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SEAN
I’m a heathen. How did I become corrupt enough to make eyes at a woman of God? It’s probably written on stone tablets near a burning bush—Thou Shalt Not Flirt with Nuns. Lord, forgive me. My only excuse is I keep forgetting she’s a nun.
Especially here in the bright town square, moments after seeing said nun attempt to take on not one but two armed assailants.
Trying to resolve the conflicting natures of Sister Dee, I watch as she introduces us to the refugee woman. The woman, a girl really, answers with her name, Rosa Bella, and that of her tear-stained son, Carlos.
Dee picks up the woman’s begging bowl. “Will you come with me to the soup kitchen? I can get you something to eat and maybe see if there’s more we can do for you.”
Rosa looks down and murmurs, “When we lived in Honduras, we didn’t beg. My husband and I had a food cart, but things there became so bad, I had to leave after Pedro was killed by the gangs when he didn’t give them money.” She looks at her son, slung on one hip, clutching his toy, and swallows her obvious grief. “Without him there, they turned their eyes on me, so I sold the cart for this journey. Yesterday, I had my bag with all our money and our passports stolen, so now I can’t even afford a place for us to sleep, and there are people here more dangerous than those we fled from.”
A gnawing suspicion starts in my gut. I bet the men who offered her the job were also the blokes who’d stolen her bag. There’s no person more vulnerable than someone desperate for money with limited options.
“More dangerous?” Dee asks, eyeing the direction they ran off as if she’d like to hunt down the blokes. “Are they traffickers?”
Shaking her head, Rosa says, “Those men are headed north like me. They were paid by another to offer me a modeling job. They promised there would be no sex.” She hitches a slipping Carlos back up onto her hip. “I don’t believe them. I’ve heard stories of others who’ve taken El Rico Ladrón’s modeling jobs and never come back.”
“El Rico Ladrón?” Dee asks.
“These are old stories,” I say, having heard of the Rich Thief before. “Rumors, tales used to explain women who’ve gone missing after being lured away by a man the locals dubbed El Rico Ladrón. They call these womenthe disappeared.”
Dee’s lips thin out, grow tight. “Rosa, you should talk to the policia about—”
“No. Please, Sister,” Rosa shakes her head. “I don’t want trouble. I just want to get to safety.”
After a moment’s consideration, Dee gives a single firm nod. “Okay, but you must let me put you up at the hotel. At least until I can find a way to help you.”
Rosa looks stunned by the offer. I’m a little shocked, too. No idea how much money nuns make, but can’t be all that much.
“Sister, I can’t let you pay my —”
Dee interrupts with a soft look, saying, “The order I’m with has money for these things. It won’t be a problem, and this is, after all, the Lord’s work.”
Doesn’t take much for the willful Sister Dee to convince Rosa. She might not like the charity, but she understands the danger for her and her son.
In quick order, we make our way across the square to the hotel.
“Give me a moment to secure the room,” Dee says when we arrive.
Sweeping forward, she passes through the hotel’s large black gates embedded in thick, sunrise-colored walls.
Rosa sits on a nearby bench, watching her son climb out of her lap and play with his little toy.
Having decided, I see my opportunity.
Trying not to let my size intimidate, I lean toward Rosa. “Are you headed to the U.S.?”
She shakes her head. “We’re on our way to Canada. My cousin and her daughter have an apartment in Toronto. If I can get there, I can stay with her.” She looks down for a moment and my throat fills with heat as I watch her fight back tears. “But the Canadian authorities won’t let us in without our Honduran passports and getting replacements…” she shrugs, “it’s very difficult.”
I think of the journey and the miles through Central America and Mexico she’s already come. The distance to Canada? Ach, breaks the heart.
Hoping not to offend her, I open my wallet and offer her what I have, along with a card that only has my cell number on it, no other information. I say, “Take this money and the card. I want to help you.”
When she hesitates, I try to ease her worries. “I can replace the passports for you and your son.”
Carlos hands her his toy and climbs back into her lap. She does an amazing job of juggling it all. “You can do that?”
“Yes. It’s what I do.” I don’t tell her that I want to help her because I couldn’t help Sofía. Unlike today,thatfight I’d lost badly. Five against one; my odds hadn’t been great. They could’ve just shot me, but were sending a message to any who might try to interfere with them.
