Page 91 of Rum & Coke

“I don’t want him to take care of us.”

“You should. He saved me from Colombia. He’s a good man.”

“How did he save you?”

“Come,” she motioned for me to follow, “I will tell you while you and Colton eat.”

“He only eats waffles with strawberry jam for breakfast.”

“I will make for him. Come.”

I picked up Colton—who was still engrossed in his iPad—and followed her into the kitchen. Two plates with bacon, eggs, and toast sat at the breakfast bar. Valentina took one of the plates away, and I put Colton down in the chair. “Do you have apple juice?”

“Si.” She opened the fridge and grabbed a jug then poured Colton a cup.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yes, of course, cariño.”

I slid off the stool. “I will make myself a cup while you do the waffles. Okay?”

“Si. Colton must be starving.”

“I’m sure at any minute he will make a fuss. He’s usually had breakfast by now.” I was actually really surprised he hadn’t had a tantrum. He’d woken up in a strange bed, in a strange house. It just showed me that he was making progress with his therapy, but now, I felt as though that was all about to change. I didn’t want to be in this position to see how much more resilient he would have to be to get through this change.

“I’ll be quick. I went to the store this morning and bought everything I thought he’d eat. They just need to be heated in the toaster.”

“You went to the store this early?” It was barely eight in the morning.

She pointed to a Keurig. “Si,” she replied and handed me a mug. “I knew he would be hungry. My sons were always hungry when they woke up.”

I smiled. “You have kids?”

“Had.” Valentina paused and gave a sad smile, then resumed opening the box of waffles.

“Oh,” I breathed. I put a pod in the coffeemaker and pressed the brew button. “I’m sorry.”

She stuck a waffle into the toaster and turned to me. “Mr. Delarosa saved me.”

“He saved you?”

She nodded. “Si. Bad men came into my town and killed everyone I loved.”

“Sebastian?”

“No.” Valentina shook her head. “He took care of the bad men and gave my small town money to get back on our feet.”

“And how did you come to Vegas?” I moved to the fridge, looking for creamer. I didn’t care that this wasn’t my house. I had no respect for Sebastian anymore.

Mi casa es tu casa.

Valentina replied, “He’d just lost his father and was hurting. He needed someone to take care of him, and since I had no one, I offered to help him. He brought me here because my country is dangerous.”

“What?” I asked. “He lost his father and then went on a killing spree and gave your town money?”

“No, cariño.” She cupped my cheek. I didn’t recoil because the longer I spoke with Valentina, the more she reminded me of Sophia. “Mr. Delarosa lost his father after he helped my town. He’d always come to check on us, give us money, food, whatever we needed. After his padre died, he was sad, grieving. I was sad too, and he offered to bring me to America. I told him I would if he let me take care of him because I missed providing for my family.”

“But how can you think a murderer is a good man?”