They climbed out of the van riddled with bullet holes. The children stared in wide-eyed fascination at them. A handsomeman of strong build and medium stature came out of the house to meet them. His dark hair was slicked back and curled at the nape of his neck. He eyed them with a thin veil of tolerance.
“Are you bringing trouble to my home and family, Alfredo?”
“No, Uncle. We weren’t followed by the Jaliscos.”
Alejandro scowled. “You may stay long enough to rest a bit, then you must leave.” Julia caught Alejandro’s eye, and he did a double take. “No. It can’t be. You are my brother Julio’s long-lost daughter?”
“Sí.” Julia held out her hand. “My name is Julia Washburn.”
Alejandro’s dark eyes registered surprise, and something else. Fear, perhaps. “I recognize that name from my time in the States. Barbara Washburn is a former corporate attorney who had a meteoric political rise to Secretary of State, and now she’s running for President. She and her husband adopted you?”
“Sí.”
“What in God’s name are you doing in Mexico? Surely, you know?—”
“I do. I’m here at your father’s…behest.”
He understood what she meant. “Diosmío. How did he find you?”
“Mutual acquaintances. It’s a long story.”
“I must hear it.” Alejandro pointed at Miguel. “And who is this?”
“Secret Service agent Miguel Rivera.”
“Assigned to protect you?”
Julia smiled. “It’s a little more complicated than that. He’s…my fiancé.”
Alejandro’s face split into a wide grin, and he offered his hand. “Welcome, Agent Rivera. Congratulations. Please come in.”
Alejandro’s youngest children scampered curiously about their visitors. They bombarded them with questions in perfectEnglish and could hardly refrain from touching them. The sight of Miguel’s bloodstained sweatshirt scared them, though, and they kept a polite distance from him.
Julia’s aunt, a pretty, slender woman whose honey-blonde hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, glided forward as she cleaned her hands on a yellow apron. She greeted Julia and Miguel with hugs and kisses and introduced herself.
“Welcome to our home. I’m Carmen Escobar.” She glared andtskedat Alfredo and Juan. “Up to no good, I see. Please come into the kitchen. We are about to eat.”
Mouthwatering aromas wafted from the kitchen. The smell of corn, spices, flour, and a multitude of others assailed them. Miguel quickened his pace, drawn to the warmth of the kitchen that must have sparked fond memories in him. Julia’s heart lifted, too. These were her kin. Her people.Goodpeople.
The family sat in their usual places around the huge, butcher-block style dining table. It was built to accommodate ten people, so there weren’t any empty chairs. Julia knew it was crafted by loving hands, as was the furniture in the living room they passed through.
A feast lay before them on the worn table: stacks of tortillas kept warm in tin foil; homemade salsa and chips; and bowls filled with ground beef, shredded lettuce and cheese, diced tomatoes, and sour cream.
Everyone filled their plates, and Alejandro offered a prayer. As they ate, the children laughed and teased the adults and each other, reminding Julia vividly of such meals at home. Nostalgia gripped her.
Would anything stay the same if…when…her mother won the White House?
SOMEWHERE IN MEXICO
ALEJANDRO ESCOBAR’S MANGO FARM
Miguel and Julia
After they ate,Alejandro invited Julia to take a stroll with him through the well-tended mango groves while Miguel rested in one of the extra bedrooms. Knowing Alejandro was displeased with them, Alfredo and Juan stayed hidden.
“It’s uncanny how much you resemble your parents, Julia.”
“I’d like to know more about my father.”
