Marco emerged from the bathroom half an hour later encouraged to leave only by the cooling water. Wrapped in a massive towel he pulled the door open silently and peered into the corridor to make certain it was deserted before he slipped across into the spare room and dressed, his natural optimism returning. Grasping the banister he hobbled down the stairs and paused uncertainly, unaware which of the many doors concealed Rita. Hoping to hear a noise he could follow he listened but nothing stirred beyond the cat which rubbed against his leg.

'Hi,' he said softly, stooping to pat it. 'What's your name?'

'She's called Bell,' Rita told him emerging from behind a closed door, lifting the cat into his arms. 'You can hold her if you like, she's friendly. Are you hungry, sweetie? She probably is, you know. Come to the kitchen for a moment.'

Marco followed her along the wide hall to the opposite room, entering the largest kitchen he had dreamed a private house could possess. Expensive cream tiles lined the floor and walls laid in a diamond formation, a few patterned pieces forming a flower at regular intervals. He settled on the chair she pointed him to while she opened a cupboard, emerging with a tin boasting a picture of a Persian cat. 'Where's your bowl, Bell?' she enquired, picking it up and rinsing it.

'What is that?' Marco asked, studying the can with interest.

'Cat food. It's her favorite.'

He watched the cat intrigued as she devoured the meal, shaking his head. 'You mean you buy food for the cat?'

Rita nodded, placing the can in the bin. 'Sure we do. Should she starve?'

'No. Doesn't she eat leftovers?'

Rita burst out laughing, shaking her head. 'Bell's fussy; she'd never ever look at leftovers. Have you got a cat too?'

'We got two,' he replied, considering the difference between the manicured Persian and his own two tabbies. 'They eat leftovers and mice!'

'Mice,' she cried startled. 'Is that good for them?'

Marco placed a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. 'They never got sick from it! We saved money on mousetraps anyway. You should see them playing with a captured mouse before they kill it.'

'How could you watch such a thing?' she cried, swatting his sore shoulder. 'That's cruel. Mice look cute, they got such sweet eyes.'

'They're vermin,' he replied, unable to imagine what his parents would say if they heard a mouse referred to as 'cute.' 'They bite.'

'No they don't,' she cried, rinsing her hands after the bin. 'You're making it up, Marco.'

He shook his head seriously, eyeing the cat food with interest. 'I assure you I'm not. One bit my hand when I picked it up by the tail.' Seeing her interest he settled more comfortably in his chair, placing an elbow on the table. 'I was going to throw it at my sister,' he admitted.

'Oh please,' she cried, shuddering at the thought. 'You were horrible.'

He nodded slowly. 'I guess so. She had the last laugh. Mama took me to the doctor right away for a series of needles against rabies, just in case. I never touched another one after that! That cat eats better than some people,' he concluded, his eyes refocused on the bowl.

'Are you hungry?' she asked, cursing herself for her thoughtlessness.

He nodded. 'Sí. They brought some food but I couldn't get it down.'

Rita ordered him to remain where he was and cracked two eggs over the frying pan, making omelets with tomatoes. Mouth watering he watched her, getting up to help with the coffee. They ate together, Marco doing his best to take small bites rather than wolf the entire plateful down at once. 'You still hungry?' she asked and he nodded shyly, relieved to see her prepare another two eggs. Hearing a sound suspiciously similar to a sniff he glanced up, noting her wiping her eyes.

'Hey, Rita, what's wrong?' he asked gently. 'I'm only a little bit hungry now.'

'You're going to starve in jail,' she observed miserably.

'Sí, you're right. It's not a place where they serve the best food. Don't worry, querida, I'll cope.'

'How can you be so certain?' she demanded, laying the fresh plate before him.

Rubbing his face he risked a glance at her through his fingers, deciding to tell her the truth. 'I spent a month in jail already,' he muttered. Shocked eyes gazed into his own before she shook her head in disbelief. 'It's okay,' he assured her gently, taking her hand. 'It was in the army.'

Rita breathed easier, swallowing a little of her coffee. 'What did you do? Fight someone?'

'No. I went for a walk and I was away a little too long. You have some letters for it, but I can't remember right now.'

'You went AWOL?' she cried in delight.

'Sí, AWOL. That's what they charged me with, anyway. We were stationed up in the mountains in the south and I done my stint of sentry duty after which I was technically free to amuse myself anyway I chose till my next stint at 16:00. Querida, I wasn't much of a soldier, my sergeant was forever pulling me up for daydreaming. This time I had a map and old history book about some deserted Mayan ruins and I decided to go check them out. I was right there, after all. It took a little longer to locate this old temple than I thought as it was overgrown and there was no path, but I got there in the end. And well…I could see it, Rita, just as it had been when it was new, filled with worshippers. I'd never seen anything like it even in the books on the Mayas so I drew it on some paper, first the way it was decayed and overgrown, and then the way it would have looked, complete with a road…It was almost dark before I finished.'

She shook with silent laughter. 'What did they do when you returned?'

'I got back at dawn; it took that long to get down the mountain in the dark. I wasn't exactly my sergeant's favorite and that last stunt really pissed him off. He took me to the captain and said I should be charged with desertion, but I got lucky. The captain liked the drawings…and I did return of my own free will…he agreed I'd make a fine architect. Then he said he'd have to punish me to help me remember that a soldier never leaves his post, not even at peace time, so I got sentenced to a month in the stockade. The food was real awful till they discovered I could draw…They brought me photos of their kids and I sketched them for fresh fruit.'

'I didn't know you could sketch portraits too,' she said, frowning. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Coz I can't,' he replied, pouring himself a second coffee. 'Not well, anyway. They're recognizable but something's lacking. When I was a kid I used to draw caricatures of my teachers with hideous faces during class – they were real popular!'

'Among the other kids or the teachers?' she choked, delighted.

'The kids. Somehow, none of the teachers appreciated my efforts. The principal even called my parents in when he got hold of a picture of himself…He threatened to expel me but Papa begged him not to, so I ended up suspended. Great holiday it would've been too if Papa hadn't been so annoyed. I spent the entire three days working on the fields from dawn till dusk, apart from siesta time, of course, until I was glad to return to school!'

Rita leapt to her feet calling to him to stay put, returning moments later with a pencil and blank sheet. 'Draw me.'

Rubbing his face he shook his head. 'You're about the only friend I got right now, querida. I won't do anything to risk that.'

'Come on,' she pleaded, slipping an arm round him. 'You should know I'd never get offended.'

Drawing a deep breath he nodded, motioning her over to the window. 'Now try not to move,' he said absentmindedly, the same way he had begged all the dozens of toddlers in his tiny settlement to remain still. 'Just remember you're not gonna get mad!'

She shook her head, excited. 'Rita, don't move. Give me a smile.'

'I wish I could see your parents' farm,' she said dreamily, twisting a strand of hair round her fingers. 'And your cats.'

His eyes opened wider. 'Ah…They'd have to be washed first. We did once, just before my grandmother was expected. She's from Barcelona, used to clean houses and furniture. My brother Tomas and I grabbed our cats and put them in the bath and held them there while mama rubbed shampoo into their fur. They looked fantastic afterwards; it was only us who had scratches the length of our arms.'

Hand clapped over her mouth she shook with silent laughter, shaking her head at him. 'Marco that's awful! Don't tell me you never heard of pet manicure.'

'I haven't,' he remarked, sucking the pencil. 'Rita, could you turn back exactly the way you were before.'

She sighed as she watched him draw, forehead creased from concentration. 'You had a fantastic life.'

'It was fun,' he agreed smiling at the memories. 'Still is, I assure you!'

She blushed, delighted. 'Really? Even with all the trouble I got you into?'

He nodded, sketching her eyes. 'Sí, really. Rita…no, don't turn away. I need you to sit still for at least another five minutes.'

She nodded, turning to him with a patient expression. 'Is that okay?'

'No, that's not you! Remember hitting that guy over the head with the garbage can's lid?' She nodded, her eyes lighting up. 'Stop. Keep that expression, just think of that lid. That's you!' A while later he laid down his pencil, dissatisfied. 'You can come look at it now. It's not real good.'

'It's great,' she cried, impressed.

He shook his head. 'It's not, but it's free!' He handed it to her, standing up. 'I should go now. I need to get some sleep coz I've got to work tonight.'

'Wait,' she exclaimed, leading him to an immaculate lounge. 'I wanted to check you for bruises. Take off your shirt.' He rolled his eyes, complying reluctantly. Rita knelt beside him, examining all the areas that sported blue or green bruises, hissing in sympathy. 'Does that hurt?'

'Of course. Don't worry, it'll heal.'

She rubbed cold cream from the fridge onto them, assuring him it would help. He doubted it, but allowed her to fuss over him, loving the feeling. Hands white with cream she worked him over steadily while he amused her by recounting snatches of conversation from the fish tank. Occasionally she gave a squeal of laughter at some amusing comment, clapping a hand round her mouth and smudging it with cream. 'I didn't know people like that existed,' she said, genuinely puzzled.

'Well, I can assure you they do,' he told her, wiping some cream off her face with his fingers. 'See, the things I discover about Chicago! Just think what a lot of tales I can tell you once I spend a coupla weeks with them!'

Tears filled her eyes as she laid down the cream, burying her head in his chest. 'Oh Marco, I'm so sorry…'

'Hey, we've been through this before,' he reminded her, his heart warm.

Seven weeks passed peacefully enough as they followed their routine. Marco noticed a new tension as he checked his mail each morning, dreading to receive anything from the justice department. Once he'd checked his mail discovering nothing he breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief and began his day, throwing himself wholeheartedly into his studies, preparing essays that required completion only by the end of the term. You'll be in jail sometime then, or during the next term. Better prepare if you wish to pass this year. He worked hard at his job, managing to save a few hundred dollars, most of which went towards payment for the room, but a little of it laid aside for fun with Rita. His parents had raised him in the traditional way which was as natural to him as breathing – the man paid for movies, ice-creams, and coffees. Just before the first snow fell he took Rita shopping and allowed her to pick him a coat, trudging patiently after her and forcing himself to remain silent as she pointed out dozens of various designs for him to try.

An ominous envelope awaited him the following morning. His presence was required in court in two days to discuss his case. He slipped it into his bottom drawer and attempted to forget about it but the day was lost. Rita noticed his lack of focus. Filled with apprehension she asked the dreaded question. 'Did they write to you yet?'

He nodded. 'Yeah. I'm sorry, querida, I'm not much fun today. I knew they would write, and yet I still feel upset.' She squeezed his hand in sympathy distressed at his preoccupation. It was obvious he dreaded the immediate future and she felt frustrated at her inability to help him.

Lacking counsel he stared at the copy of the plea bargain the Public Prosecutor offered, heart aching. The terms were less favorable than he would have desired, but the sentence after a court trial would be harsher still. His chances of acquittal by a jury were virtually non existent the prosecutor explained, his tone expressing boredom as he stared at the two of them side by side.

'Why?' Rita demanded, glaring at him. 'He's not guilty.'

'He is guilty, miss.' He glanced at Marco coldly. 'That guy lost a lot of teeth! The way a jury would see it, you're a foreigner newly arrived in this country who attacked a group of boys, causing injury to two of them. You've had military training. It would look bad. You wouldn't stand a chance in hell of an acquittal and the judge would then sentence you to anything between one and three years for aggravated assault which is a felony, bearing in mind the use of the bin lid as a weapon. Plead guilty to the lesser charge of assault, which is simply a misdemeanor, and you'll get out in three months.'

'So it's three months then,' Marco said dully, signing his name on the document. 'Is there any chance I could serve this during the summer vacation?'

'I'm sorry, son. It starts from the moment I'll hand that document to the court,' the prosecutor told him. 'Unless you're prepared to pay the fine of 10 000 dollars instead.'

Marco's eyes widened in shock. 'I'm in custody already?'

'Yes. Unless…'

'I don't have 10 000 dollars, sir. I don't even have a 100,' he said softly, his fingers clenched round the pen.

Rita tapped on the table. 'I do. I'll pay…'

'No, querida. I'll take the jail time.'

The prosecutor nodded, taking the documents from him.

'Wait,' Rita exclaimed furiously. 'Marco, listen to me. This was all my fault and I've got the money. I want to help you. I'll pay the fine,' she told the prosecutor.

Marco slammed his fist into the table, startling them. 'I said no, dammit! I will not be responsible for taking your money, Rita, now or ever. You have my answer,' he snapped at the prosecutor. Seeing her hurt look he glanced at the official. 'Can I just speak to her for five minutes?'

'You got five minutes to say goodbye, and then you're back to the fish tank awaiting transfer to jail.'

'You're moving him!' Rita cried distressed. 'Why can't he just stay at the police station?'

'They're not equipped for that,' he said, leaving them to bid each other farewell. A deep silence stretched between them broken by Rita who rose and turned her back concealing her indignation.

Marco got up noiselessly and slipped his arm about her, hugging her close. 'Rita, I'm sorry I yelled at you. Will you forgive me?' he whispered. 'Please querida. I can't go to jail knowing I've lost my only friend.'

Tears poured down her cheeks as she turned to hug him, burying her face in his shirt. 'Why, Marco? Why are you so damn stubborn? I would've paid the fine.'

His fingers ran through her hair as he kissed the top of her head in relief. 'I don't know how much you've got, Rita,' he began hesitantly. 'I don't need to know, okay. But let me tell you one thing, whatever you got is yours. I'm not taking a dollar from you, under any circumstance whatsoever. I got a favor to ask though.'

She nodded, wiping her face. 'Anything.'

'Write me sometimes. I'll be real lonely. And if you could go check my mail, just keep it till I get out.'

'You got it,' she agreed.

Hearing the door open he pulled her closer to him, feeling her arms round his neck. 'Rita, I'll remember you offered to pay the fine. It meant something, in here.' He pressed her fingers over his heart, causing fresh tears to pour from her eyes as she felt it beating beneath her touch. 'I love you,' he whispered, releasing her as an officer placed him in cuffs.

'Why wouldn't he take it?' she wept, her head pressed into the captain's chest. Awkwardly he patted her hair, attempting to offer what comfort he could.

'Listen to me, Rita. You got yourself a nice guy. What happened in the park was unfortunate, but since then he's taken the fall for the pair of you and refused your money. My advice is: keep him. He'll make you a great husband! And for God's sake don't let your mother know I said that.'

Marco followed the officer into another crowded cell similar in all respects to the first one he had been hauled into awaiting processing. Without thinking he searched the area for the Kings but there was no sign of any of them. Fighting shame he settled in a corner wondering how to pass an entire day before his transfer to jail. Jail! I'm so sorry, Mama and Papa, I can't even imagine what you'll think when you'll hear about this. Leaning against the wall he pictured the arrival of his letter informing them of the slight glitch. You're gonna cry, Mama! As for you, Papa, I'll be hearing about my poor behavior during the entire summer vacation! How I wish I could be there with you now…