Margaret Mai Camargo, she has no idea what’s in store for her.

She’s standing outside the nursing home’s service entrance, poking through her oversized purse for her keys. Loose dollar bills and receipts are falling from her bag, while the light clanging noise taunts her. The aluminum door swings open, and she straightens up at the sight of Earl.

His silhouette in the doorway is tailored, sharp, and black, his silvery hair is combed sleekly back from his forehead. Beneath the shell of his three-piece suit is an egg white shirt divided by a striking royal blue silk tie. He’s dressed to the nines, and Maggie’s wondering how the small brown stain on her blue jeans and the wrinkles in her blouse suddenly became more noticeable.

“Miss Camargo,” he says with a nod. She closes the kitchen door carefully, and takes his offered arm. His face shows no wrinkles of worry, but perhaps that’s because it’s not his job in danger. She leads him around the building, the tip of his ivory cane faintly punctuating their secretive silence.

“That’s what you drive?” Earl looks surprised by the green VW Rabbit with wooden siding parked alone.

“It’s the only thing I have. Sorry, I just can’t afford better with this nursing home job…” Maggie is embarrassed.

“I used to have one of these. That darling held together for years and years.” Earl’s absentmindedly patting the hood and admiring the ed siding. When Maggie starts the car, he finally remembers to get inside.

“Except that my car was a little cleaner on the inside.” The old man winks at her, and she laughs. “Oh, you’ll need to turn right here.”

“Where exactly are we going?” Maggie asks.

“It’s near the Mayfield Bakery.”

“The one that deals ? We’re going to that part of town?”

“Patience, Maggie. We’re almost there.”

She parks the old beater car parallel to the bakery and they get out. He starts down the alleyway, and she follows, perplexed but curious. Halfway down the alley is an insignificant looking door, but he opens it and steps inside. Maggie is close behind, and she quietly watches as he peers up the staircase they’re faced with, sizing it up like an opponent. He then slowly begins to climb.

The staircase is long and badly lit, and he takes each step individually. As they near the top, Maggie can see the back of his neck reddening and hear his breath become heavy, but he never slows, and never complains. When both his polished black shoes reach the landing, he’s beaming, and he laughs at Maggie’s concerned face.