Page 94 of The Mystery Guest

“It hasn’t,” I say. “It won’t.”

“No. You’ve always been stronger than anyone gives you credit for.”

I turn my eyes to Gran’s teacup in my lap. “I never had a mother. And I never had a father either. I lost my gran,” I say. I look up at the man before me. “Mr. Preston, I can’t believe it. I’ve never been happier than I am in this moment. It’s like magic. I’ve gotten a piece of my family back.”

I feel a warm hand on my arm, and it’s hard to see Mr. Preston through my own tears. “I don’t know what to call you anymore. Mr. Preston doesn’t seem quite right,” I say.

“What about Gran-dad?” he offers.

I reach for my cup and take a sip of warm tea. “Yes,” I say, resting the cup on the saucer. “Gran-dad. I like that very much.”

Just then, there’s a sound at the door, a key turning in the lock. The door opens and Juan Manuel appears, rolling in a large suitcase behind him. I jump up from my seat and rush to the door.

“Mi amor!” he says as he takes me into his arms. “How I’ve missed you…”

It feels so good to have him back. I hold on tight and don’t want to let go. I do so only when I realize I’ve left Mr. Preston on the sofa all alone.

“Mr. Preston,” Juan says as he walks over and gives him a pat on the back. “Are you well?”

“I am,” my gran-dad replies. “I’m better than ever.”

“Good,” says Juan, flashing his beautiful, bright smile. “First, let me tell you that my family says hello. If I forget to mention that, I’ll be in big trouble. My mother sends her love. My nephew sends his report card. He wants to brag about how well he’s doing in school. He also wants a dog, but my sister is against it. He’ll convince her, though, I’m sure of it. Here, look, this is a photo of everyone sending me off at the airport.”

Juan calls up a photo on his phone—his giant family, all gathered at Departures, grinning and holding up a banner that saysHasta Pronto—see you soon. There are so many of them, they barely fit in the frame.

As Juan chatters on, taking a seat beside Mr. Preston, I go to the kitchen and bring out an extra cup and a plate of treats, setting them down on the coffee table.

“Molly, look at this one,” Juan says as he shows us another photo. “See? My mother, she wrote you a card in English.” She’s holding it, pointing proudly. He zooms in on the open card:To my daughter-in-law,it says.I miss you and love you. Visit us soon.

“But I’m not her daughter-in-law,” I say.

“Not yet,” Juan replies, but before I can ask what he means, he starts to chirp again like a little bird, going on about how much he missed me and how nice it was to see his family but how great it is to be home.

Suddenly, he goes quiet. “I am rude,” he says. “I haven’t even asked you both how you are. I’m so sorry. You know how I talk and talk and talk when I’m excited.”

“Oh yes, we know,” my gran-dad replies with a chuckle.

“So? How are you?” Juan asks. “Everything good?”

I pour him a cup of tea, hoping that I won’t have to answer that.

“All’s well that ends well,” says my grandfather. “But it’s been…” He pauses, searching for the right word.

“A tumultuous time,” I say.

“Tumultuous?” Juan asks.

“Meaning: stormy, volatile, intense,” I explain. “Let’s just say that we had to contend with some very unusual vermin.”

“What?” he asks. “In our apartment?”

“No,” says my gran-dad, “in the hotel.”

“Did you get rid of them? Did you lay traps?” Juan asks.

“We most certainly did,” I say with a smile.

“In fact,” says my grandfather, “Molly is the one who caught the rat.”

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