“Gracias, Eduardo.” I nodded at the student who helped me carry my groceries to the small apartment the school had assigned to me for my stay.

He stared at me with wide, rapt eyes, a blush staining his dusky cheeks pink. The crush he had was so honest, so raw. I had almost refused his help when he saw me leaving the small grocery store where I picked up what I needed for the week. It’s his earnest smile that got me. It was too endearing. And then he insisted that he wanted to work on his Inglés, especially the pronunciation. And he gave me a nervous but joking grin and said he could help me with some of the Spanish words that seemed to be a bit harder for me.

I think he was worried about offending me with poor grammar, but his English was already better than my Spanish, and I’d studied it for four years. I even told him as much. But he explained that his English needed to be perfect if he wanted to be a writer.

So, I caved.

We walked and talked. He asked questions, and I answered.

And I made a point of ignoring that wide, sweet smile.

He was a sweet kid with a heart of gold.

A kid with an innocent crush.

Puppy love. Unacknowledged on my part, to keep the right amount of professional distance without alienating him as a student.

“Do you have…uh…a boyfriend back home in Canada?” he asked, passing me the bags he carried after I put mine down just inside the door.

I knew I was insane when Mac flashed through my mind just then. More than a month had passed since that long, hot night we spent twisting up the sheets in my hotel room.

And I was still thinking about him.

More often than not, I spent each night twisting up the sheets all by myself when I tossed and turned, dreaming about him.

“No, Eduardo.” Shaking my head, I clicked my tongue. “No boyfriend. I’ve been too busy studying and getting ready for this trip.”

“You should always make time for fun, Señora Halliwell.” The smile fell from his face and he gave me a look that belied his youth. “Mi padre, he died two years ago. He spent most of his life working, then he had a heart attack. But he spent time with my brothers and me, and my mama. They would sing and dance. We have good memories of him. You can’t spend your life only working.”

“You’re awful smart for someone so young, Eduardo.”

I resisted the urge to ruffle his hair the way I did for my younger cousins. I already knew he was the oldest boy in his household now. His older brother had left home and gotten married. There were a few younger siblings at home, and a cousin I thought, a girl, but she was killed in a violent home invasion, he’d told me. He hadn’t gone into detail, but the way he reacted when news about some of the violence that plagued the city came up told me everything I needed to know. Eduardo was the man of the house now. That was a big deal in his culture. I couldn’t insult his pride by ruffling his hair.

When my phone rang just then, he excused himself and ducked away to return home. I slipped inside and locked the door, bracing my back against it before sinking down to the floor.

I eyed the name on the screen and sighed.

“Hello, darling…how are you doing? Are you eating well? You’re drinking only bottled water, right?” I drawled the way my mom did whenever she spoke to me, mimicking my prediction of the first few sentences of the coming conversation before I accepted the call.

“Darling. It’s your mother.” Evangeline Halliwell greeted me this way every time. Like I couldn’t recognize her voice.

“Hello, Mom.” Suppressing a grin, I eyed the cloth bags of groceries.

“How are things going in Mexico City? Are you eating well? I hope you’re still only drinking bottled water. They have some issues with public water in so many parts of Mexico. It’s awful, worse than some third world countries.”

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “I know, Mom.” Not that she was wrong. There was bottled water in the bags I just lugged from the grocery. The school was great about making sure I stayed stocked up on the necessities. They had even volunteered to handle the shopping for me if I wanted. Some of the other teachers let them, but I was here because I wanted to get immersed in the culture, not just with the school or the language, but with everything the place had to offer. I couldn’t experience immersion by staying holed up in my little apartment all day.

“And you’re eating well I hope?”

“Nope. I’m wasting away.” Patting my belly, I thought of the lunches that were served, and the big dinners cooked up by the administrators every Saturday night for the teachers and staff who wanted to attend. I’d get fat if I ate like that all the time. “I think I can see my bones…maybe you should courier down like a truckload of ice cream.”

“You’re such an impertinent little devil.” Laughter came through in her voice, and then she sighed. “You sound so happy. I guess you made the right choice, dear.”

“And you sound very confused about it. Still.”

“Your decisions are often confusing to me, even after twenty-three years, Angel. But I’m very proud of you.” Her voice softened at the end.

Tears burned my eyes at those words. “Mom…”

“Oh, hush. Listen to me. I’m getting emotional in my old age.” She sniffed, and I could picture her, sitting at her desk and dabbing at tears with a handkerchief.

“You’re not old. You’re young and beautiful, and smart.”

She laughed. “That would be you, baby. You’re out there taking life by the horns. Now…speaking of life, have you talked to Tamika?”

“I did, yesterday. She’s loving the children’s center. And the administrator is apparently rubbing her hands in glee now that she realizes she now has an ‘in’ to the Halliwell family,” I said dryly.

“She doesn’t. Tamika does. Tamika mentioned the gala and asked if your father and I would like to attend. We can’t, but I wanted to offer our support.” My mother’s voice was level. They had a practical attitude toward money and wealth, which they passed it onto me. We liked our wealth, enjoyed the freedom money provided, and were quite well-versed about its power and impact. And we were also used to people trying to play us for it.

“Tell me more about your students, Angel.”

So I did. Using the door to push myself up, I grabbed a bag of groceries and walked over to the small alcove that served as a kitchen, talking with her all the while. We spoke for almost an hour. The conversation only ended because my phone battery was so drained that it kept beeping and interrupting my train of thought.

“I’ll call soon,” I promised before hanging up.

Then I turned and looked at the mess I made cleaning up and tending to chores while distracted. Multitasking ought to be against the law. Empty leftover containers sat stacked on the counter, waiting to be washed or thrown out. The garbage can was almost full. My cotton shopping bags were strewn all over the place. A package of toilet paper was sitting on top of a book I’d found in the store.

“Oy.”

With a groan, I got to work on finishing up.

Now that the fridge was full of fresh, new food, my stomach was growling with a hunger that hadn’t been there earlier. I grabbed the garbage can, hauling it over. I needed to do a better job of saying no when people offered me leftovers from all of these delicious meals. Either that, or make a dogged effort to eat more of them.

At first, I tried to dump the last remaining contents into the trash and put the reusable containers in the sink so I could wash them out. But one bowl held the remnants of some dish—I couldn’t even remember what it was called. I enjoyed it when they’d served it to me for dinner four days earlier, but the smell of it now, spicy and mixed with tomatoes and onions, hit my nostrils and my belly started to roll.

Swallowing back the nausea, I snapped the lid back on and dumped the entire container into the trash. The next one was just shredded chicken, and not so bad.

I opened the next one—something with even more onions.

Dropping it, I bolted for the bathroom, making it just in time but hitting my knees hard on the tile floor. I barely managed to get my hair out of the way as my stomach attempted to turn itself inside out. Nausea hit me harder than it ever had and my throat was raw by the time I was done. I got up, believing it had passed. I didn’t feel sick, just tired. Rinsing my face off, then gargling some water, I braced my hands on the sink and gave it a few more seconds before turning to leave the bathroom.

Two feet from the kitchen, the nausea hit me again, this time like a strong fist in the gut. The smell of food was a sucker punch. I groaned, retreating back a few feet and resting my back against the nearest wall. I fought the nausea down this time, and once I had it under control, I was careful not to look at the food, or smell anything. I grabbed containers and dumped them, unopened, into the trash. Then, rushing to get it done before my stomach heaved again, I dumped the perishables I’d just bought into the fridge, bags and all. Tucked them in anywhere they’d fit.

Then I hurried out of the kitchen, pausing only long enough to grab a bottle of water.

I went straight to bed and fell down on the lumpy mattress, face first. I didn’t even remember falling asleep.

* * *

A loud knock woke me.

Confused, I sat up, pushing my hair back from my face.

The knock came again.

“Señora Halliwell…Angel! Angel, it’s Lupita. Your friend from school!”

That worry in her voice did more to clear the fog from my brain than anything else. I lurched out of bed, only vaguely noticing I was still wearing the clothes I put on earlier to go to the market. I had no idea how long I’d been asleep, but it couldn’t have been too long. It was still light out.

Opening the door, I saw Lupita there, hand upraised, ready to knock again. “What’s wrong?”

She blinked at me. Then her eyes ran over me from head to toe. “Wait…Angel, are you ill?”

“I…well, I felt a little sick.” A lot sick. “But I lay down for a little while. I feel better now. Why, what’s wrong?”

She glanced around, then said, “Well, you didn’t show up at the school. Mama is teaching your class. Everyone is worried for you.”

“Teaching? But…” Bewildered, I looked over at the clock on the wall. The time didn’t make sense. Had the batteries died? I left for the store a little before four, gotten back right at five. The clock on the wall was telling me that it was ten. But if it was ten, it should be dark out—

“Shit!”

Clapping a hand to my forehead, I spun around and hurried into the kitchen. Lupita followed after me. “You said you were feeling this way yesterday?”

Yesterday. I’d gone and slept for almost seventeen hours. “Yes.”

Spying my phone on the counter, I snatched it from the charger and pressed my thumb to the home key, bringing it to life. The date glared at me, a mocking reminder. I most definitely had slept all through the night. No wonder I felt sleep drunk.

Groaning, I turned to meet Lupita’s eyes, but she was staring into my fridge. With a puzzled frown, she asked, “Why do you have bags in there, Angel?”

“It’s a long story.” Sighing, I passed a hand back over my hair. “I was cleaning out the fridge when I started to feel a little nauseous.” Not a little. “By the time it was over, I was so tired, I didn’t have the energy to mess with anything. I just pushed everything into the fridge. I thought I’d nap for an hour or two, and that’d be it.”

Lupita closed the fridge again, and was studying me now with curious eyes. “Are you well enough to come in and teach today? Or do you think you need the day off?”

“Oh, I feel fine now.” Dismissing the idea of taking the day off, I smoothed my hair back. “I just need to shower.”

“And eat,” she said firmly. “I’ll make you some toast.”

“But—”

“Toast!”

* * *

Munching on toast, I walked with Lupita to the school, only a block from my apartment.

“I really am sorry about this, Lupita. So sorry.”

She brushed it off. “I was worried you had gotten hurt—or run back to the States because we were making you crazy.” She grinned at me. “But you just had a stomach, uh…bug? It’s a bug?”

“Yes. It’s a bug.” Wrinkling my nose, I said, “I don’t know why they call it that. It’s disgusting.”

Lupita grinned. “I think it’s because the microscopic organisms that cause these…bugs, do indeed look like bugs.”

I stopped and looked over at her. “What?”

She shrugged and kept walking. “I read many, many books, Angel. I love books.”

I shook my head. “You should be going to college somewhere, doing something with that giant brain of yours.”

She hooked her arm through mine. “I am doing something. I work here at my mama’s school and I help get people like you to come down here. And you help teach the little children that books are a good thing. It makes this part of my city a better place. And I help with that.” She smiled serenely. “That’s a positive thing to do with my life.”

A few minutes later, we passed through the tall, wrought iron gate attached to the chain link fence surrounding the school. I remember Lupita telling me that the money for the gate was a gift from a previous teacher. Not all of the teachers were well off, but it seemed that several of them were. The newish desks in all of the rooms were also a gift. The equipment in the kitchen was another. I was poking around as much as I could to find what could be the most useful gift—and I planned on making my parents fly down before the end of the year so I could talk them into making a donation of their own.

Just then, the school doors opened. Kids came tearing out of the school, laughing and shouting in a mix of Spanish and broken English. “You’re right.” I unlinked my arm from hers as we continued to walk. “It is a good thing.”

“And beautiful people like you help.” She nudged me to the door. “Go. Your eager students await.”

* * *

Because I knew better than to risk it, I made myself some plain and boring chicken soup that night. I went to bed early and made sure to set my alarm for the following morning. I still crashed and slept hard, but I woke up easily and felt fine. So when another one of the teachers, Nadia Gaskoff, asked me if I wanted to join her and Lupita for drinks and a sampling of the town’s night life at a cantina nearby, I said yes.

Music, munchies, and a few margaritas.

Why not?

Why not, indeed.

Once we got there, I was only in my seat for a few minutes when one of the servers walked by with a tray of fajitas. The steaming hot dish sizzled as he passed our table, leaving behind a fusion of scents.

Beef, peppers, and onions.

Onions.

I lurched out of my seat, looking around for a rest room in a panic but I couldn’t find one. The only thing I could find was the front door, so I rushed toward it. I crashed into another server carrying a tray of empties and couldn’t even stop to apologize. If I moved my hand away from my mouth, I was going to do something much ruder—like vomit into her now empty tray.

As luck would have it, I managed to maintain some level of control over the involuntary gag reflex that took over during severe nausea. I reached the bushes at the far end of the building before I totally lost it all and emptied my guts.

A hand touched my shoulder a minute later while I was still busy.

I swatted at it instinctively. “Go away or I’ll end up puking on you.”

“That’s a serious threat, I’ve gotta admit. But not too nice, considering we came out to check up on you.”

Recognizing Nadia’s voice, I groaned. “Thanks, but you should still go away.”

“I thought you said you were feeling better,” Lupita said, moving to stand on my other side, the two of them offering a measure of privacy.

“I was. Gosh, this is embarrassing. I almost knocked some server on his butt. Maybe I did—”

“You didn’t,” Nadia said. “Anyone who works at a joint like this gets used to drunk tourists. Trust me, they learn to dodge.”

“I’m not drunk. We just got here.” Away from the smell now, my stomach calmed. I straightened up, finally.

“True.” Nadia sighed, sounding dejected. “And now, we won’t be either. Come on, let’s get you back to your place.”

“We don’t have to go…” I looked back at the cantina.

“I think we do.” Lupita eyed me sideways. “I want to ask you something, but it might be better to ask you at your apartment.”

Groaning, I let them nag me into going home. To be honest, I was too tired for much else now.

* * *

Nadia left.

Lupita didn’t.

She made some soup, despite my insistence that I wasn’t hungry.

Of course, the moment she put it in front of me, I realized I was indeed famished. I practically devoured the bowl in two giant gulps. When I looked up and found her watching me with a faint smile, I checked my shirt. “What, did I spill anything?”

“No. I’m just…well, you said I have this big brain, Angel. I think you have a big brain, too. So, I’m going to ask you a question. If you answer it the way I think you will, maybe you’ll realize something about this stomach bug.” She sat down across from me at the table and folded her arms. Her cheeks were a faint, dusky pink and she shifted uncomfortably in the chair, looking embarrassed. “I know we’ve talked about my boyfriend before.” Her eyes fell away and she closed her eyes. “Andrew died. I came back to Mexico to be with my mother.”

I went to say something, but she held up a hand.

“This is about you. You say you don’t have a boyfriend, but have you slept with anyone?”

I blinked, caught off guard. Images of Mac flooded my mind, and my face turned hot. I was sure it was redder than hers. “Why would you ask that?”

“You throw up when you smell food. You fall asleep at the drop of a hat and sleep for hours. I think your bug is something else.” Her eyes dropped to my midsection and she made curved up and down motions with her hands.

I stared at her blankly.

“Angel, I think you’re pregnant.”