She felt like an exhibit as the boy examined her from his position in the doorway.
“What are we going to do?” the boy asked.
“You’re coming with me,” Agnes said. “It’s walking weather. I hope she’s bought you good shoes.”
The sidewalks of Cuba were more like shoulders for two scenic highways than streets. Crumbling buildings sat close to the road. The faster Agnes walked, the warmer her body felt and the more her sense of purpose returned. When she looked back, Lenny followed her in his brown duffel coat and desert boots, taking in her face with interest but no emotion. Aside from a one-room schoolhouse and a claim to have housed El Brujo, the wizard outlaw who ran with Pancho Villa, Cuba had little to offer other than a dead logging industry, its ranches and the sky. The town held th
