“Hi,” she replied after turning back to the young man.
“Please, join us?” he said, and swept his hand back to indicate the room. His accent was slightly off, neither English nor Spanish.
“Um, no, thank you,” she said, noticing a bar at the far end of the room, the walls painted a soft orange, and the exit to what must be the kitchen. “I was wondering if I could just get a glass of water,” she said, swallowing the dry, salty lump in her throat.
“Of course,” the man said, and stepped away from his hosting podium. Almost instantly, a woman came from a side entrance with a glass of ice water. She wore a floral-print dress and black flats and was trailed by a toddler with curly black hair that bounced with her trotting steps. She was dragging a ragged stuffed elephant. The woman’s pretty face broke into a generous smile. “Bienvenida,” she said, handing Cassidy the glass.
The little girl had been muttering something, and the woman scooped her up. Her chubby legs straddled the woman’s hips, her head tucking in against her shoulder. The woman stroked the girl’s head and spoke to her in soft tones.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said after a long sip. The glass had begun to sweat in her warm grip, so she switched hands, drying the wet one on her damp shorts. “So, what exactly is this place?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
The woman did not seem surprised at the question. “We are a Jewish emissary.”
Cassidy must have looked confused, because the woman continued.
“We have kosher meals, like this.” She paused to indicate the boisterous roomful of diners. “And classes and a synagogue. We also do important community service.”
Cassidy took another gulp of her water, her eyes taking in the space.
“Would you like some latkes?” she asked, her eyes hopeful. The toddler began to suck her thumb; as if on cue, the woman immediately began to sway.
Along the hallway leading to where the woman had emerged, a poster caught Cassidy’s eye. It was partly in shadow, so the details had not been clear at first, but it was another anti-human trafficking poster. Curious, Cassidy stepped closer and read the wording on the bottom.
Cassidy had a sudden, overpowering sense of vertigo when the meaning became clear. The water slipped from her hands and landed on the concrete floor with a smash.
“Oh!” the woman said, setting the toddler down and stooping to pick up the glass. The toddler instantly began to whimper.
Cassidy joined her. “I’m so sorry,” she said, plucking the shards from the puddle.
“It’s all right,” the woman said in a kind voice, shooting the toddler a nervous look that clearly meant, “stay back.” They collected all of the glass, and the woman stepped from the room to throw them away. When she returned, she was carrying another glass of ice water. Even though Cassidy wasn’t thirsty anymore, she took it.
The man at the entrance had returned to his post, and more guests filed into the restaurant.
Cassidy’s fingers touched the logo stamped on the bottom of the poster in blue ink: Tikvah International. “What is this?” she asked the woman, who was swaying in that slow, motherly way with the child on her hip again.
The woman’s smile shifted to what looked like a grimace, but only for an instant. “That has become our most important purpose here,” she said, lifting her chin with what Cassidy immediately recognized as pride. “Tikvah International is a rescue organization. We take in victims of human trafficking and transfer them to safety.”
“Victims from here?” Cassidy said.
“From all over Central America.”
“How does it work?” Cassidy asked, her pulse racing.
“We have a hotline,” the woman answered, but her reply seemed evasive somehow, or maybe she simply didn’t know the details. “And we have a network of volunteers who respond.”
Cassidy thought about this. “My stepbrother, Reeve, made a donation,” she said finally.
The woman bowed her head. “Thank you for your generosity.”
Cassidy had used Reeve’s name on purpose, thinking the woman might show some kind of recognition, but this didn’t occur. Cassidy stared at the poster, which showed a young boy dressed in a grubby shirt, turning back from a doorway, his pained eyes crushing her with their desperation. She noted the phone number printed at the bottom. It didn’t match the one she had called earlier, but that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t a connection. Why would Reeve have donated money to this cause? He had been in San Juan to sell or buy drugs. Had he needed a way to offload some cash? Had he eaten here and been inspired somehow by this very poster to make a donation? That was just the way Reeve’s impulsive brain worked. Or was there something deeper going on, and he really wanted to support Tikvah International’s efforts?
“Does Tikvah mean something?” she asked.
“Hope,” the woman replied. She looked so peaceful standing there with the child cuddled close to her body and her life’s purpose laid bare that Cassidy had to look away.
“Thanks for the water,” Cassidy said, putting down her glass on a nearby table.
“Come back anytime,” the woman said.
Cassidy looked both ways before stepping outside, but the arguing men were gone, and the setting sun had turned the streets dark. She hurried along the sidewalk, her mind turning the facts over and over. So, Reeve had paid money to a Jewish rescue organization—why? Could Reeve have been involved in human trafficking somehow, and supporting Tikvah International was some kind of atonement? Cassidy shook her head. No. That was too far-fetched, even for Reeve.
She thought it through again from the beginning. Reeve made a donation from Costa Rica, and then he boarded the boat. After arriving in San Juan,
