The most difficult year of his life ended rapidly, each day deepening his love for Rita. They spent every spare moment together during the first week after he moved into Miguel's apartment, his friend doing her best to ease him into his new home. He understood her intentions and was grateful as he was plagued by shyness as far as Miguel was concerned. Accepting charity was something he had never faced before and it went against every fiber of his being. No matter how often he tidied the apartment or cooked a tolerable dinner for the pair of them he was unable to dispel feelings of intense humiliation. His job search proved fruitless despite the hours he devoted to it.

It was Miguel who found him a position at Rita's insistence. 'He needs a job,' she explained, sitting beside him in Church. 'He can't continue this way.'

'Why not? I'm not asking him for anything,' Miguel whispered back, an eye on his parents who were sure to scold him for whispering.

'That's not the point. He's got his own pride. He'll leave if he can't find work,' she whispered back.

'You know, that might be the best thing,' Miguel began softly. 'He'd do better with his family. He knows how to run a farm…..Ouch,' he gasped as Rita pinched his arm. 'What did I do to deserve that? I only suggested Hobo…'

'Don't you dare insult him! He's got a name,' she hissed, annoyed. 'And just because he knows how to farm doesn't mean he shouldn't do something else.'

'So let him do something else,' Miguel muttered, rubbing his arm.

'He wants to be an architect. He can draw real well. Find him a job drawing,' she decided, eyes sparkling as she considered her suggestion. 'It would be so much better than washing dishes!'

'Rita, with the best of intentions I can't get him a position as an architect right now. He hasn't even completed his first year!' Miguel protested. But he had done the next best thing to please his sister, visiting a friend of his who worked as an architect.

'I got Hobo a job,' he told his sister proudly, holding the phone a little further from his ear. 'Yeah, I know he's got a name! Do you want to hear about it or not?'

Rita accompanied Marco to his interview the next morning to offer him moral support. She waited with him in the car while he took a few deep breaths and threw him a reassuring look, praying he would be successful. Without employment he was bound to flee sooner or later and she was going to make certain that failed to occur. She needed him beside her. No one in her entire life made her as happy to be alive as Marco, who cheered her with a single smile. Her fingers gave his hand a final squeeze as he climbed out of the car. 'Take your time – you'll do great,' she assured him, settling more comfortably to listen to the radio.

Fingers damp with perspiration he stepped from the elevator, half wishing he could leap back inside and flee the official looking secretary who raised her head from her typewriter to regard him inquisitively.

'Good morning. I'm here to see Mr. Adams,' he told the secretary while he attempted to force himself to stop fidgeting.

She looked through the schedule and nodded. 'I got a Marco Almeida down for 10:30. Would you like to take a seat?'

He nodded. 'Thanks.' Mr. Adams turned out to be a prematurely balding man with glasses and a somewhat stressed demeanor who readily assigned Marco several hours' worth of plans to trace at home. He was given a pile of drawings which required completion within the week and was promised further work should his work appear satisfactory. Unable to believe his fortune he thanked him and left the office, Rita throwing the entire pile onto the back seat of her Impala.

'Let's go celebrate! I'll buy you a coffee this time.'

'I,' he began, giving up in despair as she raised her voice to speak over him.

'You can treat me once you get paid for your work. I'm going to drop right here if I don't get a huge slice of cream cake this instant, and the best cream cake in the entire state is right over there!' She pointed across the street to a café and set off immediately, pulling him behind her. He hastened after her, alarmed at the way she threaded her way through the heavy traffic.

'Don't you ever cross at the lights?' he inquired sternly, pulling her onto the island in relief.

'You expect me to walk all that way there and back when I need to go directly across?' she inquired lazily. 'Come on Marco, we can make it now if we run.'

He raced after her, dragging her onto the sidewalk seconds before a truck rushed past. 'Didn't your parents ever teach you not to run across roads?' he panted.

'Yeah, right!' was his only reply as she pushed the door of the café open. Drawn by an irresistible smell of fresh coffee he followed her in, eyeing a selection of cheese cakes in delight.

'You choose.'

Mouth watering he eyed them in detail, pointing to a raspberry flavored one. 'That one. It's got real fruit.' Rita paid and they settled beside the window. He slipped his arm round her while they waited for their coffees, reveling in the feel of her hair tickling his cheek.

'Did anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you're scared?' she teased, brushing an eyelash from his nose. 'Your eyes just open so wide…' She fluttered her eyes at him feigning panic. 'When that truck started moving…'

'I meant to discuss that with you, Rita. You ever risk your life to save two minutes again, I'm going home! I refuse to spend the rest of my life waiting to hear my best friend got killed crossing some street. I need to know you're safe, querida. I can't concentrate on anything else if I'm not sure of that.'

'Captain Caveman must have been based on you,' she retorted, slipping an arm about his neck. 'You can't waste your life waiting round for things to happen.'

'And you shouldn't be in such a terrible hurry either. You've got,' he drew her closer for a kiss, '24 hours in the day,' he kissed her again, 'just like everyone else. What's this awful rush everyone round here lives in? You gotta slow down and really enjoy this minute, not worry about the next all the time! And anyway, you're too beautiful to be rushing like that. You need to sit down and,' he drew her towards him again, kissing her warmly.

'And?' she teased.

'Hi Rita.'

They jumped violently, disentangling themselves in a hurry. 'Hi Marta,' Rita said, with what he recognized as her fake smile plastered on her face. 'I didn't see you.'

'I was in the bathroom,' the girl explained eyeing Marco with interest. 'Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?'

Rita nodded unwillingly. 'Sure I am. He's Marco Almeida. Marco, this is Marta Hernandez. I know her from Church. Her mom owns a drugstore downtown.'

'Nice to meet you Marco,' she said, eyeing them both speculatively. 'I guess I'll be seeing you guys.' With that she left and Rita banged her head against the table, groaning.

'That's bad, right?' he inquired.

'Bad? It's terrible! That bitch got a mouth the size of Mount Everest! By tonight all of Chicago will know we're together, by tomorrow it'll be all over the country, and by Monday I guarantee you the whole world will know about us! She's probably on the phone as we speak.'

He rubbed his face uncertainly. 'I'm sorry, querida. I'll back off…'

'You'll do no such thing,' she retorted indignantly. 'I'll just tell mama I love you. It's time she knew anyway! I got a right to my own friends!'

'You'd better take Miguel,' he advised, sipping his coffee without tasting it. 'Do you want me to come and introduce myself?'

She shook her head. 'Not yet. I have to deal with this my own way first. She's my mother, I know her. You'll get invited the moment she's calmed down. Just don't expect that to be anytime soon,' she concluded glumly.

Catalina Torres greeted her daughter as she slid noiselessly into the house, emerging from the study. Rita's face paled as she felt herself cornered. 'Buenas tardes, Mama,' she said, hanging her coat on the hook.

'We need to talk, Margarita!' her mother said without further preamble, her eyes fixed unblinking on her. 'Would you follow me?'

Do I have a choice? Rita sighed silently as she followed her mother into her father's domain, relieved he was not present. Her mother was bound to be indignant but she had no idea what her father's reaction would be. He lived in the happy delusion that she was but a young girl and she doubted he would be impressed to learn otherwise. Saying a silent prayer she settled on the couch, arms folded.

'Who is Marco?' Catalina began, launching into her accustomed role of interrogator.

'He's a friend,' Rita replied, her heart pounding.

'A friend! A rather close friend, if what I heard bears any semblance to the truth! I'm sad; indeed I'm mortified that I have to hear about your 'friend' from Tia Elena. I would have thought we had a bond between us.' She glared at her daughter.

A bond, right! She's got me on a chain and she's holding the end! And Tia Elena! She's one of the last to hear things – that means it's all over Chicago already! Quit acting like a guilty kid, Rita. You haven't done anything wrong. Tell that to her. 'Mom, he studies architecture at UIC. He's awfully smart and he's a real decent person…'

'Why was I not told about him before?' she interrupted furiously. 'And what does his family do? I don't know any Marcos at UIC!'

Rita squeezed her fingers together until they turned white. 'You don't know his family, Mama.'

Catalina's eyes flickered. 'I am acquainted with everyone who counts in this city. What is his surname?'

'They don't live in Chicago,' she replied evasively, her eye on the glass cabinets containing her father's coin collection. 'I need to write something up for tomorrow, I'm presenting it first thing in the morning. I really should get on with it.'

'So how come you had time for a coffee with this Marco?' Catalina asked belligerently. 'And if he's not from here, then where is he from?'

Oh God, here it comes. 'He speaks Spanish too…'

'Where is he from?' Catalina demanded, her voice several decibels louder. Bell, asleep on the rug before the fire moved in a hurry, leaping through the open door.

'He's from Mexico.'

'Mexico!' Catalina hissed, her face turning pale. 'He's from Mexico?'

'He's from Spain, just like we are,' she protested, aware in advance it was futile.

'Via Mexico! There's a little difference there! How much Indian blood does he have?'

'Virtually none. I can't see any,' Rita assured her. 'He looks Spanish.'

'What he looks like and what he really is are two different things,' Catalina snapped. 'So what kind of people are they?'

Why don't you ask what you really want to know, Mama? How rich are they? 'They got land in Chihuahua.'

Catalina let out a strangled cry of distress. 'They're peasants! Ignorant illiterate dirty peasants! Are you mad, my daughter? These types of people are to be avoided at all cost.'

'Marco's neither dirty nor illiterate,' Rita snapped, her eyes flashing as her formidable temper was aroused. 'As for ignorant, he won a scholarship to come here, so that answers that. And if you recall, the Torres family were Mexican also.'

The breath caught in Catalina's throat. 'By an unfortunate accident, yes. But they're all Spanish,' she hissed. 'And every one of us left our mark…'

'Sí, Mama. Luis Torres left us all a great example about making our mark,' Rita replied, her voice a little short of a yell. 'He was hanged three months after Texas joined the States! We got no reason to look down on others…'

'Now you listen to me very carefully, Margarita, because I'll only tell you this once,' Catalina hissed, her face inches from her daughter's. 'You're not to see this mongrel again, do you hear me! Your father and I are spending a tremendous amount of money on your education - we expect you to find a suitable husband not some semiliterate village idiot!'

'You're spending a lot on my education?' Rita hissed, rising from the couch and glaring defiantly at her mother. 'That's odd. You never worked a single day in your life!'

'Get upstairs,' Catalina yelled at the top of her voice. 'This is one family - it makes no difference who is earning the money. Go anywhere near this flea ridden Mexican again and I'll throw you out on the street! That's a promise,' she yelled after Rita who rushed upstairs weeping. 'And don't you dare slam doors,' she yelled louder. 'Your father hears about this boy, he'll shoot him! That's no idle threat, either. He killed hundreds of people in Spain during the Civil War. One more, one less…'

Rita sank onto her bed in a flood of tears, terrified at the final threat.

Marco glanced up as the shadow fell over his tracing, smiling at Miguel. 'Hey, I got to thank you. Your friend gave me a job. Muchas gracias.'

Miguel shrugged, amused to see the pile of architectural designs covering his dining room table, the standing lamp drawn right over to offer optimum light. 'You're welcome,' he replied. 'You sure look busy.'

Marco nodded. 'Sí, I got enough work for hours. Better still, I am learning as I trace them. You see.' He pulled a completed copy out from the pile and pointed to what appeared to all intents and purposes an insignificant line. 'We hadn't yet covered stairwells,' he explained pointing it out with his pencil. 'I stopped to read about it so I'm a little behind.' His eyes sparkled as he spoke and Miguel nodded in amusement.

'You really like this kinda thing?'

'Aha. I can't wait till we get to design a second floor. Right now we're limited to single storey structures,' he sighed, sticking his pencil behind his ear.

'You'll get there,' Miguel assured him, throwing his jacket onto the couch. 'Was Rita pleased?'

Marco's face clouded suddenly and he raised nervous eyes to meet his. Miguel threw him an inquisitive glance and sat on the couch. 'Spit it out. What happened? You two have a fight?' he inquired causally.

Marco rose, replaced the pencil and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. 'We met someone who knew Rita.'

'Tell me it was some Anglo,' Miguel begged, groaning softly as Marco shook his head. 'Oh boy. Looks like the shit's hit the fan,' he remarked.

Marco's mouth fell open at the comment, the visualization of which struck him as so hilarious he was unable to resist a burst of laughter.

Miguel's face betrayed no trace of hilarity. 'It might sound amusing, but I can assure you no one will be laughing by tomorrow,' he predicted. 'My mother expects a lot from Rita.'

Marco's eyes dropped to examine his socks. 'We haven't done anything wrong,' he said softly.

'Relax, I know that. You wouldn't be staying here if I even suspected such a thing! Fact is, she's gonna start watching Rita real carefully for a while. Don't expect to see much of her.'

A pained look crossed Marco's face as he averted his eyes. Not see much of her! He blinked hurriedly at the thought of his friend stuck in her mansion and himself alone in the library. The future appeared bleak, darker than during his imprisonment. Without a word he returned to the dining room table, pulling the incomplete plan towards himself.

A hand grabbed his coat as he waited for the lecture theatre to open the following morning. He turned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Rita who placed a finger urgently over her lips. 'Come with me. We need to talk.'

Casting a quick glance at the locked door he nodded and followed her through the grounds, joining her under a weeping willow. Relatively concealed, Rita indulged her desire to kiss him to which he responded wholeheartedly. 'What happened last night, querida? Did your mother hear about us?'

Rita nodded sadly. 'She heard. Marco, lemme ask you something. Were you serious when you said you'll marry me after we graduate?'

His eyes met hers noting the uncertainty. 'Sí, of course I meant it. If you still want me, that is.' Why?

'Do you love me enough to play hide and seek for a while?' she pressed him.

Anxious eyes searched his face as he allowed his gaze to examine the grey sky. 'Rita, your family obviously expects a lot from you. According to what I understood from Miguel, that doesn't mean they expect you to have a career, it means they expect you to find a rich husband. Real rich. I'm not that guy. You are asking me to creep around like a rat in a vegetable cellar because I lack your kinda money – well I won't. I am a person too.'

Tears filled her eyes at his words which she wiped indignantly with the sleeve of her coat. 'You all enjoy making my life terrible,' she snapped. 'You and my mom. What am I supposed to do, Marco Almeida? You're not ready to marry me yet. You're asking for me to get thrown out of my house, well, where would I go? You can be sure they wouldn't let Miguel take me in. You know what, you keep your pride and complete your degree and talk proudly to whoever wants to know you! I hate you!'

'Querida,' he called anxiously as she walked away abruptly, tears pouring through her fingers. 'Come back.' A look of alarm crossed his face as she ignored his words. 'Come back, I said,' he yelled, racing after her. He caught up with her within seconds and grabbed her arm spinning her round to face him. 'Hey, I'm sorry. Shh,' he said gently, wiping her tears with his fingers. 'Don't cry Rita. You want me to act like a hidden rat, I will! I love you.' Just please don't walk away from me again.

Rita's body was racked with sobs as leaned against him. Gently he guided her back under the tree. 'Shh,' he repeated, slipping his arm round her. 'I'll play hide and seek as long as you like. I'll hide from everybody and watch you from a distance and sometimes you can smile at me.'

She shook her head vigorously. 'It's not what I had in mind. I'll see you just as usual, Marco, only it's gotta be in a different spot everyday. I can't risk anyone else seeing me. My father will shoot you!'

The breath caught in his throat as he regarded her grave expression. 'Gee Rita, you're not making it sound awfully appealing,' he protested. 'Are you sure about that? He'd shoot me because I have no money?'

Rita nodded. 'Oh yes. He'd shoot you without a moment's hesitation, but not only because you haven't got money. Right now he'd shoot pretty much anyone who was interested in me.'

They're both crazy! You better watch out, Almeida! This might not end well. Ignoring the warning his brain screamed at him he looked at her, wiping the last of the tears from her face, giving in to his heart. 'I'll be careful. Come here.' She wrapped herself about him and he swung her into his arms relishing the close proximity. It'll end the way it'll end. There's no way you're leaving her, Almeida!