“Maria Flores?” Solo leaned forward. “You’re Maria Flores, theactressfrom Guatemala who conquered Hollywood? I knew you looked familiar! My mom loved your movies. She made me watchLa Frontera Invisiblea dozen times.”
For the first time since they’d met, Maria looked slightly uncomfortable. “That was a long time ago.”
“You won an Academy Award,” Solo said, memories of time with her mom flooding back. Her mom, on the couch with six-year-old Solo curled up beside her, watching this beautiful, talented actress command the screen. “Best Supporting Actress forWhere the River Ends.I remember my mom crying during your final scene.”
“People forget,” Maria said quietly. “Time passes. That was another life.”
“But what an amazing life,” Solo said. “To create art like that, to move people to tears. That’s an incredible gift.”
Maria’s expression softened. “I had a good run. But everyone’s time in the spotlight ends eventually. And when mine did, I found I didn’t miss it as much as I thought I would.” She glanced around the café with obvious affection. “This is better. Quieter. More real.”
“You gave it up?” Solo asked. “But you were so successful.”
“Success isn’t always what we think it will be.” Maria gazed out the window and seemed to see beyond the buildings across the street. “The industry changed. Or maybe I changed. I gottired of pretending, of being someone I wasn’t. And then I fell in love with someone who couldn’t be with me publicly, and I had to make a choice: my career or my truth.”
Solo understood that look, that weight. “You chose yourself.”
“I chose love. And honesty. And a life where I could breathe.” Maria’s smile was bittersweet. “I don’t regret it. Though there are days when I miss the work, the craft of it, the challenge of becoming someone else.”
“You move people here,” Janie said, “in a very different way, through your wisdom and compassion for all the broken people who stumble into your café.”
Maria laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. “Perhaps. Though I prefer to think of it as simply being present. Anyway,” she placed her hands over Janie’s and Solo’s, “you have much better things to be doing than keeping two old women company. It is time for you to go.”
Janie nodded and smiled at Solo. “I just need the restroom, then we’ll head home.”
Maria watched Janie disappear around the corner of the counter then she turned to Solo. “Take care of her,” she said and squeezed Solo’s hand. “She’s stronger than she thinks, but she’s still fragile. The shame hasn’t fully released its grip yet.”
“I know,” Solo said. “I’m trying.”
“Don’t just try. Do.” Maria’s gaze was intense.
This was all so surreal. Janie had stumbled across a real-life Yoda. Solo had to push a giggle down, so all she could manage was a nod.
“And don’t let her mother anywhere near those children. That woman is poison.”
“We won’t.” All humor evacuated her body, and Solo clenched her jaw.
Maria squeezed her hand a little harder. “You’re good for her. I can see it in how she looks at you. Like you’re home.”
Solo’s throat tightened. “She’s home for me too.”
When Janie returned, Maria and Mirta said their goodbyeswith hugs. Solo offered her hand but was pulled into a bone-crushing embrace that didn’t match their gentle, elderly appearance, and they made her promise to come back soon. As she and Janie walked back toward the car, the late afternoon sun was turning everything golden, and Solo couldn’t help but think the weather was siding with their attempt to rebuild their lives.
“She’s amazing,” Solo said. “I can’t believe you’ve been hanging out with a former movie star and didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know,” Janie said. “She doesn’t exactly advertise it. With all the stories she tells and the café running on goodwill, I had a suspicion there was more to her background than she’d shared with me, but she obviously wants to keep that part of her life private. I think she likes being just Maria now, not Maria Flores the actress.”
“Is that why she wouldn’t accept payment?” Solo slipped her arm around Janie’s waist, and Janie leaned into her.
“Yeah. I think maybe some people pay, like tourists, but mostly, the café’s used by her community, and she wants them to feel safe and looked after.”
Solo smiled and nodded. “That’s a wonderful thing. It’s kind of what Gabe’s doing at the garage, except queer people still have to pay.”
Janie laughed and leaned into Solo a little harder. “So not the same?”
Solo shrugged and laughed too. “I guess not… Thank you for sharing your friends with me. I can see why you like it so much here.”
“I wanted to. I wanted you to see where I’ve been while I’ve been away from you and to meet the people who have been helping me. Maria’s been...” Janie paused and bit her bottom lip, clearly searching for the right words. “She became a competing voice in my head, one that told me I deserve good things and that I’m not as broken as theothervoice tells me I am.”
