Going back indoors, we head upstairs. Besides the master suite, there are a number of bedrooms, each one bigger than my entire apartment back home. “Why is the house so big?” I ask Rosa after we view all the lavishly decorated rooms. “There are only a few people living here, right?”

“Yes, that’s true,” Rosa confirms. “But this house was built by the older Señor Esguerra, and from what I understand, he entertained a lot here, frequently inviting his business associates to stay over.”

“How did you come to work here?” I give Rosa a curious look as we go down the curving staircase. “And learn to speak English so well?”

“Oh, I was born here, on the Esguerra estate,” she says breezily. “My father was one of the older Señor’s guards, and my mother and older brother also worked for him. Señor’s wife—she was American, you see—taught me English when I was a child. I think she was maybe a bit bored here, so she gave lessons to the entire household staff and anyone else who wanted to learn the language. Then she insisted that we speak only English in the house, even among ourselves, so we could practice.”

“I see.” Rosa seems chattier than Ana, so I ask her the same question I posed to the housekeeper earlier. “If you grew up here, did you know Julian back then?”

“No, not really.” She glances at me as we exit the house onto the front porch. “I was very young, only four years old when your husband left the country, so I don’t remember much from when he was a boy. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I saw him here for only a short time after…” She swallows, looking down at the ground. “After it all happened.”

“After his parents’ death?” I ask quietly. I remember Julian telling me that his parents were killed, but he never explained how it happened. He just said it was one of his father’s rivals.

“Yes,” Rosa says somberly, her bright smile nowhere in sight. “A few years after Julian left, one of the North Coast cartels tried to take over the Esguerra organization. They struck at many of its key operations and even came here, to the estate. A lot of people died that day. My father and brother, too.”

I stop in my tracks, staring at her. “Oh God, Rosa, I’m sorry…” I feel terrible that I brought up such a painful subject. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that people here might’ve been impacted by the same events that had shaped Julian. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” she says, her expression still strained. “It happened almost twelve years ago.”

“You must’ve been very young then,” I say softly. “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-one,” she replies as we begin walking down the porch steps. Then she shoots me a curious look, some of her somberness fading. “What about you, Nora, if you don’t mind me asking? You seem young as well.”