Name of the Devil by Andrew Mayne

If I initiated one, it would be politely reciprocated, but never more than that.
    I was jealous of the cat because Grandfather and Dad would absentmindedly pet him if he happened to sit near them on the couch. Of course, when the poor beast sat in Grandfather’s chair and got hair on it, he’d find himself tossed across the room by the scruff of his neck with the threat that next time it would be “ into the fireplace !”
    I watch through the window as the boy climbs onto a swing set. I’d pity him if I wasn’t a little envious of the attention he seems to get from Patience and the other staff here. I feel guilty for my envy. I had it better than most kids, I’m sure.
    â€œSome of them have parents. Some don’t. We try to do the best we can for them,” Patience explains as I watch the children through the window. “When I’m not helping Dr. Moya, I come here and teach science.”
    â€œWe have foster programs in Mexico, but they’re still quite new,” says a woman standing by the door. Her English is perfect. Short, dressed in a blouse and slacks that I recognize as being more expensive than they first seem, she looks like a plain woman—the exception being a Parmigiani watch on her wrist. Her hair is pulled back to reveal a face with simple makeup. She has a soft face, making her age difficult to tell.
    Patience makes the introductions. “Sister Marta, this is Jessica.”
    â€œHello, Sister,” I reply.
    Marta politely smiles. “What do you think of our school?”
    â€œIt’s quite nice,” I respond with sincerity. “The children seem very happy here.”
    â€œLots of hugs. We make sure these children are very loved.” Marta gazes out at the playground filled with new swing sets and toys. Her smile seems genuine.
    â€œThey look it.”
    â€œWhat brings you to Tixato?” She eyes my bags sitting on the desk.
    â€œI’m on vacation and a friend asked for a favor.”
    â€œA favor?”
    â€œHe’s a geologist and wanted some samples.” I feel guilty lying to a nun, but it’s important to keep a low profile. You don’t know who knows who.
    â€œOh.” Her expression changes to one of suspicion. “Are you a scientist too?”
    â€œNo, no. I’m a bookkeeper. Between jobs, actually.”
    Patience doesn’t know as much as Dr. Moya, but she knows I’m not telling Marta the truth. Although she keeps silent, her eyes narrow as I lie.
    â€œI’m sure something will come up.” She nods to the window. “Tixato may not be much, but it’s a special place.” Marta gives Patience a pat on her shoulder, then leaves the classroom.
    â€œSister Marta is wonderful,” Patience says enthusiastically. “She’s the reason this place exists. She found the money and made it possible for these children to have something special.”
    â€œThey’re fortunate to have you.”
    â€œThey’re like my little sisters and brothers. Are you close to your family?” She’d have to charge by the hour for me to tell her the full story on that. “My mother left when I was young.” I’ve used this truth before to end the conversation.
    Patience’s face turns sad. “Were you raised by your grandmother?” Her expression shows how deeply she cares.
    â€œUm, no. Mostly my dad and my grandfather. My grandmother died before I was born.” It’s an odd subject for me to address. Dad never spoke too much about his mother. He was in his teens when she died. Grandfather would mention her name in passing, but they were divorced years before she passed away.
    I think I learned from their example when it came to dealing with the absence of my own mother.
    â€œCousins?”
    â€œI never had much contact with my mother’s side of the family.”
    â€œNone at all?”
    â€œIt’s . . .” I decide not to