she kept her sewing and cross stitch paraphernalia. She opened it, pulled out the top partition then dug in. She got something out, put the partition back, closed the box and came to me.

She extended a wad of cash in my direction.

I stared at it as my heart stopped.

“I’ve been wanting to give this to you for a long time. Now I need to give it to you.” When I kept staring at it and not moving, she said, “Take it,” then shook her hand at me.

My eyes went to hers.

“Mrs. Jimenez, I can’t.”

“You can. Take it.”

I kept hold of her gaze and didn’t move.

She had four kids, they loved her and took care of her, but neither Mrs. Jimenez nor her kids were rolling in it.

That wad of cash had to be her nest egg.

“I can’t,” I repeated.

She leaned down so her face was in mine.

“Cariña, you can. Not only can you, you have to.”

“But—”

“This world,” she cut me off, “is full of bad. Full of it, Clara, It’s everywhere. But even so, you’ve had more than your fair share. We must, all of us, do what we can for each other to give this world some good. I’m giving you some good.”

That despair in my belly shifted.

It didn’t evaporate, but it shifted as I lifted my hand and placed it on her wrinkled cheek and whispered, “Thank you, I appreciate that. But I can’t take it. I don’t know when I can pay you back and someday you might need it.”

“You being away from Esposito, away from Dallas Hill, taking Tia, that’s all the payback I need, querida. I have my children to take care of me and you…you, Clarita, you have me.”

I felt the tears hit my eyes.

Yes, she was the only grandma I ever had.

“Take it,” she said again, shaking her hand at me.

“One day I’ll take care of you,” I whispered, and she smiled.

“Take it, cariña.”

I took it.

She nodded, smiled, straightened, reached out and grabbed the phone. She handed it to me and bustled to the door.

“I’ll go to your place, start packing,” she announced, hand on the door.

“Mrs. Jimenez,” I called. She turned, caught my wet eyes and I whispered, “Thank you…so much.”

“Fue mi placer,” she whispered back words I had no idea their meaning, except I knew they were nice.

Then she opened the door a smidge, stuck her head out and looked side to side like she was a spy casing for bad guys. The coast apparently was clear, because she grabbed my extra key from the decorative keyholder hanging on the wall, stepped out and shut the door.

I shoved the money in my purse, wiped the wet from under my eyes and called Tia.

She answered on the second ring.

“Where are you?” was her greeting.

“Um…honey, you have caller ID. You know I’m at Mrs. Jimenez’s.”

She didn’t reply to my reply, she cried, “Enrique has been freaking out.”

“He has?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because you didn’t come back.”

This was a surprise.

“He cared that I didn’t come back?”

“I don’t know what he cares about. I just know something is up.”

Oh dear.

Something up with Esposito was never a good thing.