"What is wrong with you?" Marisa hissed the words so Ana wouldn't hear. "I'm a good English teacher, and I'm good with the kids, and he knew that. I can't believe you think—"

"I don't think anything. I'm just trying to figure out how you ended up here."

Nate physically stepped between them, so the three were shoulder-to-shoulder on the narrow sidewalk. "I'm sure you didn't do anything wrong, Marisa." He looked at Leslie, and Marisa imagined the look he might have given her.

"Of course." Leslie sighed. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Nate turned to Marisa. "Are you and this drug lord still on good terms?"

"I quit taking his money when I realized where it came from, but the orphanage pays me just fine. He understood, and nobody gives me a hard time. Everybody knows that Ramón is my...friend, I guess. At first people were a little scared of me. I think they thought what Leslie thought—that something was going on between us. But after a while, people accepted me. I have friends there." She looked past Nate to Leslie. "Friends who believe in me."

"I never said I didn't."

"Whatever."

They walked in silence a few minutes. Nate broke it with, "Is that why you feel safe there?"

"Nobody messes with me."

"Good. That's good. Not that it's healthy to be friends with drug dealers, but if he can protect you..."

"He appreciates how well his kids are learning English. He's hoping to send them to the States for college."

"Oh, good," Leslie said. "Just what America needs, up-and-coming drug lords." She softened the jab with a wink. Typical Leslie. Incapable of saying anything encouraging.

Marisa glared at her sister. "I'm hoping the kids choose a different profession than their father did."

Nate chuckled. "You two are hilarious. Did you fight like this when you were kids?"

Marisa said, "She started it."

"Did not!"

Their laughter filled the sidewalk as they continued to walk.

* * *

THE RESTAURANT THEY chose was located near the center of the market overlooking the fountain. Like many places, it was open to the outside, just separated from the passersby by well-spaced pillars and oversized pots of flowers. Local music was piped through speakers, barely heard over the conversations of the diners and the clattering of dishes.

As soon as they sat, a server placed a large bowl of tortilla chips in the center of the table and small bowls of salsa and queso in front of each of them—perfect for little Ana, who dug right in. Marisa ordered a cheeseburger and fries and tried not to notice Nate's stare as she conversed with the waiter in Spanish.

Most of the meal was spent laughing, catching up, and shooting pictures with their phones. Nate promised to get the photos printed for her, especially the ones of Leslie and Ana, if she could share her address.