After dinner, when Anna and Julia are settled and Sage is in bed with a borrowed laptop running a video game, we meet back in the kitchen. Angel and I sit at the table, but like she’s having a difficult time being still, Mrs. Perino is pacing the room. Finally, she opens a cupboard and says, “I will make us tea.”

We watch in silence, as she plugs in the kettle to boil. After a long sigh, she turns and leans on the counter to face us, and starts, “When my husband passed away suddenly, Angel was thirteen. Cara, seventeen. His death came from a stroke and it buried us under things like medical bills.”

Her hand circles to motion around the room. “Although this property had been owned by my family for so long that it was almost paid off, we couldn’t pay the bank the last few mortgage payments. Things got out of control, and we were evicted. This, for me, was a double hit, considering I couldn’t have my kitchen to bake in to earn the little money I was still making at the time with catering. I found a good lawyer who donated his time to people who couldn’t afford legal aid. Homeless people. He convinced a judge to at least halt the proceedings to sell our house. Though we could not go home, no one else could move in and he even secured our things that the eviction company had dumped out of here right onto our front driveway. During all of this, a woman had helped me get a place to stay with the kids at the Orlando Women’s Shelter. We were about to get everything turned around to where I could have our home and lives back on track, but then I had more bad luck. A blood clot was found in my leg while we were in the shelter. It was a massive one that almost killed me, and required a long hospital stay.”

“That was the same week Cara was supposed to turn eighteen,” Angel adds, and though I already knew this detail, a shiver prickles down my spine.

“My illness, and my grief over the death of my dear husband left Cara in a terrible situation. When the ambulance took me away, I was told social services had been called immediately to come pick up the two minors I’d left behind. Cara overheard that, and was afraid we would somehow be separated forever, so she convinced Angel to run away with her that day.”

For a second I’m so overwhelmed by the ongoing similarities about me and Cara, I close my eyes, because as much as I want to hear this story, I also now do not want to hear it, because Angel’s face looks so tormented.

Finally, I open my eyes and for a moment the kitchen is silent and we both watch as Mrs. Perino sets the kettle on the table along with some mugs, then returns to make up a plate of round, powdery-sugared cookies that will go with the tea.

As if any one of us is going to eat right now.

When she brings it to the table as well, and slumps into a seat Angel takes up the story. “We took off in Mom’s car. It was me and Cara—us against the world. We’d visit mom during the day, then park it in a different place each night and hide under blankets to sleep. Places like Wal-Mart or malls, sometimes fancy neighborhoods that felt safe, sometimes parks.”

“I, at the time, approved this idea because I didn’t want to see my children separated. It was only supposed to be for a few days,” Mrs. Perino whispers.

Angel busies himself with pouring out the steaming water into the mugs. “Like Sage, I was great at pretending I wasn’t scared. Cara, of course, told me each day that we were going to be okay. That she had everything handled. Only, I was old enough to know she didn’t have a clue how to handle things. I’d vowed to get some sort of job—I’d told her I was old enough to help.”

“Just how Sage does.” I take a steaming mug and grip my hands around it, and though it warms my hands to hot, a new set of shivers rains down my back.

Mrs. Perino, starts pacing the kitchen again. “Cara had been taking Angel to this soup kitchen for meals every day. That was where Cara met some people she thought she could trust. She told them her story, and the people swore they would help us figure something out.”

I say, holding Angel’s gaze, remembering how he’d asked us to dinner that first night. “These people. They were the wrong people to trust?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Perino leans with her back against the edge of the sink. “They were only good at lying and manipulating. You see, my Cara, she was so beautiful. Like you, Robin.” Mrs. Perino sighs and her eyes are going over my face. “She was a little shy. She also tried to downplay her looks and her figure. She wore no makeup, never did fancy stuff with her hair either, but even so, Cara drew everyone’s attention. She had this friendly, open way about her. This natural impulse to approach people and situations, always with the intent to make things better. Any way she could help, she had an impulse to try. Her smile trapped everyone, because when it appeared, it was like watching a rainbow be created in front of you. Her sweet voice, even with a whisper, could quiet a room. We say it so often to you Robin, but you and Cara do have similar qualities.” She points to my face. “The smile that makes people pause and look. The voice that makes people think and wonder. The dreaming, round, eyes that look inside people in this irrepressible way—that powerful way. Eyes that see through the human masks we all wear and head straight to everyone’s heart. Eyes that demand everyone do their best.”

Angel chuckles softly. “My sister believed each week we would win the Power Ball Lotto. And she’d make us spend one dollar on it, no matter what, even when we were broke. Then, every time we lost, well she’d straight away believe that next week was going to be our week. My mom wouldn’t want to give her another dollar, but my sister’s belief was so irrepressible that when the lotto came around no one said a thing. Mom would find her four quarters from somewhere. For her, we all had to simply try. To make her happy.”

“Because we believed what she believed.” Mrs. Perino nods, agreeing and even though she swore this wouldn’t make her sad, behind her soft smile and the memories now swirling in her gaze, I note she has tears glittering at the edges of her eyes. She sighs long and slow. “It’s a magical gift and it was gifted to both of you. To lift people up like that, to give them hope is so valuable.”

I shake my head slightly in protest, doubting what she sees in me, but because it’s Mrs. Perino, and I don’t want to hurt her feelings, I hold back.

Mrs. Perino passes us each a tea bag and speaks again, “The man we trusted offered us a caretaker job above what he’d said was an auto shop and a parts warehouse. It was a job that came with a nice, second floor apartment. He showed us pictures and explained how we’d have free rent if we took the position. It was to start the day I got out of the hospital and he didn’t mind that I would be weak and frail at first as long as we watched over the place for him. The deal sounded so good, and the photos were so nice, that even I was drawn into believing this miracle. The apartment wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but I could see in the photos it was fenced and safe. To go in and out you had to have a code to a sliding metal gate that opened and closed. To me, it looked very secure.”

“Too secure,” Angel, adds, not looking up from the table now. He tears open his own tea packet and wads up the leftover papers of my packaging and his into a small, tight ball. “The man offering all of the promises had created a trap. And we had been caught.”

Angel starts to dump spoon after spoon of sugar into his steaming tea like he’s not paying attention to what he’s doing. His lips thin into a grim, angry slash of a frown as he adds, “What’s that quote we’re all supposed to live by? If it’s too good to be true, then it is too good to be true. At least, that was the case with us.”

“Why?” I utter, feeling the back of my throat closing up.

Angel carries on when it’s obvious Mrs. Perino can’t. “The guy who offered the job and the apartment was the leader of a big Orlando gang. Long story short, the leader—he wanted Cara. For his girlfriend for, hell, I don’t know what. He was the kind of guy who had the power and the networks in place that made it so he could take exactly what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted. Especially if the girl was some homeless girl no one even cared about.”

“No one besides us, that is.’ Mrs. Perino folds both arms around her middle and shudders, whispering, “Especially if Cara was to become a homeless girl with no family and had only him to rely on for her life. Especially if we were gone.”

I glance between them, shuddering now, too. “You have to be kidding,” I whisper.

Mrs. Perino shakes her head. “Looking back, I’m grateful that Cara was so wonderful that even this devil-man could see she was special. And so, he wanted more from her than just one night. I suppose he wanted to keep her.” She blinks and the tears grow heavier in her eyes. “Because like Angel said, this man, he could have taken her, hurt her—done anything he wanted to her really, and done it the very first day he met her, but he didn’t. Maybe he was in love with her, if people like him are even capable of love.” She shakes her head again looking suddenly older, like the story has deflated the air from her lungs and taken the blood out of her whole body.

Angel stands to hug his mom, and then takes over the story again. “This guy—he was the ultimate psycho. Somehow, yes, he’d realized he wanted Cara, but he didn’t want me or my mom in the middle of things. He had us all so far under his spell we never saw it coming. His people were in place, helping to create this farce so that when we got to the apartment, everything was perfect, just as he’d described. He’d even had some of our things delivered there from our storage unit. He’d bought this brand-new furniture for us, had a flat screen TV already mounted on the wall and a PlayStation still in the box and a bunch of games, waiting for me, he’d told us. It was all an act.”

He shakes his head, his own eyes dimming out. “I’d trusted him enough to leave Cara there with some of his friends who’d said they were going to help her move the furniture and help her get a bedroom all in place for our mom before she arrived. He’d told Cara that he was going to take me to the hospital to pick up my mom, and we’d all drive home together. I remember the last thing Cara did for me was order pizza so I’d have something to eat when Mamma and I got back.”

Angel pushes the plate of cookies away from him. “Only, this man’s intention wasn’t to drive me and my mom back to the place at all. His intention was to get rid of me and my mom. He’d planned that Cara would be trapped inside this fenced commercial property, guarded by his people, and unable to leave or get help. No one will ever know the lies he’d planned to tell her. Lies about where we were, lies about what had happened to us…because…yeah, like my mom said, thanks to me, the guy didn’t get the chance.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I—killed him first.”

I feel my eyes go as wide as full moons, watching as Angel swallows down a huge gulp of his hot tea too fast. Like he’s welcoming the part where he’s just burned the back of his throat with it. Tears prick the edges of my eyes now, and I’m finding it hard to breathe. I try what Angel did and suck down some scorching tea.

It helps.

“Mom was out of it so she fell asleep two minutes into the drive because they’d given her extra medicine for the ride home. I remember the guy the man had along with him ‘to help’ wasn’t much older than Cara was. I remember he looked young and he was nervous as heck, but I didn’t question anything because, why would I? I didn’t notice until I realized they were driving us in the opposite direction of downtown Orlando, and we were already way down into the swamps by the wetlands below the city. I remember how the younger guy kept looking back at me and my mom in the back seat. His expression was like desperate as though he was really afraid of something which is when I started asking questions. Questions I stopped asking when the guy ordered the kid to put a gun to my head. When we parked, one of them pulled out this huge bottle of whiskey and they started drinking it. Mom stayed asleep in the back seat, and the man dragged me out and handed me a shovel. Told me to dig a really deep, double wide hole. One big enough to hold me and my mamma.”

No more air is coming into my lungs. I’m so shocked, horrified, and freaked out by this story that my neck, back and shoulders hurt from how I’ve been gripping them. My eyes have stayed so wide they’ve dried up, and the tears that want to form simply ache behind my eyes.

Like it’s too much, Mrs. Perino takes up a napkin to blow her nose, and when I try to connect my gaze to Angel’s eyes again, I can’t find them.

I can’t even find him.

He’s not in this room anymore, and what’s left is simply anguish. The look in his eyes is pure pain. I reach over and place my hands over his, squeezing them until his gaze tangles with mine. “Please—if it’s too painful, you don’t have to say more.” My voice drops to a whisper, but I keep my eyes boring into his because I think somehow I’m helping bring him back into the present. “I’m so sorry. Angel.

Mrs. Perino comes to stand behind Angel and places her hands on his shoulders. “He has to say the rest, so you can understand exactly how it got to the point where he had to kill that man. So you can know it was self-defense. So you can understand that Angel is not a murderer.”

I shake my head to dislodge the two-hundred questions I have about what happened to Cara that I don’t want to ask for fear Angel will actually start crying in front of me, and say only, “I already understand. You don’t have to go on. You don’t.”

Angel’s expression softens and he opens his hands to let my fingers twine into his, but his eyes become a mask of determination. “Let me go on. I don’t want you, of all people, to ever wonder about me.”

I hold his gaze. “Okay, then.”

Mrs. Perino adds, “We’ve repeated the story so many times. To the police, to the investigators, to the attorneys, that we’ve become almost immune to the words.”

“Almost.” Angel grimaces. His always bright eyes are so flat suddenly I feel a few tears escaping down my own cheeks.

He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I kept it together enough to follow their orders, and I dug one huge hole while they drank and drank off of that bottle.” He swallows the rest of his tea and stares down into his empty cup. “I knew when I was finished they’d take the gun and probably shoot both me and my mom, and that would be it. But I kept thinking about my mom asleep in the car who didn’t even know any of this was happening. And I thought about Cara, how she was back at the apartment with those people, waiting for us to arrive. I knew it was up to me to save them. When they were sloppy drunk, the asshole in charge finally said he had to pee. I remember the other guy came over and was trying to talk to me about something, but instead of answering, I turned and grabbed his gun right out of his hand. That part was easy, because I think I surprised him. I shot him once. He dropped and didn’t move. The other guy was on me by then. He was shouting how he was going to kill me and about to jump on me so I fired the gun on him, too. There was only one more bullet. My shot only got his upper thigh but it wasn’t enough. The guy was screaming in pain from my shot, but he had me by trapped by the throat. We rolled around and around in the hole that I’d dug. Him yelling and me struggling to breathe until somehow I found the shovel under me. I latched onto it, and I swung it at his head as hard as I could. More than once. More than twice. That’s what everyone told me.”

I swallow a gasp and his eyes meet mine.

“I don’t really remember any of that part, but I do remember what I told the policemen who picked me up by the side of the road later. I told them, over and over, that I wanted to be sure that the only person who walked out of those woods was going to be me, not the man trying to hurt my family.” His voice breaks. “Our Cara, she died that day, anyway. All of that, it didn’t save her.”

“Why? How?” I gasp out, shaking my head, not understanding.

“One of the guys that was left in the apartment with Cara felt guilty. As Cara got more and more worried when we didn’t return, the guy later confessed that he’d told her was going down. Cara got the keys to a car, and she made it out of that place. She had tried to drive to the hospital to intercept us, and she’d managed to call the police along the way but Cara… she was driving so fast she hit a lamp post. The car she’d taken didn’t have air bags, and she had never buckled her seatbelt. She was ejected.” He swallows. “Died on impact, probably while I was still digging that hole.” His low voice turns shaky. “The young kid I shot plead guilty. He just got let out after ten years. My shot put him in a wheelchair and the other man died. It was all for nothing.”

“No Angel, it wasn’t for nothing. You did what had to be done.” Mrs. Perino’s voice is also shaky. “You know it wasn’t for nothing. And Cara, she never knew and what got us through all of it was that the man never had a chance to hurt her, because he could have hurt her for years after. And, Angelino, you saved me.”

Angel leans back in his chair pulls his hands free of mine. “Even now, all these years later, it still feels like I failed. I think it will always feel like that.”

Mrs. Perino’s dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “Angel’s record has been completely cleared. But because of his age, he did do some minimal time in the juvenile detention system and had to live in a group home while I was re-hospitalized for a week. Because the man Angel killed was such a terrible man, and Angel was so young, the case was overplayed by the press. It’s a story that is now legendary in Orlando’s history. One we can’t escape. People were happy Angel had done what even the police could not successfully do, yet they didn’t want Angel in their schools. Worse, though some thought of him as a hero, they also thought my Angel had violent tendencies.”

She shakes her head, then stands to clear away our empty mugs. “The people who knew us rallied around to help. Many others in Orlando who had been horribly affected by this gang also helped. Many people sent in donations to us. We even had enough money to pay off the mortgage on this house and our bills were covered. But…Angel.” She locks eyes with her son. “He’s suffered. I had to home-school. And though he’s done well at college and has passed the LSAT so he can now go to law school, he hasn’t been able to find employment until his attorney convinced Mrs. Hildebrandt at La Belle Paris to give him a chance at a job in the parking garage.”

“Why?” I frown. “Why haven’t you been able to find a job?”

“It’s my size. And how I look. Back then, I was so angry at myself for being too puny to protect my sister, I spent every minute of high school in the gym, lifting weights and sucking down protein shakes to build myself up to this size. I also learned to fight, which was dumb, because despite how I look, and that I could win any fight, I hate fighting. Sadly, I also got these back-the-hell-off tattoos, some of which I do love, but others.” He touches his neck. “I regret the ones that are about hatred and anger, because they’re against what my sister was about. Cara, she was all about love.” He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t like them. One day, I’ll make enough money to have them removed or altered.”

Mrs. Perino nods. “Cara always said, only love can cure hate. Love was her favorite word. Which is why I’m crazy about your last name. Like, what are the chances you would come here with that last name? To me, I have to think it’s all part of the signs that Cara is watching over us. Maybe it’s silly coincidences but I want to believe all of it is true.”

“So do I,” Angel says.

I let go of Angel’s hand and jump up to hug Mrs. Perino. She wraps her arms around me tightly and through her tears she says, “Now do you understand why we’re so happy you’ve agreed to stay with us and why we have acted so strangely from the time you first met Angel?”

“Yes,” I answer, through my own wave of tears. “And even though I have to insist that all of this is only strange coincidences, I want it to be true, too. It would be so cool if…if…” I shrug. “You know.”

She nods wiping her tears.

“Thank you for trusting me with this story.”

Mrs. Perino sniffles and nods again. “And when you’re ready, you will trust us with your story, yes?”

“In a few days my story will sort itself out naturally. I’ve been worried your kindness towards us could start up trouble for you, and now that I know everything I’m even more afraid our situation could truly hurt you somehow—even more than you’ve already been hurt.”

Angel comes to wrap his mother and I both into a quick group hug before stepping back. “Robin. Robin Love,” he adds, as though testing how it feels to say my last name out loud. “After what we’ve been through, you can imagine not much could hurt us more than what we’ve been through. We’re strong and we’re afraid you will be somehow hurt if you don’t let us help you.”

“A few more days,” I insist, and say nothing more.