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mugging, rape, even murder. She had read stories about crazy students who barged into dorm rooms and shot anyone in sight, and the thought that this might happen to one of her children terrified her for days after. But she never imagined her daughter would be suspected of being the person who caused another mother that kind of pain. And she knew with the kind of certainty that is unshakable that Emma didn’t do this thing.
    Mark would arrive tomorrow morning, and she felt it was important that she make some personal headway with Emma before he came. She had avoided confronting her daughter, hoping that she would open up to her in her own time, but that hadn’t happened and it was time to bring things to a head. Emma would understand. Their family tradition was never to go to bed angry, without working things out. When Emma returned, she resolved, they would go out for dinner, order some wine, and talk to each other.
    Finally, Emma appeared, looking pale and shaken. José, Raul, and Fernando, the same detective they’d met the first day Jennifer arrived, followed. Fernando shook hands with Jennifer and told her that Emma could leave, but should not travel out of Seville.
    They found a restaurant near the police station and chose a table on the patio. It was nearly 11:00 P.M., and true to Spanish custom, the restaurant was just filling up. Jennifer started to question Emma even before they were seated.
    “What happened? What did they ask you? What did you say?”
    “They just kept repeating the same questions over and over.”
    “What questions?”
    “What happened? When? What order? Stuff like that.”
    “But can you think of anything specific they asked? Was there any particular question they kept going back to?
    Emma shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m tired. I got confused.”
    “Try, Emma. It’s important.” Jennifer put her hand on Emma’s arm.
    Emma pursed her lips and drew away. “Please, Mom, stop interrogating me. Give me some space, okay?”
    They followed the hostess to a table and took their seats. Jennifer ordered a bottle of rioja to be brought over right away, then held herself in check as Emma translated from the menu. Emma decided on shrimp in garlic sauce and a Spanish omelet and Jennifer chose ham for the first course followed by the sole. “Gambas al ajillo y tortilla española aquí,” Emma said, “y jamón serrano y filete de lenguado para mi madre.” Jennifer was impressed once again with both her fluency and her self-confidence. She couldn’t help but marvel that this crisis, from which Jennifer had rushed over to save her, was the first time Emma seemed in charge and independent.
    “Your Spanish has gotten good,” Jennifer said.
    “Not really. But I’m getting better.”
    Silence again.
    “Look at how crowded this place is,” Jennifer said. “It’s eleven o’clock. When do these people sleep?”
    “They’re used to it,” Emma said.
    “But don’t they have to go to work in the morning? I mean, it’s not healthy to go to sleep on a full stomach.”
    Emma’s face registered annoyance. “Mom, you’re so
American
.”
    “Yeah, I guess I am. . . .” Jennifer sipped at her wine. She picked at the ham, but realized she wasn’t very hungry after all. They sat in awkward silence until the waitress brought the main course, clearing Jennifer’s full plate and asking with a pained look if senora didn’t like the food. Jennifer didn’t understand, but once again Emma translated, saying that her mother loved it but just wasn’t feeling well. Finally, as the waitress retreated in disappointment, Jennifer leaned across the table.
    “Emma, what’s the matter? I came all the way here the moment you called. I came to help you, but I can’t if you don’t talk to me. Are you mad at me for something? What am I missing?”
    Emma sighed. She sounded very tired. “I’m not mad. I’m glad you’re here. I said thank you for coming. It was the first thing I