Roz Fox - Molly's Garden

He braked to a crawl because the narrow street had become congested with people on three-wheeled bicycle carts.

“Some of those riders will be our customers. Most of them fill their carts and pedal over to Nuevo Laredo where they resell the food for a profit.”

“Does it bother you? I mean, if you know you could drive over there and make more money yourself?”

“It’s not worth it to me to have to deal with customs. They need to scrutinize every crate going and coming. My lettuce could wilt in the time it’d take to wend my way through border officials.”

“Gotcha. Oh, I see the market. It’s a lot more colorful than the last one.”

“This market doesn’t cater to the American trade. Stop right in front of our booth and let’s unload as fast as we can to keep from getting ticketed for holding up traffic. ”

Adam parked in front of the stall Molly pointed to. It resembled a small circus tent. A red banner, stretched between the posts, read Fresco Producer in yellow .

Molly let Nitro out and made short work of introductions than at the last site. The younger of the two women set out a bowl of water for the dog. He nosed around inside the booth and found a meat bone.

“Marisol, you spoil him.” Laughing, Molly paused in handling crates to hug the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman.

Luz, though, teased Molly about hanging on to her hermoso new driver. She seemed freer with her jokes once she learned Adam didn’t speak much Spanish.

Feeling her cheeks burn, Molly rolled her eyes at the laughing women. She collected the receipt bag and hoped Adam was too busy to hear what was said. Anyone who knew a few words of Spanish could figure out Luz had pronounced him a handsome catch. Fortunately, he acted oblivious.

“Phew, this place is crazy,” Adam exclaimed as he inched the truck to the end of the street.

“I love Old Town. It’s teeming with color and life. The old and the new in this part of town blend really well. It’s something I imagined would work in African villages,” she mused. “The difference here is that big chain stores recognize they can make a profit and invest. People in rural Africa are so poor investors won’t risk capital.”

Adam listened attentively but she noticed he didn’t venture his thoughts, so she was surprised when he eventually said, “So, your Peace Corps work was partly in Africa?”

Molly nodded. “All nine years,” she admitted. “I’d still be there if not for my father being diagnosed with prostate cancer that he did nothing about until it got too bad to treat.” She smudged away a tear.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shrugged and they were silent for a moment.

“Dad raised me,” she finally said. “My mom died when I was a toddler. I wanted to think he’d live forever.”

Adam faced the front, gripped the steering wheel and then, one at a time wiped his hands down his thighs. “Uh. So our last stop of the day is still in Laredo?”

“Yes, but on the way out of town. You’ll see the next market serves a very different clientele. Instead of the colorful tiered skirts Luz and her daughter wear, my next managers wear jeans and T-shirts like what I have on.” She grimaced and wished she hadn’t brought his inspection back to her. His eyes had a way of not missing any flaw, and she had her share. “Be careful what you say around them,” she warned him. “These women understand English, but aren’t above pretending they don’t so people gossip in front of them.”

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