Mr. Westlake, dressed in his usual dusty and patched attire, pressed Cynthia for the reason behind her unusual reticence. She offered an abbreviated version of Martha's eminent departure. He sympathized and put an arm about her shoulders.

"I never had children myself, so I can only imagine your grief. My brother Ralph, bless his soul, lost a son to the system after a divorce. His ex-wife dragged the boy to another state and he never saw the lad again. It was as if God had taken the boy to heaven." Cynthia excused herself and retreated to the kitchen, leaving well-meaning Brandon Westlake with a what-did-I-say-wrong look on his sun beaten face.

Dean followed his wife but she dismissed his concern. "He meant well. I just have to get it together. Self-pity is no good."

Dean was replenishing the coffee and setting plates for late breakfast arrivals when Maria, their newly hired helper, arrived. She was shyly paraded forward and introduced by a beaming Fred O'Connor. Maria was a wee bird of a woman-probably a teenager, Hispanic, and even shorter than Cynthia, who barely topped five feet. But unlike petite Cynthia, Maria was compact-not fat, but solid. She possessed a head of coal black hair, tied in a single braid that extended below her waist, dark eyes, and a smile that lit up the room. When Dean first introduced himself, the young lady continued with her engaging smile until it became obvious she had no idea what he was saying-even after he sputtered the half-dozen words of Spanish he knew.

Cynthia came to the rescue, taking the young girl's arm, and led her to the kitchen.

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"Guess I'd better brush up on my Spanish," Dean said, but Fred shook his head.

"Maria's not Spanish," he explained. "She's Mayan."

"Mayan? Like the Incas and Aztecs? I thought they'd all been dead for centuries!"

"Nope. There's lots of 'em left. And before you ask, she's got her green card. She's staying with her boyfriend," Fred explained.

"They've got a bunk in the back room of the restaurant where he washes dishes. He's from Laredo. That's in Mexico, too."

"I know where Laredo is. Let me get this straight. He's Mexican. Presumably, he speaks Spanish. But she doesn't?" Fred nodded, but didn't explain. "Does he speak Mayan-or whatever Mayans speak?"

"Nope. But they're in love. No need for 'em to speak the same language."

"I think that's sweet," Cynthia offered as she returned from the kitchen, with Maria trailing behind her.

Dean just rolled his eyes. "How are we going to communicate?" he asked.

"You could see if the library has a Mayan-English dictionary," Cynthia offered with a twinkle in her eye as she led Maria to the dining room, holding her hand. She pointed to the few remaining breakfast dishes. The girl understood and began to clear them.




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