Free A Greater Love by Rachel Ann Nunes

loved her. The finalness of her death vividly reminded him of his mother and how he longed for her touch. He rubbed the gold chain between his fingers. He wished now that he’d taken Senhor Fitas’s suggestion and asked Octávia about the necklace he hadn’t believed existed. Now he would never know why she kept it or what it meant.
     Miguel slipped the chain around his neck, tucking it inside his sweater and T-shirt. The necklace had obviously been special to both his mother and his aunt. He would never part with it, except to share it with Sara, of course.
    Putting away this piece of the past seemed to prompt a new vein of thought. His heart still grieved, but his practical mind moved on. What would happen to them now? It was only a matter of time until people found out they had no guardian. Then they’d be sent to the orphanage.
    Miguel thought hard. Unless … unless he could make everyone believe the woman in the woods was not Octávia at all. Miguel rubbed at his face, making sure there were no tears, or tale-tell streaks before angling up the slope to Paulo’s shack. The door was covered with an odd orange paint which flaked with age. A white number two, also peeling, sprawled over the upper half of the door.
    “Yes?” Paulo’s mother answered his knock. She was an old woman like Octávia—at least forty, Miguel figured. Heavy wrinkles crowded under her eyes, though the skin of her cheeks was stretched smooth by underlying fat. Her face was the only part of her that had any meat. The rest of her body sagged, as if the skin had lost its elasticity. A silver chain encircled her neck, crammed with many small charms, all of which were dulled by dirt and age. In her pierced ears she wore thin gold hoops.
    “I need to talk with Paulo,” Miguel said meekly.
    His mother called for the boy, not allowing Miguel inside. She kept her gaze averted, as if not wanting to involve herself with Miguel or his life.
    “Well?” Paulo demanded. His mouth was full and he carried a bowl of soup in his hands.
    Miguel’s tongue stole over his lips. “Someone’s dead, all right, but it ain’t Octávia,” he said in a rush. “The police up there is gonna take the body away.”
    “It really ain’t Octávia?” Paulo’s mother asked.
    “No, it ain’t.” If Paulo had asked the question, Miguel would have asked him if his ears were working, but he knew better than to speak like that to a mother, even one as homely as Paulo’s. “I heard ’em say the lady wasn’t even from around here,” he added for good measure.
    “That’s good news,” Paulo’s mother said.
    Paulo looked at him with new respect. “Wasn’t you afraid, seein’ that dead body?”
    “’Course not. I ain’t afraid of nothin’,” Miguel lied. “A dead body can’t hurt nobody.”
    Paulo shivered and didn’t look convinced. He ladled a huge spoon of soup to his mouth, sipping noisily.
    Miguel stared. “I gotta be gettin’ home.”
    “Stay and eat some soup, if ya want,” Paulo’s mother offered, her dark eyes suddenly eager for juicy details. “You can tell us ’bout what ya saw.”
    She wasn’t alway so generous, and for a moment, Miguel was tempted, but then he thought of Sara. “Can’t,” he said, stepping back. “Octávia’s waitin’ dinner on me.”
    “Some other time then.” Paulo slurped up another spoonful of soup. Drops fell on his chin, and he wiped them off with the back of his hand.
    Miguel walked slowly to his shack and knocked on the door. “It’s me, Sara.”
    She opened the door, a chunk of bread in her hands. “I was gettin’ a little scared. What took ya so long?”
    “Nothin’. There any bread left?”
    “A whole loaf that Octávia bought for us. A small chicken, too. I was waitin’ for you to start it cookin’.
    They shared a nice meal by the fire, and though the room was warm enough, he was cold inside. Sara yawed as he put away the bread and chicken breast they’d saved for Octávia.
    “Why ain’t