The top of the Hilton El Paso wasn’t quite as sacred or peaceful as Mother’s moments on that little chair with Elsie, but the idea was just the same. I had to compress all my grief and my longing into those few minutes each day. It was the only time I ever stood still long enough to let myself acknowledge all that I’d lost, and just how lost I was in El Paso.

One night, I placed a steaming hot plate of food in front of one of our regular guests. His name was Calvin Miller, and he stayed at the hotel for a night or two each week, sometimes longer. He liked to stay in a room on the highest available floor, and rumor was he was a widower, consulting on new airplanes at Fort Bliss.

I wouldn’t have noticed Calvin if I walked past him on the street. I guessed he was in his late thirties, probably close to fifteen years my senior. He was tall and wiry with a neat dark beard trimmed close to his face, and he wore thick glasses that magnified his hazel eyes. Having serviced his room, I knew he was fastidiously clean and he always traveled with piles of aeronautics textbooks. Overall, Calvin looked and carried himself like someone too clever for an ordinary existence.

“You’re not your usual self this evening, Miss Lizzie,” he said.

“Everything’s fine, Mr. Miller,” I said, as brightly as I could, but I struggled to fix a professional smile on my face. I’d been mugged walking home one night—the thief making off with my bag and apartment keys but no money, given I didn’t even have any spare change that week. Even working as hard as I was, I was barely covering the expenses on the apartment.

“You have this worry line, Miss Lizzie. Right here.” Calvin touched the spot between his eyebrows.

“Just tired, I guess,” I said, flushing. “Can I get you anything else?”

“It’s quiet tonight, huh?” he said. It was almost ten o’clock, and only a single table of businessmen remained in the restaurant, finishing their drinks. The restaurant would close soon, and then I’d start my cleaning. “Have you eaten?”

“I…uh…I usually eat when I finish my shift.”

“Take a seat, Miss Lizzie,” he said, motioning toward the chair opposite him, then toward his plate. He’d ordered his usual—steak, fries, and a side of vegetables. “Share this and chat with me.”

“Oh no, I—”

“Come on,” Calvin cajoled. “Haven’t you heard I’m a lonely widower? Your boss won’t mind if you sit a minute and keep me company. If you get in trouble, I’ll tell them I insisted.”