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as though her parents stopped really existing. She never spoke about this with Pedro. She feared that saying the words would bring back his cries in the night. But for her, Harold became her father and her mother.
    Despite herself, she glanced at the chapel’s open doorway. Hoping Simon would appear. But it was not going to happen. Though she had never set eyes on him before last night, she knew him inside and out. And she knew this chapel was the last place on earth he would ever come.
    When Harold stepped to the podium, Sofia forced herself to turn back around. Simon was not of this place. He did not belong. And today he would leave.
    Before it was too late.

Chapter 6

    Simon showered and dressed in a T-shirt and cotton drawstring trousers that had been left for him. He returned to the window as children spilled through the chapel doors in a chattering flood. They were all dressed the same, in shorts and white T-shirts stamped with the orphanage logo of three interlocked keys.
    Simon watched Sofia cross the courtyard with Harold and Juan. The kid looked gangly from this angle, all skinny limbs and barely contained energy. Simon wished the beautiful lady would glance his way. But she remained deep in conversation with Harold. If she even noticed him there in the window, she gave no sign.
    Simon left his dusty shoes under the bed and padded down the stairs in his bare feet. Juan stood just inside the open doorway at the foot of the steps. Simon had the impression this was the kid’s favorite pose, hovering at the perimeter, absorbing everything.
    The doorway opened into Harold’s office. His was a simple room holding a battered desk, an upright piano, stacks of papers, and a slowly revolving ceiling fan. Directly opposite where Simon stood was an old-fashioned wall clock, the white enamel face pitted with rust. The second hand ticked in slow cadence around the circle. Simon heard the soft drumbeat of passing time and felt the pressure grow.
    Sofia was talking softly on the phone. She stood at Harold’s desk with her back to Simon. Her index finger traced a line down an old-fashioned ledger that lay open on the desk. Her voice in Spanish sounded lovely. Harold stood beside her, his arms crossed, his face creased in worry. Juan aped Harold’s stance, arms crossed, head cocked to one side, watching and listening with tight focus.
    Finally Sofia hung up the phone. “Why didn’t you tell me you had missed four payments?”
    “Because I don’t want you giving us any more of your money,” Harold replied. “You already do too much.”
    “You can’t run an orphanage without electricity.”
    “Tell me what the power company said.”
    “They agreed to give us two days.”
    “What?”
    “It’s the best I could do.”
    “When is the next delivery due from America?”
    “Any time now.” Sofia pulled over a calendar. “The Marathon churches are a week late in their donations.”
    “I’ll call them.”
    “No, Harold. I will make the call. You are too soft. They need to understand how urgent things are.” She tapped the ledger. “What the orphanage needs is an income of its own. In the meantime, I’ll speak with Enrique—”
    “No. I won’t have it.”
    “Which would you prefer, that I speak with Enrique or the children lose their home?”
    “Don’t say such things.” Harold kneaded the place over his heart. “God will provide. He always has.”
    Sofia’s only response was to cross her arms. The fabric of her blouse tightened as she clenched herself. “What about Simon, when is he leaving?”
    “I for one would like to see him stay.”
    “Here? But the gang might have tracked him!”
    “Pedro doesn’t think so. And you know how much the professor thought of him.”
    “I know exactly what Vasquez thought of Simon. And so do you!”
    Harold stood in partial silhouette, with the morning sun blazing through the window beside him, casting him in shadow. He was a tall man, slightly bowed by age and