Fifteen minutes later, he left Marisa in the hotel room with all their bags—one didn't need luggage for a romantic date—and went to the lobby. He printed the directions to Marisa's village and met Luis in front of the hotel. Nate had withdrawn enough money from his savings account to make up the five hundred. Luis pocketed the money with tears in his eyes. "This will help us. You don't know."

Nate clasped him on the shoulder. "I promise to take good care of your car. I'll call you when it's back, okay?"

"Sí." He winked. "Have a good time."

When Luis was out of sight, Nate ran up the stairs and got Marisa and all their stuff. They left without checking out.

* * *

IT WAS NEARLY ELEVEN and too dark to see much by the time they pulled into Marisa's village. The village seemed to be a couple of streets of one-story, flat-roofed buildings. The main street was gravel, but the rest looked like packed dirt. On the right was an old Spanish mission with an arched facade, an ancient door, and what looked like a belfry on top.

"That's the orphanage," Marisa said.

"It's beautiful."

"It's old. They've remodeled it over the years, but the chapel is still intact. The rest is offices, a cafeteria. They've built dormitories on the back."

He drove slowly past and wished he could see it in the daylight. Wished he were there as a tourist instead of this.

"Make a U-turn. We'll park on the other side."

He did, and she pointed to a house directly across from the mission. "Right there."

"Um, just...on the street?"

"Yeah. That's my house."

He took in the squat, concrete building that shared walls with the houses on either side. There was no driveway, no sidewalk. He pulled over where she directed, and they both stepped out and stretched after the long drive.

"Quiet town," he said.

"People work hard here. They sleep at night."

"Of course. It's...quaint." Well, he thought it might be, anyway.

"The people are wonderful."

She pushed open the door and flipped on the overhead light, which glowed yellow in the dark space.

"It's not locked?"

"It doesn't have a real lock." She stepped inside and showed him a jury-rigged lever that pivoted into a wooden support on the door frame.

"At least you're safe when you're at home."

"Normalmente."

He smiled at her slip into Spanish.

"Sorry. Usually."

"I figured it out."

She squatted on the floor and lifted one of the rotting boards. She dug inside the hole and handed him the items she retrieved. A passport, a wallet that held her expired New York driver's license, and some old credit cards. He checked the passport, just in case. Not expired, thank God.

She stood and brushed off her dress. "I told you."

"Just double-checking. Were you planning to come home?"

"I always hoped... I never imagined this, not in my worst nightmares."