Well, I’d been on point when I told Florence and Astor that I didn’t need much.

I didn’t.

I’d been on point when I’d told them the place was small.

It was.

But I hadn’t thought it would be this small.

The entire apartment would fit into the living room of Florence and Astor’s home and still have room to spare. A renovated apartment over a garage turned into a small living space, it was a no-frills, basic-as-basic-can-get place, with only one room. There was one window in the front, one in the back and only two doors in the entire place. One was to get inside. The other was to get into the bathroom.

It was clean, which was a bonus in my opinion, because I really couldn’t afford anything better.

My landlord was an older woman who’d eyed me with an inscrutable gaze before letting me see the apartment a few days earlier. She’d asked if I was single, and for the first time, I’d given voice to the lie that would guide my life.

Widowed, I’m afraid. My husband died in the war.

She’d looked at the ring for a long moment, then nodded.

She’d accepted fifty dollars cash to hold the room until I could move in--Astor and Florence had told me to wait a few days so they could help me.

I couldn’t afford anything better, though.

I’d gone to the library afterward and applied.

To my astonishment, they hired me on the spot.

I had a job.

I had a place to live.

Things were already turning around.

Earlier that morning, Astor and Florence had given me a ‘gift’ that would let me cover the rent for the first three months, insisting I needed to have some money set aside for the baby. Their kindness undid me, but when Florence had told me that refusing it would hurt her feelings, I’d accepted, even though I knew she was working me.

“Wow…you’ll get some great natural light with those windows!”

Glancing back at her, I smiled and nodded. “Sure will!” I hadn’t understood why she and Astor had insisted on helping me move. I didn’t really have anything.

Then the truck—and Harrison—had shown up, and the bed I’d used at her place was unloaded, as well as a small dinette set, a couch, a few other odds and ends.

It had made me sniffle, and I ended up locking myself in the bathroom until I was done.

As Harrison pushed and rearranged furniture, Astor and Florence had left to run a quick errand. When they’d returned, they had cleaning supplies, curtains, dishes, and a toaster.

I almost had to lock myself in the tiny bathroom again. I fought the tears back just because the bathroom was so small, making me feel a little claustrophobic going in there.

Now, as he and Harrison worked on getting the curtains up, Florence and I washed the new dishes and silverware.

“You all didn’t have to do all of this,” I said softly, rinsing out the last glass.

“Like we wouldn’t help you get settled.” Florence dried her hands on the dish towel—she’d bought that, too—then hugged me. “Wow. I haven’t worked like that in…maybe ever.”

She went over to the couch and dropped down, letting her head loll against the back.

Laughing, I sat down next to her.

My lower back was aching some, so I could totally understand. Tired, I muffled a yawn and apologized. “I’m more tired than I thought.”

“That’s because you got a baby growing inside.” Florence gave me a misty smile and then got up. “I…excuse me, please.”

She disappeared into the bathroom.

No sooner had she shut the door than Astor sat down next to me on the couch.

“She wants a baby,” I said.

“We both do.” He smiled and shrugged. “It will happen when it happens.” He shifted and pinned me with a serious look. “I want you to take care of yourself. Be safe.”

"I'll be fine."

"I imagine…well…” He smiled a little. “You’re probably one of the most capable women I’ve ever met. You’re incredibly steady and very smart. But we live in a…” He hesitated, his eyes going to the bathroom door once more. “These are troubled times for some people, Maya.”

I shook my head, confused. “Is this…people will think I’m a widow, Astor.”

“It’s not the baby,” he said, taking my hand. The wedding ring I’d bought, a plain gold band, looked so strange on me. “It’s this world. It’s a hard time for certain people, and I get the feeling we’re coming to a boiling point, in a way.”

“I’m not following.”

He sighed and looked away, the light gold of his skin flushing. After a moment, his gaze came back to mine. “If I’m overstepping, I apologize. Let me say that first.”

“Okay.”

He nodded and swallowed. “Maya…you look like a white woman.”

It hit me then, what he meant.

“Now you’re following,” he said, nodding. “You look white…but with the last name like Cruz?”

“Spanish,” I told him. “My ancestors came from Spain. My father was born here, but his family came over when my grandparents were young. My mother’s family…well, they’ve been here for several generations, but they immigrated from Spain, too.”

“As I said, you look white. You may never have any trouble.” His jaw tightened. “But I want you to be careful. This area isn’t like Hollywood.”

Unconsciously, I looked down at our joined hands, at the light gold of my skin, a few shades paler than his.

I couldn't say that I had never dealt with racism in my life—especially lately. It seemed that in a time when things should be getting better, they were only getting worse.

The past year, I’d been told too many times I should go back to my own country, and Philadelphia was a more inclusive area than most. Just how many generations had to be ‘here’ before we could consider this our country, too? I’d been born here. Both Mom and Dad had been born here. My mother’s family had been here a long, long time.

But to some people that didn’t matter, and that was in my time.

Things in the sixties were nothing like what I was used to. A sliver of fear settled in my belly but I forced it under control.

I’d be fine, I told myself. Just fine.

“I'll be careful, Astor. Thank you for caring, though.”

He hugged me then. “You matter to both of us.”

* * *

Later that night, I settled on the couch with a book open in my lap. I had tried to read the first few lines several times over before I finally gave up.

Astor's gentle warning kept sounding itself over and over in my mind. You look like a white woman.

He’d mentioned he felt like things were coming to a boiling point, but he was wrong.

An explosion was more accurate.

Now, as I turned all of this over in mind, again and again, I thought of my parents.

What would they tell me, if they were here to give me advice?

“Get home,” I said, dropping my voice to a deep timbre, mimicking my dad’s stern tone. That was it, plain and simple. He’d want me home, and not just because he missed me. Because I’d be safer. The baby would be safer. I’d have family there to help me.

It would be the wise thing to do, assuming it was possible.

My mom? That wasn't so simple to answer.

Wise and responsible weren't things she discarded necessarily, but she understood the heart far better than Dad did. She’d sometimes joked that his heart hadn’t even started to beat until he met her.

Mom had been there when I'd cried over my first crush—and my second, and my third.

She’d know how hard it was to think about walking away from the man I loved.

Should I stay?

Should I go?

Glenn was an ache inside, but he’d proven things just weren’t going to happen between us. He hadn’t called, not even once. He hadn’t even called Florence to check on me. I knew, because I’d stupidly asked her.

Closing my eyes, I snuggled deeper into the cushions.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

But there was no answer. Just silence.