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She pointed to a town north of Mexico City, “Lecheria, that was nice. We stayed for two weeks, 14 days. Rested. Hid from the thieves. A lot of kidna...pers too.”Pilar, looking at the map, remembering, smiled angelically, “San Luis Potsi. The best. Three weeks, no fears.” A Catholic migrant shelter. About halfway through Mexico.She pointed, “This was nice too. Saltillo.” A safe haven, relatively safe, less than three hours from the Rio Grande.Pilar sighed, “Reymosa. We could see the river. But had. “I’ve never heard of you,” said Ernestine bluntly. “Dress like a tart all the time?”Grace gasped at the rude insults. “When you’re old enough maybe you will learn some manners. Shouldn’t you be in school?” she countered in French.“It’s summer isn’t it... ?” snarled the girl, who then bit her lip as if realising she had reacted too swiftly.“I thought so,” murmured Grace, sitting opposite on a large wooden carved chair.John entered, wearing very tight jeans and a white tee-shirt. His bare feet. More

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