“You think?”

“I know.” She stood and held out her hand. “C’mon, Santa Olivia. We’ve given the dead their due. Time to celebrate the living.”

“Okay.”

Santa Olivia’s Feast Day dawned hard and bright and clear. In the empty girls’ dormitory on their makeshift bed, Pilar smiled at Loup, her head pillowed, her face still soft and sweet and lovely with sleep.

“Happy birthday, baby. No shadows today?”

“No shadows,” Loup promised.

The Santitos assembled, yawning, to help carry the effigy of Santa Olivia to the town square, where she was enshrined on a pedestal. There was already a handful of people around to cheer, waiting to garland the effigy with fresh strands of bright paper flowers. Many of them smiled and touched Loup’s hands, thanking her. It made her feel warm inside.

Banners of paper lacework adorned the square, and there were strings of colored lights that would be turned on when the sun went down. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the first band of the day began to set up onstage. More and more Outposters trickled into the square, staking out picnic spots before lining up at the table where Sister Martha sat with numbered tickets they’d printed, checking names off her census roll.

It was a good day.

An expectant buzz hung over the festivities. There was music, and dancing in the space where the boxing ring had once stood. People picnicked and gossiped and compared ticket numbers, speculating on the nature of the prizes. Children laughed and shrieked and raced around the square like crazy, pelting one another with hollow eggs filled with confetti.

It wasn’t freedom—not quite. No one from Outpost but Loup and Pilar had been issued a passport, and there were still MPs patrolling the event. But the taste of freedom was in the air, and even the MPs were smiling.

By two o’clock, the last raffle ticket had been given away.

At three o’clock, the Santitos went to fetch the reloaded van and bring the prizes to the square. The most recent band vacated the stage. The Santitos unloaded the van, stacking valuable prizes on the stage. An awed murmur ran through the crowd.

“You’re fucking crazy,” T.Y. grunted, hauling a heavy box. “Remind me why’d you do this again?”

“I dunno.” Pilar smiled. “Because we could?”

He set down his box. “Some lousy excuse for a gold digger you turned out to be.”

She laughed.

“No kidding.” Jane, rearranging the prizes into a more aesthetically pleasing pile, glanced up with a tentative expression. “Are you guys serious about this scholarship thing?”

“Yeah, of course.” Loup set down a boxed television. “You and Jaime are first in line. Why?”

Jane scowled. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I haven’t exactly been nice to you.”

“Yeah, but you’re still our people,” Loup said. “And you worked really hard at the dispensary with Sister Martha. You’d have taken over from her one day if all this hadn’t happened, wouldn’t you? Taken care of people?”

She nodded reluctantly. “Someone has to.”

“That’s nice enough for me.” Loup headed back toward the cargo van for another load.

“Does that ever get on your nerves?” Jane asked Pilar in an acerbic tone. “That too-good-to-be-true shtick?”

Pilar smiled dreamily, watching Loup wrestle a stereo box out of the van. “No.”

“God, you really do have it bad!”

“Hmm?”

Jane shook her head. “Never mind. And, um… thanks.”

At four o’clock, they held the raffle. Father Ramon took the stage, waiting for the crowd to fall quiet. He beckoned for Loup and Pilar to join him. Once the crowd was still and listening, he spoke.

“Providence,” he said in his deep, resonant voice. “Grace. These are words I feared I might never speak in earnest in my lifetime. I speak them here today.” He gestured at the pile of prizes. “These gifts, these things, these material items… they are merely symbols. But what they symbolize is a gift of providence and grace.”

“He’s good,” Pilar whispered in Loup’s ear. “Ms. Coxcombe would approve.”

She nodded, shivering at her warm breath. “Yep.”

Father Ramon gave them a stern look. “The bearers of these gifts are, I grant, unlikely messengers. But they are messengers nonetheless, and the message they bear is one of hope.” He spread his arms, settling them on Loup and Pilar’s shoulders. “Let us rejoice that they are with us today! Let the raffle begin!”

Everyone cheered.

C.C. came onstage, holding up a fishbowl filled with ticket stubs. Loup grabbed an item at random. Pilar thrust her hand into the glass bowl and pulled out a stub.

“Three hundred ninety-two!” she called.

A young woman stumbled forward, waving her ticket, propelled by the people with her. “I think it’s me!”

Pilar checked her ticket. “Yep, sure enough.”

Loup handed her a portable stereo. “It might be a couple months before you’re able to get music for this, but trust me, it’s pretty cool.”

The raffle went on for almost an hour, the pile of prizes dwindling. People laughed and exclaimed in delight or envy, examining their prizes, making trades and generous promises to share. Under the influence of Father Ramon’s speech, the lucky winners were gracious and the unlucky folks who would go home empty-handed bore their loss good-naturedly.

The only thing close to a sour note came when Rosa Salamanca’s ticket was drawn. She stood glowering, torn between greed and disgust, while her grown sons pleaded with her to claim the prize. At last greed won out and she stalked across the square to present her ticket.

Pilar gave her one of her sweetest smiles. “Congratulations, Ms. Salamanca.”

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy this.” Loup handed her a video game player with a straight face. Rosa bit her tongue with a visible effort and contented herself with giving them both the evil eye before stalking back to her delighted sons.

And then the last prize was given. There was a disorganized, heartfelt cheer, followed by a lull as people began ferrying their bounty home.

“Now that was fun,” Pilar commented.

Loup smiled. “Yeah. Totally worth it.”

They merged back into the thinning crowd, mingling with the Santitos. Loup spied an opening at the torta vendor and went to buy a couple of sandwiches, having gotten hungry during the course of the raffle.

“My treat,” Mack said, intercepting her. “Pulled pork?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to—”

He gave her a hard look. “Let a guy keep his dignity, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Mack.”

They found an opening on one of the low walls surrounding the square and sat eating pulled-pork tortas and drinking cold beer. Some yards away, Pilar was flirting with Joe the bartender, with whom she’d had a brief relationship and an amicable breakup. She glanced around in search of Loup, and spotting her, smiled and blew her a kiss. Loup smiled back at her and blew her a kiss in return.

“You and Pilar,” Mack mused. “Who ever thought that would last?”

“I did.”

“You’re happy.” It wasn’t a question.

Loup nodded.

“I’m glad.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You were the only one who didn’t laugh or make fun when we were first together.”

“Yeah.” Mack smiled wryly, rubbing the knee of his faded jeans. “I wish things had been different between us. I do. And I could have wrung her neck for breaking your heart. But the way she lights up whenever she looks at you…” He shook his head. “Like a little kid who’s just heard she can have cake and ice cream. You deserve it.”

Loup didn’t reply.

“And you…” He clinked his beer bottle against hers. “I didn’t realize I’d never seen you truly happy before you hooked up with Pilar. How can I not be happy for you?”

She clinked him back. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Mack regarded her. “You’re not staying, are you?”

“No.” Loup shook her head. “I’m not sure where we’ll go. Things might be a little crazy for a while. There’s the band, and this movie deal thing. But, um, we talked about buying a place in Huatulco, where my cousins live. You could come. There are jobs. Construction?”

“Nah.” Mack surveyed the crowd. “I belong here. Thanks, though.”

“Sure.”

“What are they like?” he asked, curious. “Your cousins?”

“Kind of wild.” Loup smiled. “Rambunctious, you know? Isn’t that what Sister Martha called C.C. when he got out of control?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But in a good way,” she added. “They like to have fun, like to make the tourists point and stare. They’re the only ones of us to grow up free, truly free. And my aunts, they’re all so sweet and nice. Tía Marcela, especially. You’d like them.”

Mack slung an arm over her shoulders and gave her a hug. “I’m sure I would.”

“Come visit?”

“Someday, maybe.”

Day turned to dusk over Outpost; Santa Olivia, Santa Olvidada, forgotten and remembered. Blue dusk settled. People came back to the square, prizes stowed, the youngest babies bedded for the night. The generators hummed and the colored lights came to life. A new band took to the stage. Dusk gave way to velvety darkness.

Loup found Pilar.

“Hey, baby!” Pilar fished in her purse and pulled out a slim case. “Give me your necklace.”

She touched it. “Why?”

“Because I had a replacement made while you were in jail.” Pilar unfastened it deftly and settled a new gold chain around Loup’s throat. “I know, I know. That one was special. But this one is, too. And this time, the diamonds are real. Happy birthday, okay?”