“Thank you. I really appreciate the offer,” I say. “But you’re saving up for college. I can’t take that in good conscience.”
“You can pay me back when you’re able to,” she says. “I know you’re good for it.”
I’ve been closeted from the world for so long, distrust ingrained into me from such a young age, that sometimes it still shocked me that there are such genuinely kind and generous people out there.
People like Sara.
“I can’t, Sara,” I say. “I love you for offering, but I’m good.”
The stash of money I’d taken with me from Aracelia’s has dwindled fast. No matter how sparing I am, it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. This job helps slow the flow somewhat, but even then, my tattered envelope filled with bills has been getting thinner and thinner.
I never realized how expensive the simple act of living could be.
After leaving Aracelia’s house in the nameless village near Picacho del Diablo, I’d ditched the car on the side of the road and taken a bus into this grimy Mexican border town outside of Tijuana.
It checked all my boxes: anonymous, transient, and out of the way.
Perfect.
Not exactly paradise. But it’s the best place I could find to have my baby. It had taken me a day to find a cheap place to stay, a one-room apartment that cost me first and last months’ rate plus a hefty security deposit and an uncomfortable brusque conversation with the chain-smoking landlord to secure.
It isn’t anything to write home about. The bed is pushed to one side of the wall next to the kitchen and the shower is separated from the rest of the space by a plastic curtain.
To make matters worse, the toilet is located outside my apartment and I share it with the tenants in the two apartments down from mine.
But for the price—and more importantly, for not having to divulge a single piece of personal information—I’ve been willing to put up with all that.
It took me a little longer to find a job. No one was willing to hire a pregnant girl. Ruby at the diner was the only one who took a chance on me.
Even with my job, though, I’ve been just scraping by, hanging on to the last couple of hundred dollar bills from Artem’s stash.
How much longer can I live like this, I wonder?
“Emily?”
“Yes?” I say, looking up at Sara’s big blue eyes.
“I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” she murmurs, much to my surprise. “I know there’s something you’re running from. But I just want you to know: you can trust me.”
My heart thrums chaotically for a moment.
“Esme,” I whisper.
“What?”
“My real name is Esme.”
Sara’s eyes go wide. “Oh.”
“You’re right about what you said, too,” I continue. It’s like a gushing flow. Now that I’ve started sharing my truth, I can’t stop. “I am running from something: a life I didn’t want.”
“And… the father of your baby?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Not exactly. We wanted different things,” I answer sadly. “I couldn’t compromise. If it was just me, maybe I could have. But I have my child to think of.”
Sara nods. “Was he a dangerous man? Like the men out there?”
Either Sara is incredibly perceptive or I’m just that transparent. I take a deep breath and try to explain.
“He is more dangerous than all of them put together,” I tell her. “But not to me. He was good to me. I believe he maybe even loved me.”
She reaches out to touch my hand reassuringly. “Then…?”
“There is no separating work from your personal life,” I say. “Not when it comes to the mafia.”
“Mafia?” Sara breathes. “He’s in the mafia?”
“Something like that,” I confirm with a nod. “And he wasn’t going to leave that way of life. So I did.”
She squeezes my fingers between hers. “Thank you for telling me, Esme.”
I smile. “I’m sorry I lied to you for so long.”
“I understand why you did,” she says simply. “Why don’t you go back home? I’ll hold down the fort here.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s okay to accept help every now and again, Esme,” she says.
It feels better than I can express to hear her use my real name.
The weariness hits me all at once. Three months of running and hiding and scrapping and looking over my shoulder all the goddamn time. To have someone offering me simple help, with such an honest, trusting smile…
It’s overwhelming.
“Thank you.”
I give her a tight hug before we exit the walk-in fridge together. Then she offers me a parting wave and heads down the narrow corridor towards the dining area, while I turn into the bathroom.
I’m parched and tired, but I’ve gotten so used to the discomfort that I barely even notice it anymore. I splash some cold water on my face and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Ruby is more accurate than I’ve given her credit for. I look scarily thin, a fact that’s only highlighted by my massive belly.
My rent is due in a week and I’m counting on my tips to get me over the edge. Otherwise, I’ll have to dip into my emergency cash reserve, which I’ve been hoping to save for the baby.
I have no plan once the baby arrives. I know that’s as reckless as it is stupid.
But really, what are my options?
I can’t afford to hire a nanny or a babysitter and Ruby has made it abundantly clear that she won’t have me waiting tables with a baby on my hip.
What are you gonna do, Esme?
“Excuse me, sir!”
My head darts in the direction of the sound.
That was Sara’s voice.
She speaks up again. “You can’t be in here. The diner’s restrooms are on the other side of the restaurant.”
“Well, I’m already here, so don’t be a bitch about it.”
I recognize the gruff voice instantly and I freeze.
The burly man with the eagle tattoo.
Is it possible that these men are on Artem’s payroll? Or worse, are they on Budimir’s?
Are they intentionally hunting me down or is this
