“Tired.”
The answer unsettled her more than defensiveness would have.
A dishonest person might be frightened, angry, or careful.
A tired person was often someone who had been carrying the truth too long.
They left at sunrise.
Sister Lucía stood at the convent gate with Miguel in her arms and Tomás beside her. The boy had insisted on giving Esperanza a small cloth pouch filled with smooth stones from the garden.
“For the road,” he explained.
Esperanza crouched and kissed his forehead.
“What should I do with them?”
“Keep them.”
“All of them?”
He nodded seriously.
“So you come back.”
She hugged him.
“I will come back.”
Miguel stretched both arms toward her.
Esperanza held him for a long moment, breathing in the warm, clean scent of his hair. Then she returned him to Lucía.
“His cough is almost gone,” Lucía said. “I will keep him away from the morning chill.”
