Rafael left on Thursday.
He texted at six: *Leaving at noon. Can I see you before?*
I thought about it. About the street and the coffee with milk and the established routine of the Tuesday mornings. Thursday was not Tuesday. But he was leaving at noon and the routine was going to be interrupted regardless.
I typed: *The bakery. Eight o'clock.*
He was there when I arrived. Not at a table. At the counter, already talking to the woman who ran the place with the particular ease of someone who had been coming here long enough to be a regular. In three weeks he had become a regular at a Cebu bakery.
He saw me and his face did the honest uncertain thing.
We took the coffees outside. The morning was the same cool quality as Tuesday and the street was doing its early business.
"I spoke to my
