“I’m great, Gabriel. Thanks for asking. So”—I rock on my toes back and forth, feeling antsy—“what brings you to La Mariposa? Here for lunch?”
“As much as I love Roberto’s media noches, I’m actually here on business.”
“Oh, is that so?” I try to act as blissfully unaware as possible, but I know exactly why he’s here. I’ve been anxiously waiting for this day for months. I brace myself for the dreaded words. The ones I know are coming.
“Your last check bounced, mija. So that’s three months now that you haven’t paid rent.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Here, let me write you another check—I promise it won’t bounce this time!” I quickly reach into my bag and pull out my wallet, slowly unzipping it, trying to hold back tears.
“Isa—” He pauses for a moment. “Maybe if you stopped spending money on designer bags and wallets, you’d have money for the rent.”
I stiffen, my fingers tightening around my Marc Jacobs wallet. “It’s not like that. I… I had money saved—my father’s life insurance. It kept us going for a while, but…” My voice trails off as the weight of it all hits me. The money is running out, just like everything else.
I hand over the check. “This should be fine.”
“Mija, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be harsh. You know how much your father meant to me. He was my best friend. You’re like a daughter to me. It hurts me to see you struggling to keep the restaurant afloat. I’ve been putting off coming by to tell you this, but it’s been three months. I have mortgages and utility bills I have to pay myself.”
“I know, I get it. I’m sorry. If you can just give me a couple more months, I promise—”
“I have someone interested in opening up a burger shop here. They have six months’ rent to give me up front,” he says softly.
Gabriel really was my father’s best friend. He basically helped raise me—like a wacky uncle who always had pockets full of candy to share with me. Whenever he came over, he’d help around the restaurant and just crack jokes with my father for hours. Now he’s just an old landlord to me, his grey strands shining through his dark beard and hair. He’s just someone who collects our money and leaves.
“I see,” I say dryly.
“I can give you one more month to catch up. That’s the best I can do, mija. I hate to be this guy, but I’m losing money here too.”
“No, I get it. I do. I’m sorry I put you in this weird spot. I’ll have the money in a month. Don’t worry.”
How I’m going to make up three months of rent in one month is beyond me. I can already picture myself putting the “For Rent” sign on the door and losing everything my father built. But I can’t give up my father’s restaurant so easily. It’s all I have left of him.
“Well, I have to get back and open up so we can make some money for you.” I turn to walk back to the restaurant, feeling completely defeated.
“Wait, Isa,” Gabriel exclaims.
I turn around, watching him pull a white envelope from his suit’s inner pocket.
“This is going to sound crazy, but I have something for you. From your father.”
“Wait, what?”
I walk back toward him, and he hands me the envelope. It’s sealed, and the outside is blank except for my name written dead center: Isabella.
“What is this?” I ask.
“I have no idea. I never opened it. Before your father passed—you know, when he started to get really sick—he gave this to me. Told me to give it to you when I felt you needed it the most.”
I nod, feeling the weight of it. Everyone rallied around the restaurant at first, helping out, keeping it alive. But as time passed, people moved on, and then it was just me trying to hold everything together with the little bit of life insurance money we received.
“I figured it was maybe money or a hidden will with a trust fund or something. I’m hoping it is. Something to help get you and your mother back on your feet. I know it’s been tough since his death, mija. You’ve always struggled, but not like this. I hate to see it.”
I barely make out the words he says as I’m completely fixated on my name written in pen on the envelope. My father wrote it. I rub the pen marks to feel the indent of each letter.
“Thanks, Gabriel. I’m going to go now,” I say in a daze.
My heart pounds loudly in my chest. It’s been a while since I found another puzzle from my father. The last one was over six months ago—a simple necklace hanging off it. Now I wear it around my neck, hoping to figure out what exactly it’s supposed to open. Maybe the answer is in this envelope.
I tear it open and take out the letter.
