If you should fall upon hard times

If you should lose your way

There is a place

Here in this house

That you can stay.

It was a sweltering summer morning when a girl of thirteen appeared at the doorstep of Marisol Rodriguez. She was in the kitchen, brewing coffee, when a knock was heard on the door. The middle-aged woman wondered who could be at her doorstep so early in the morning, but her southern mannerisms kept her from even considering ignoring the hesitant knocks she had heard before.

Placing her mug down on the counter, Marisol left the kitchen and found her way to the front door. Looking through the peep-hole, she could see a teenage girl with dark brown hair and even darker circles under her eyes. She had a single suitcase and a backpack and her mouth was set in a firm line as she stared at the door.

Opening it wide, Marisol offered the girl a smile. "Are you lost? Can I help you?" she asked. Where were the girl's parents?

When Marisol spoke, the girl's eyes lit up. "Is this the Preston residence?"

Marisol immediately noticed the faint english accent and she almost shut the door. It had been too long since she had heard an accent like that. But no, this girl was only a child. "My name is Marisol Rodriguez. What's your name?" she asked.

"Marisol? Hmmmm," the girl replied thoughtfully. "My name is Masumi Elizabeth Preston. Does Joshua William Preston live here?" she asked. "I'm looking for him." The speech sounded obviously rehearsed, as though the girl had spent hours practicing the entire introduction.

It must have been important to her. The older woman looked into the girl's eyes, surprised to find the same intense blue.

"Sweetheart, why do you have a suitcase?"

The girl stuck out her chin defiantly. "I'm looking for Joshua. Is he here?" she asked.

Marisol shook her head. "My son is at the Naval base right now. He won't be home for another few weeks. Why don't you come on inside? Have you had breakfast yet?"

The girl, Masumi, seemed to hesitate at the doorway as Marisol stepped away, holding the door open, but after a growl from the girl's stomach, she took a step inside.

Shutting the door behind her, Marisol led the young girl to the kitchen. "I have some cereal, or I can make you eggs if you want," she offered, gesturing for Masumi to take a seat at the small wooden table that sat in the corner of the kitchen.

"Eggs would be nice," Masumi said softly, seating herself at the small kitchen table.

"Sunny side up or scrambled?"

"Can I have them over easy?" the girl asked hesitantly.

Marisol smiled and pulled a skillet out from a nearby cupboard. "Sure thing, sweet pea. That's how Josh likes his eggs, too."

Cracking two eggs on the hot skillet, Marisol asked the question that had been burning in her mind. "So, Masumi Preston. Any relation to William Tudor Preston?"

"He's my father."

Marisol flipped the eggs expertly, not letting a yolk break in the process, despite the stern look that crossed her face. "Your father?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Sliding the eggs on to the plate, Marisol grabbed a fork from the drawer. "So what's a sweet little english girl like yourself doing all the way over here in Dallas, Texas?" she asked, placing the plate in front of the girl and handing her a fork.

Masumi looked down after taking the fork. "I wanted to meet Joshua," she mumbled, staring at her eggs as if they could tell the story for her.

Marisol sent her a concerned look. "Listen here, sweet pea, I get it if there are things you don't want to tell me. But there's not a lot I can do to help you if you don't tell me what you need. Okay? Now, eat your eggs." Marisol, her mothering instincts on overdrive, walked over to the fridge. "Orange Juice?" Masumi nodded in reply.

Crossing back to the table, the older woman placed a cup of juice on the table. "So, you're Josh's sister," she stated matter of factly, placing her elbows in front of her.

The young girl looked up in surprise. "How did you know?" she gasped.

Marisol chuckled. "Josh is my son. And you know very well that your father is his father, too. So what made you leave England?"

"You're right, it's pretty obvious."

"And you two have the exact same eyes. Same eyes as your father, too."

"Josh looks like me?" Masumi asked in surprise.

"No, not really," Marisol laughed. "He takes after me and his Colombian heritage too much to look like you. And, you don't seem to take after your father, do you?"

The young girl took another bite of her eggs, a look of disappointment in her eyes. "No, I look like my mother."

"So where is your mother?" Marisol asked gently, her brown eyes wide with concern. She could see that this young girl had come far, and alone, which surprised her. After all, William Preston certainly had the means to take care of any of his children.

A sad look crossed Masumi's face. "She's in Japan, with her new husband," she said quietly. She then shook her head as if she could shake off the thought itself. "But it's not like I could go back there anyway. It's not safe."

"So who do you live with?"

"Well . . ." Masumi bit her lip and clenched her fingers. Marisol only continued to look at her with a mothering expression, urging the young girl to speak. "My father sent me to a boarding school, a conservatory, in New York City. It's in Manhattan," she added, her eyes staring intently at the now empty plate of eggs.

Marisol only nodded in confirmation. "I see."

The girl's right hand moved to her left arm, running her nails up and down the skin nervously. Masumi seemed unaware of the habit, but Marisol's trained eyes noticed immediately. She had seen that before.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She refused to meet the older woman's gaze.

The mother quickly deduced that this girl was to be pitied, and then loved. "Oh honey, whatever for?"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry my dad left you for my mom. I'm sorry Joshua didn't get to grow up with a dad. I'm sorry . . ." Masumi trailed off, her shoulders shaking with the effort it took to hold back all the tears.

Marisol's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected such a young girl to be aware of what had happened before she was even born. "Sweet pea," the woman whispered, moving her chair over to envelop the girl in a tight hug. "That is not your fault, and it isn't your mother's either. William and I had our problems long before Mei was involved."

Masumi sniffled and looked up. "You knew my mother?"

The older woman smiled, brushing back a loose strand of hair from the girl's face. "Of course I did. I was there when they started working together. But, honey, none of your father's marriages are going to last until he learns to put other people before himself. I'm guessing you're here, instead of there, with him, because he hasn't figured that out yet."

Masumi looked at the woman in awe. She wasn't angry, like the maids had said she would be. Marisol wasn't resentful or vindictive. She was . . . nice. Something the lonely girl hadn't experienced in awhile.

And as if a switch had been flipped, Marisol's entire expression lit up. "Now, let's see about what needs to be done. Would you like to stay here, with me?"

The younger girl sucked in a breath. She had expected that Joshua, her half brother, would be there to meet her. Best case scenario, they meet, have lunch, and then she flies back to New York alone, to stay in the empty dorms until the beginning of next term. There were a handful of international students that resided in the school's dorms year round, but most of the continental students returned to their families during breaks. Masumi hadn't expected to meet Marisol, and she certainly hadn't expected her to be so welcoming.

"For-for the day?"

A smile graced the older woman's beautiful features. "For as long as you want to."

Slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement would make the offer vanish, the girl nodded.

Marisol grinned widely and stood up from her seat, happy to see the younger girl begin to trust her. "Wonderful. I have a guest bedroom just down the hallway. It's next to Josh's room, and it shares a bathroom with his."

Masumi stood up and followed the other woman, taking her suitcase and backpack with her. After navigating her way down the hallway, she opened the door to find a small bedroom. It was simple and clean, but much more homey than the dorms of Manhattan. There was a queen sized bed covered in a white comforter. Across from the bed was a black dresser, a mirror hanging over it. There was also a desk in front of the window, and a small closet where she could store her things. "Thank you," she said softly, depositing her belongings on her bed.

"You're welcome," Marisol replied, helping the girl open her suitcase and unpack. Masumi tried to stop her, but the woman simply waived her off. "Listen, sweet pea, I may be a petroleum engineer, I may be a strong Colombian woman, and I may even be able to bench press you, but first and foremost, I am a mother. And maybe I'm not your mother, but I'll be happy to substitute the role whenever I can because mothering is what I do, and what I do best."

A slight sniffle could be heard, but almost any other traces of tears had vanished from the girl's face. Instead, she helped the other woman sort through her belongings carefully.

"My parents, they don't really care about what happens to me."

The statement shouldn't have surprised Marisol, considering how well she knew the girl's parents many years prior, but to hear them uttered in such earnest simplicity was heartbreaking. So, she remained silent to stem the flow of explicit words that were bubbling near the surface.

A moment later, the girl continued, taking the older woman's silence as an indication to proceed. "They divorced just after I was born. Dad opted to take me during school terms. At first I thought it was because he wanted to see me all the time, but after he shipped me off to the first available boarding school, I realized it was because he would have to see me less, but could still consider me his child. His family wouldn't ridicule him for it as long as he was providing my education."

Marisol sighed, placing a neatly starched navy dress on a hanger. "And your mother?"

"She was interested," the girl admitted, "for a time. I would stay there on breaks, and she would introduce me to other kids, but it didn't take long for me to figure out that she was looking for connections, not a kid." Masumi shivered, trying to shake the bad thoughts off. "Anyway, I left when I was eleven, after some . . . stuff, happened. She got remarried, and she hasn't looked back since." The longer she spoke, the more vacant her eyes became.

"Masumi, what kind of stuff?" Marisol prodded gently.

The girl looked at the older woman, but she just shook her head sadly. "I wasn't safe anymore. Mom did the best she could, but it was beyond her control. So, I've never gone back."

"Well, we don't have to talk about it yet if you don't want to. But I want you to know that I'm always here if you ever need anything."

Masumi nodded. In time, she would tell her.

But for now, she was happy to have someone there.

A/N: Short but important chapter!

Okay I'm obviously way too invested in this story because I saw the follower count go down to 159 and I cried. Lol, not really, but I did wonder what I did to make them no longer interested in the story. Thanks for the reviews and the love!

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