“Your own car!” I say, giving her arm a squeeze. “Living here with your aunt, being closer to your sisters, having your own car! I say you should do it!”

  Francesca nods. “But I will need permission.”

  “Permission?”

  “From the Bernards.”

  “Who are the Bernards?” I ask.

  “The ones who take care of my sisters,” she tells me, “at the orphanage.”

  “I would think the Bernards would be happy for you.”

  She frowns. “I am not sure.”

  We're just coming into town now, and I see Ian and Sid emerging from a shop, so I call out to them. We tell them about Francesca's amazing discovery, and they're both so happy for her.

  “This is something to celebrate,” says Ian. “And I think I know just the place.”

  Ian's special place is a little roadside stop where a unique art gallery and tiny restaurant are situated not far from the ocean. From the road they appear small and insignificant, so I'm sure most tourists just whiz past. Lucky for us, since that means we're able to get a table just in time to see the sun setting into the ocean.

  Francesca tells the others a little more about her great-aunt and her generous invitation, and everyone encourages Francesca to take her up on it. But, still, Francesca seems reserved. I suspect this is mostly due to what she said about needing permission from the orphanage people in La Paz. I happen to think this is odd, but I don't question her. I don't want to disturb the celebratory spirit of our dinner, which turns out to be the most incredible seafood I've ever had.

  But later, once we're in the backseat (we ride in the car this time, since the night air is a little cold and the Jeep is not so comfy), I press Francesca for more details, using Spanish for privacy, even though Sid and Ian seem pretty engrossed in their own conversation. I want to know what kind of hold these orphanage people have over Francesca. Why do they get to determine where she lives and where she works? She tells me its because this couple has been like family to her. And they are caring for her sisters now. She says she owes the Bernards a great deal, that she can never repay them.

  It's not like I can contradict this. But I always thought orphanages were there to help children without families so that those children might one day grow up to have a life of their own—not so that they would be indebted to the orphanage forever. However, I do understand the need for Francesca to watch out for the welfare of her sisters, and I suppose that, in itself, links her to the orphanage. Surely she knows what she's doing. Still, I hate for her to miss what seems like a perfect opportunity to live with this aunt, who I think really cares about her. It feels like such a waste.

  We're back in San Lucas now, and I'm not ready to let this thing with Francesca and the Bernards go. I could be wrong, but I feel like these people have some kind of hold over her, and it just doesn't seem right to me. So I point out that it feels to me like God really did a miracle today in reuniting her with her aunt. Of course, she agrees. Then I tell her I think it's a shame she can't seriously consider Tia Lenora's oifer. And finally I ask if there is some way I can help.

  We're still speaking in Spanish, and it's quiet up front, which makes me wonder if Ian and Sid are trying to listen. Francesca's voice grows hopeful now, and she asks if I would like to meet the Bernards. Perhaps I could tell them about meeting her aunt today, and maybe that would help convince them that it could be in her best interest to make this move.

  “Si,” I agree, not really sure what I'm getting into but glad she's willing to give this a try. I switch over to English. “I'd be happy to do whatever I can to help you.”

  “Tomorrow is my day to visit my sisters,” she says. “Would you like to come with me?”

  I decide to involve Sid and Ian, explaining what we've been discussing. And they both seem okay with this idea. So I agree to go with Francesca to La Paz tomorrow morning.

  “I will pick you up at eight,” she eagerly tells me as we drop her off at the horrible little house that I now know is occupied by eight other adults who are not even related to each other but who, like Francesca, have connections with the Bernards’ orphanage in La Paz.

  “Are you sure you want to get into this, Maddie?” Sid asks after we're back on the highway. “Do you think I should come with you?”

  “No, you don't need to come,” I assure her. No way do I want to interrupt Sid's limited time with Ian. “I definitely want to do this. I mean, if you'd met her great-aunt and if you'd seen how happy this sweet old woman was to see Francesca and how nice her home is, I know you would feel exactly the same.”

  “Well, I'd be thrilled just to see Francesca move on from the Piava del Monaco.” Then Sid fills Ian in on Francesca's unfortunate job at the dysfunctional hotel.

  “It's a pity,” he says. “I know from personal experience that good employees aren't always easy to come by, especially in the hospitality industry. I would think Francesca could have her pick of jobs.”

  “That's what we think too,” I tell him.

  an and Sid decide to get a cup of coffee, and I return to our suite A by myself. All is dark and quiet when I go inside, and I'm guessing Ryan and Shelby thought it was too early to call it a night too. Oh well. As I turn on a light, I tell myself its no big deal and none of my business anyway. The suite is peaceful and serene and immaculately cleaned with everything in its place. I go over to the french doors and open them up, letting the fresh air inside.

  I sit down on one of the comfy terrace chairs and lean back into the cushions, just trying to relax as I enjoy the night air. The various outdoor lights, so carefully placed around the beautiful resort, give it a fairyland feeling—so spectacular I almost think its not real. I notice a couple quiedy strolling down the garden lanes, another couple lingering by a pool, and even some shadowy silhouettes walking along the beach. Such a romantic setting. The perfect place for a honeymoon. I cant help but think of Sid and Ian out in this dark velvet night, enjoying the ambience and each other. Although I try to curb my imagination, I cant help but think of Ryan and Shelby too. Only this aggravates me.

  Okay, as much as I keep trying to give up this relationship—I mean, the crazy idea that Ryan and I had something going on when probably it was just me—I still feel a little possessive ofthat guy. Even if Ryan and I have no romantic future, I just don't think Shelby is right for him. Call me judgmental, but Shelby seems pretty shallow, and Ryan needs someone with more depth. Yeah, someone like me.

  Get over yourself, Maddie. I quickly stand, go back inside, then close and lock the doors, and go to my room to get ready for bed. So what if I don't have a date tonight? What's so new about that? Besides, I need to get up early tomorrow anyway. So even though its just a little past ten, I wash my face and brush my teeth and set the alarm. Then, instead of obsessing about what Ryan and Shelby might or might not be doing at this very moment, I decide to pray for Francesca. I pray that God will help us tomorrow—that he will give us wisdom and discernment and direction—and that somehow he'll get Francesca on the right track. Really, this young woman's life seems to be at stake here. Isn't that enough to focus on?

  The alarm goes off at seven thirty, waking me out of a sound sleep. I quickly turn it off, noticing that Sid is still sleeping. I'm glad it didn't wake her. I tiptoe to the bathroom, take a shower, and dress. Then I go out to the living room to see, once again, it's kind of a mess. Not a horrible mess, but it's obvious someone made herself at home last night. Not that Shelby shouldn't make herself at home—I mean, it is her place, and we're the guests here. But as I observe a number of margarita glasses and several empty bottles of Corona, I begin to wonder if she might've had a party. But how could I have slept through something like that?

  Anyway, there's no time to figure this out or to straighten things up. I drink a glass of orange juice and take a banana with me as I go out to the parking lot to meet Francesca.

  “Hola,” she calls, waving to me from a faded blue car that looks like it might ve just sneaked out of a wrecking yard. Its a Toyota that I'm guessing must be at least twenty years old.

  I walk over and try not to look concerned as I peer into her questionable vehicle. There is no backseat. “Hola, Francesca,” I say.

  “You like my car?” she asks, but I can tell by the twinkle in her eyes that she's teasing. “Luxury model, ycsV

  “As long as it can get us there and back,” I say as I open the front door.

  “So far it has not broken down.”

  I wish I'd thought to borrow Sid's cell phone. But I just get in the car and say a silent prayer for safety.

  “So you say you rent this car?” I ask as I glance around the shabby interior.

  “Four hundred pesos for the whole day,” says Francesca. “Plus gas.

  She pays forty dollars for this piece of junk? I don't think our rental car is that much per day.

  “I would like to buy a car,” she admits as she enters the highway. I hear the engine straining just to get us to the speed of traffic. But she keeps shifting the gears, and finally we make it. I let out a deep breath.

  “For what you pay to rent this car, I would think you could buy one,” I point out.

  “It is not that simple.”

  “Yes, I know.” I feel guilty to think my parents bought me my car, although I have agreed to sell it to help pay for my education. Still, I'm not sure my dad will really sell it. Compared to Francesca, I guess I am really spoiled.

  “I try to save money for a car,” she tells me. “But with rent and food and helping with Elena and Victoria, it is difficult.”

  “Elena and Victoria?” I repeat. “Are they your sisters?”

  She smiles. “Si. Elena is fifteen, and Victoria is twelve, soon to be thirteen.”

  “It will be fun to meet them.”

  “Si. They are good girls. I am always so happy to see them.”

  Driving in Cabo is always a little exciting. In my opinion, people drive too fast, take too many risks, and apparently don't know how to use a turn signal. But Francesca seems comfortable, so I try to relax too. She asks me about my family and my home, and today it seems I'm the one doing most of the talking. I try to stick to Spanish, but sometimes I find myself slipping back into English. Fortunately, she is fine with both.

  “I am still excited to think about my aunt,” she says after a brief lull in the conversation. “Tia Lenora.

  “She seems like a sweet lady.”

  Francesca nods. “Si.”

  “And Todos Santos is such a pretty town,” I add. “What a nice place to live.”

  She frowns now. “But what if I cannot find work?”

  This makes me laugh. “Oh, Francesca,” I say, “I'm sure you'll have no problem.” Then I tell her what Ian said about good workers.

  “But I worry that my employer will not write a letter of recommendation,” says Francesca.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he will be angry that I'm leaving.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I need to make enough money to help my sisters.”

  I nod. “Yes, I understand, but I think you can get a job. If it would help, maybe my aunt and I could write a recommendation. We saw you on your job, and you were helpful to us.”

  She falls quiet, and I'm not sure she thinks this would work.

  “And maybe Ian could write something too,” I add, “because he's a restaurant owner. I know our letters might not mean much, but they'd be a start.”

  “I cannot believe you would all do that for me,” she says suddenly. “Why are you so kind to me, Maddie?”

  I shrug. “I guess it's because I care about you. And because I'm a Christian, and I think it's the way Jesus would treat someone.”

  “I am Catholic,” she says. “But that is Christian too, no?”

  “I think as long as you believe in Jesus and as long as he lives inside you, of course you're a Christian.”

  She seems to consider this but doesn't respond.

  Francesca points out various sights along the way. We're just outside San Jose, not far from the airport, when I notice a sign that says it's still 190 kilometers to La Paz. Now I realize that La Paz is actually farther away than Todos Santos.

  “How long does it take to get to La Paz?” I ask.

  “We left at eight,” she says. “We should be there before eleven.”

  “That's not too bad,” I say. But I'm thinking this is going to be a long day.

  “Do you like music?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  “The radio works.” She grins and turns it on, adjusting it to what must be sort of an American station—a mixture of pop and rock and rap. We sing along with some of the songs, and its not too long before I see signs saying that we're coming into La Paz.

  She turns off the highway before we get to the city limits and goes up a paved road into what appears to be a residential neighborhood. And a very nice neighborhood. Not just by Mexican standards, either. This is an upscale development, and some of these houses look huge.

  She drives to the top of the hill, where one very large, coral-colored stucco mansion catches my eye. But I'm surprised when she turns down the brick-paved drive leading toward it. This large, impressive structure is situated on an oversize but carefully landscaped lot. I'm about to ask her if she's lost, but she parks the car in a parking area like she knows what she's doing.

  “This is it,” she says as she turns off the car.

  “It's beautiful,” I say as we get out and walk up the paved path to a huge pair of wooden doors. I was expecting something more institutional looking, but this place is incredible. Maybe I'm totally wrong about the people who run this.

  “Oh yes,” she says. “It's very nice. My sisters and I were very fortunate to live here. We have much to be thankful for.”

  She rings the doorbell, and a woman in a maid uniform opens the door and exclaims when she sees Francesca. “jMija!” she cries as she hugs her tightly, welcoming her in Spanish. Then Francesca introduces me, and the woman, whose name is Camilla, switches over to English and more formal manners, saying she missed Francesca during her past several visits. She squeezes Francescas hand. “It is so good to see you,” she says quietly.

  I glance around the spacious entryway, taking in the highly polished marble floors that go off into some fine-looking rooms, almost like something you'd see on an old movie set. Very elegant. And yet it feels wrong. Everything seems far too formal for a children's home. The art on the walls and the pieces of large pottery and the colorful area rugs don't in any way suggest this is an orphanage—or that children live here. But I keep my thoughts to myself. Then Camilla excuses herself, saying she must go help serve lunch, and I tell her it was a pleasure to meet her. She seems like a genuinely nice woman.

  “Come with me,” says Francesca in a quiet voice, leading me past the ornate wrought-iron staircase with marble steps that gracefully curve up to the second floor. “The children's wing is this way.” We walk down a long tiled hallway and through a door that leads to something like a dormitory, closer to what I expected to see. “Visitors are supposed to use the front entrance,” she explains. “It's still hard to get used to it.”

  “That is Miss Hernandez's office,” says Francesca, nodding to a closed door. “She is in charge of all the girls.” We go a few doors down until she stops in front of a door with #6 on it. She gently knocks, then goes in.

  “Francesca,” says a girl who looks to be a smaller version of Francesca. I'm guessing this is the youngest sister. She quickly stands up from the bed she was sitting on and comes over to us. She is wearing a neatly pressed, pale blue cotton dress with little white flowers on it.

  “This is Victoria,” says Francesca as we go inside the room and close the door. “And, Victoria, this is my friend Maddie.”

  The girl formally shakes my hand, then shyly looks down at her feet.

  “Were you studying?” whispers Francesca, glancing at the books on the bed behind her. Victoria nods. Four single beds are crammed into this narrow room, along with four small desks, two of which are currently occupied by girls who appear to be about the same age as Victoria. The other girl is on her bed with an open book in her lap, but I'm guessing none of them is studying at the moment. There is one window in the room, too high to see out, and it's closed.

  “Shall we go?” asks Francesca, and again Victoria nods, still eying me with shy curiosity. Francesca nods to the other girls, who are still pretending to study and not saying a word. Then we go back into the quiet hallway.

  “Can you get Elena, please?” says Francesca. “We'll wait for you in the courtyard.”

  Then Francesca leads me down another hallway and out into a small, dusty play yard that's walled in on all sides. “Saturday is a quiet day,” she tells me. “A day of rest.”

  I nod and wonder what Sunday must be like. I feel sorry for the cooped-up girls I just saw. Surely they don't have to stay in their room for the whole day. I'm surprised at how small this play yard is, especaily considering the size of the house and what looked like a large lot surrounding it. I wonder what the rest of the grounds are for.

  “Francesca!” says another girl, this one taller and thinner. She runs over and wraps her arms around Francesca.

  “Elena,” says Francesca, looking at the girl's unhappy face. “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing,” says Elena, glancing at me with suspicion. Then in Spanish she asks Francesca who I am and why I'm here.

  “This is Elena,” says Francesca to me. “Elena, meet my friend Maddie.”

  Elena offers me her hand, but it seems a reluctant gesture. I sense she's not happy that Francesca has brought me.

  “Let's check out now,” says Francesca to her sisters.

  We take another door into the house. This one leads down another hallway, back toward where we came in earlier. I glance out a large picture window toward the back and notice there is a larger and much nicer yard out there and a pool. I want to ask Francesca about this, but I get the feeling I should wait. We walk past a luxurious sitting room and finally stop at a nice office, where Francesca speaks to a short, stout woman, politely informing her that she's here to take her sisters out.