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A helpful young waitress seated us in a perfectly romantic booth tucked to one side of the restaurant.
“Want a drink?” Rodney asked.
“That sounds lovely. I’ll have a glass of Chardonnay. Will you join me?”
“I’m more of a beer kind of guy.”
The waitress returned and we ordered our drinks. “Can we order food right away?” Rodney asked. He looked at me. “Ready?”
Indeed I was, ready for anything. I ordered what I always ordered. “The Tour of Italy, please,” I said. “Because how can you go wrong with a trio of lasagna, fettucine, and chicken parmigiana?” I smiled at Rodney in a way I hoped was somewhat coquettish.
He looked down at his menu. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Yes, sir. Would you like free salad and garlic bread?”
“No, that’s fine,” Rodney answered, which, I’ll admit, was a minor disappointment.
The waitress then left and we were alone under the warm ambient glow of the pendant light. Taking Rodney in from such a close vantage point made me forget all about salad and garlic bread.
He rested his elbows on the table, an etiquette faux pas that was forgivable this one time since it offered me a fine view of his forearms.
“Molly, you’re probably wondering what was going on today. With those men. In that hotel room. I didn’t want you to go away thinking anything bad or to start talking about what you saw. I wanted a chance to explain.”
The waitress returned with our drinks.
“Here’s to us,” I said, holding my wine stem delicately between two fingers as Gran had taught me (A lady never touches the bowl—it leaves unsightly fingerprints). Rodney picked up his beer stein and clinked it against my glass. Being quite thirsty, he gulped half of his beverage before setting it back down on the tabletop with a clang.
“Like I was saying,” he said. “I wanted to explain what you saw today.”
He paused and stared at me.
“You really do have the most arresting blue eyes,” I said. “I hope you don’t find it inappropriate of me to point that out.”
“Funny. Someone else told me the same thing recently. Anyhow, here’s what I need you to know. Those two men in that room? They’re Juan Manuel’s friends, not mine. Do you understand?”
“I think that’s lovely,” I said. “I’m glad he’s made some friends here. His entire family is in Mexico, as you know. And I think he may feel lonely from time to time. That’s something I can understand, having felt lonely myself from time to time. Not now, of course. I don’t feel lonely at all in this particular moment.”
I took a deep, delicious sip from my glass.
“So here’s the thing you probably don’t know about my buddy Juan Manuel,” Rodney said. “He’s actually not a documented immigrant at the moment. His work permit ran out a while back and he’s now working under the table at the hotel. Mr. Snow doesn’t know that. If Juan Manuel were caught, he’d be kicked out of the country and would never be able to send money home ever again. You know how important his family is to him, right?”
“I do,” I said. “Family is very important. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Not so much,” he said. “Mine disowned me years ago.” He took another gulp of his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would turn down a chance to be familial with a fine man like Rodney.
“Right,” he said. “So those two men you saw in that room? That bag they had? That was Juan Manuel’s bag. It wasn’t theirs. It definitely wasn’t mine. It was Juan Manuel’s. Got it?”
“I understand, yes. We all have baggage.” I paused, allowing ample time for Rodney to pick up on my clever double entendre. “That’s a joke,” I explained. “Those men were literally carrying baggage, but the expression usually refers to psychological baggage. You see?”
“Yeah. Okay. So the thing is that Juan Manuel’s landlord figured out his papers expired. He kicked him out of his apartment a while back.Now he has nowhere to live. I’ve been helping Juan Manuel sort things out. You know, like with the law, because I know people. I do what I can to help him make ends meet. All of this is a secret, Molly. Are you good at keeping secrets?”
He locked eyes with me, and I felt the great privilege of being his confidante.
“Of course I can keep a secret,” I said. “Especially yours. I have a locked box near my heart for all of your confidences,” I said as I mimed locking a box on my chest.
“Cool,” he replied. “So there’s more. It’s like this. Every night, I’ve secretly been putting Juan Manuel up in a different room at the hotel so that he doesn’t have to sleep on the streets. But no one can know, you understand? If anyone found out what I was doing…”
