Fiction, continued

In the end, it hadn't mattered.

She had fallen asleep as the train careened through the night. When she woke her mouth was so dry she could almost taste the communion Padre Leon had offered her last Sunday. It made her wonder if the woman he had blessed would ever return.

She stepped onto the platform, wincing at the hostile sun and at the pain snaking into her thighs. The man rose from a shaded bench to meet her; he held his hat in his hands.