“Bonjour, monsieur Morales. It’s such an honor to be here.” Upstairs, Lola watched quietly from the window of her room as Santiago greeted a man just outside the front door with a firm handshake. She studied the stranger, noting his black, straight hair, caramel-toned skin, and an abundant dark beard. He had a red flannel shirt on, with a white T-shirt underneath, and plain, beige pants matched with a spotless pair of white sneakers. Large, black-rimmed glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, looking more like a fashion statement than a medical aid. Though his French accent was clear and authentic, he looked anything but. He appeared more Indian, or South American. Lola assumed he must have roots from either continent, or even both. As the men entered through the front door, Lola threw on a royal-blue robe and slipped out of her room. She stopped at the summit of the staircase, continuing to observe the pair from behind polished wooden railings. Thankfully, they were
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