6

Pace had never before been in Philadelphia. He got a room in a hotel off Rittenhouse Square, the Hotel Espíritu, and, since the auto repair shop would need two days to fix his SUV, decided to walk around and explore the city. He was on Race Street, near the Greyhound bus station, when he saw a young woman sitting on a suitcase with her face in her hands, crying. Pace stopped and asked her if she needed help and she lifted her head and looked at him. Despite her distraught condition, the woman had the face of an angel—almost oval, an unmarked, olive complexion, with large, dark brown eyes and long, thin eyebrows. Though tears ran down her face, she smiled at Pace, revealing perfect, brilliantly white teeth. She looked to be anywhere in age from sixteen to twenty-six.

“Who doesn’t?” she said. “Do you live in Philadelphia?”

“No, I’m in transit, but temporarily delayed due to car trouble.”

“What does ‘in transit’ mean?”

“I’m between here and there. I’m not sure where ‘there’ is, but my home of late has been in North Carolina.”

“You say funny things: ‘in transit,’ ‘home of late.’ You are uncertain.”

Pace nodded a little. “I guess so,” he said. “And you, are you in need of help?”

“I guess so, too. I took a bus from Phoenix, Arizona, to here, where a friend of mine said there would be a job for me. I called to the place where she was and was told she had been fired and is gone. Now I’m trying to decide what to do.”

“Do you have money?”

She shook her head. “Not very much.”

“My name is Pace Ripley. Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”

The girl stared at him.

Pace smiled, and said, “I won’t hurt you. We’re both a little stranded and in need. What’s your name?”

“Siempre Desalmado.”

“I know siempre means always, but desalmado I don’t know.”

The girl stood up and wiped her eyes. She was even more beautiful than Pace had thought. Somehow her face was both bright and dark at the same time.

“You must not believe it,” she said.

“Believe what?”

“That I am what is my name, desalmado. It means heartless, or cruel. I do not like having this name.”

“You should change it then.”

“Yes,” said Siempre, “perhaps I will. You are how old?”

“Fifty-eight. And you?”

“I will be twenty-two tomorrow.”

“Happy birthday, Always. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Later that afternoon Pace took Siempre Desalmado with him to his room at the Hotel Espiritu. He told her that she could have the bed and he would sleep on the floor until she found a place for herself.

“Why do you do this for me, Pace?”

“Because of your beauty.”

“Do you always tell the truth?” asked Siempre.

“Not even to myself,” said Pace.