“Yes,” I say. “I understand. I’ve had my own troubles telling who is who.”
“And Rodney and Mr. Black,” he continues. “I no longer cared if they killed me. But my mother? My family? I was so scared they’d hurt them. And I was scared they’d hurt you too. I thought, if I just take the pain, if I stay quiet, maybe no one else gets hurt.”
His wrists are on the table, not his elbows. I’m struggling to focus on his face because all I can see are the scars on his forearms, some healed over and one or two still raw.
I point to Juan Manuel’s arms. “Was it him?” I ask. “Did Rodney do that to you?”
“Not Rodney,” he says. “His friends. The big ones. But Rodney gave the orders. Mr. Black burns Rodney, so Rodney burns me. This is what I get for complaining, for saying I don’t want to do Rodney’s dirty work. And for having a family I love when he doesn’t have one.”
“It’s so wrong, what they did to you.”
“Yes,” he says. “It is. And what they did to you.”
“Your arms. They look sore,” I say.
“They were. But today, they’re okay. Today, I feel a little bit better. I don’t even know what will happen to me, but I still feel good because Rodney is caught. And we have a candle to light. And so there’s hope.” He takes a match out of the matchbox and lights the candle. Then he says, “We shouldn’t let the food get cold. Let’s eat.”
We pick up our forks, and we enjoy the meal. I have ample time, not only to chew the correct number of times but also to savor each and every bite. Between bites, I recount every detail of the afternoon—how I sat at the coffee shop, how I waited and worried, how I saw myself on TV, how the cars screeched to a halt, how it felt to see Rodney’s head being unceremoniously pushed into the backseat of a cruiser. When I tell him about the woman at the coffee shop recognizing me from the news, he starts to laugh out loud. For a moment, I’m frozen. I can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or with me.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“She thought you were a murderer! In her shop. Drinking tea and eating a cake!”
“It wasn’t a cake,” I say. “It was a muffin, a raisin-bran muffin.”
He laughs even harder at that, and I don’t know why, but what becomes clear is that he’s laughing with me. Suddenly, I find myself laughing, too, laughing at a raisin-bran muffin without even knowing why.
After dinner, Juan Manuel starts clearing the dishes.
“No,” I say. “You were very kind to serve dinner. I’ll clean up.”
“Not fair,” he replies. “You think you’re the only one who likes to clean? Why do you take away my joy?”
He smiles again in that way of his, and he grabs Gran’s apron from behind the kitchen door. It’s blue-and-pink paisley with flowers, but he doesn’t seem to care. He loops it over his head and hums to himself as he ties the string. I haven’t seen that apron on anyone in so long; even Gran herself was too ill to use it in her final months. And to see it become three-dimensional, to see a body give it shape again…I don’t know why, but it makes me look away.
I turn to the table and gather the remaining dishes as Juan Manuel prepares the sink with soapy water.
Together, we make quick progress on the mess, and in just a few minutes, the entire kitchen is perfectly gleaming.
“See?” he says. “I’ve worked in kitchens all my life—big ones, small ones, family ones—and at the end of the day to see a clean counter makes the heart jump with joy.”
“Jump for joy?” I say.
“Ah yes. Jump for joy.”
I look at him in the glow of Gran’s candle, and it’s as if I’ve never really looked properly. I’ve seen this man every day at work for months on end, and now, suddenly, he is more handsome than I’ve ever noticed before.
“Do you ever feel invisible?” I ask. “At work, I mean. Do you ever feel like people don’t see you?”
He’s taking off Gran’s apron, replacing it on the hook by the door.
“Yes, of course,” he says. “I’m used to this feeling. I know what it’s like to be completely invisible, to feel alone in a strange world. To be afraid for the future.”
“It must have been terrible for you,” I say. “To be forced to help Rodney even though you knew it was a bad thing to do.”
“Sometimes, you must do one thing bad to do another thing good. It’s not always so clear, so black and white like everyone thinks. Especially when you don’t have choices.”