“Come in.”
She entered his office with her head high and a wide, camera-worthy smile. “Good morning, sir. Do you have a minute?” Her pocket vibrated, indicating another text message. She envisioned Aubrey hunched over her phone, trigger-thumbing the send key.
He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. His fiery red hair contrasted sharply with his pea-green shirt and pinstriped tie. “What can I do for you, Miss Evens?”
“Endress. Brooke Endress, sir.”
“Right. Excuse me.”
She gave a slight nod and perched on the edge of her seat. Folded her hands in her lap. “I’ve enjoyed my time here, first as a production assistant intern, and now as a fact checker. I’ve learned a great deal. In fact, come July, I’ll celebrate my second anniversary with IETV3.”
“Wonderful.” His gaze flicked to the clock on the side wall.
All right then. She’d have to nix her buffer lead-in. “I know Nancy Grace is taking maternity leave soon. You’ll need to find someone to fill her position.” She spread her hands flat on her thighs. “As I said, I’ve been with IETV3 for almost two years now, and I know most interns—”
He raised his hand. “Already covered.” He drummed his fingers on the desk then pushed away from it, swiveling to face a tall metal cabinet behind him. “What did you say your name was?”
“Brooke Endress.”
He pulled out a file and flipped through it, rubbing his thumb against the bottom of his chin. “Impressive resume… A bit weak in the demo department, but that’s not entirely uncommon.” He returned the file then studied her.
She sat taller, kept her face pleasantly stoic.
“Tell you what,” he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his desk, “How about I give you some time in front of the camera?”
Brooke clamped her mouth shut until all the incoherent, “Wow, are you serious?” responses faded. “I would appreciate that, sir.”
“Great. I’ll talk to Caleb and the crew. Give them a head’s up.” He checked the clock again then glanced at the door. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
Now for the uncomfortable part of the conversation. “Actually, sir—”
His phone rang and he lifted a finger. “Excuse me.”
While Mr. Echo talked about an FCC ruling that apparently had major implications for a reality show the network planned to launch in the fall, Brooke pulled her vibrating cell from her pocket, ready to turn it off.
Aubrey: Quit ignoring me! Are you seriously coming with me to El Salvador??? Pastor will need to know!!!
That girl had a very annoying obsession with punctuation marks.
Mr. Echo hung up and turned his attention back to her. “Now, what were you saying?”
She set her phone in her lap. Asking for time off now could make Mr. Echo think she wasn’t driven. Could cause him to rescind the offer. But she had no choice. Aubrey’s massive amounts of exclamation points made that clear. She couldn’t break her sister’s heart.
“Yes, sir, I do have something else I wanted to talk to you about. I have unused vacation days, and, well …” Jitters crawled up her spine. “I wondered if there was any way I can take a couple weeks in June?” There. She’d asked.
“A couple as in …?”
“Two, sir.”
He turned to his computer screen and clicked his mouse. His chair creaked beneath him then he rotated to face Brooke again. He rubbed his knuckles against his chin.
“You need to clear it with Caleb, and make sure to talk with Rhonda in scheduling, but …” He wrote the date on a sticky pad, followed by her name and the letter V. “I think we can make that happen. Yes, that should be fine.”
She blinked, offered a mumbled thank you, and fumbled out of the office in a daze.
This was what she wanted right?
To spend two weeks in a developing country still recovering from a devastating hurricane and bloody civil war, plagued by malaria-carrying mosquitoes, and who knew what else?
Aubrey, what have you gotten us into?
Chapter Four
A small village outside of San Miguel, El Salvador
Fatima walked down the pot-holed road. Dust swirled around her feet and tickled her nose. Around her, the group of women thinned as one by one they left the path and entered mud-plastered homes. She paused near the trail leading to the stream, thinking of the man with the kind eyes who’d wanted to help her the day she dropped her pail. Where had he come from? Would she ever see him again?
Claudia, her friend from the coffee fields, fell into step beside her. “Now that the harvest is over and the coffee beans are dried and bagged, there will be no more work for us.” She squinted toward a patch of clouds advancing across the El Salvador sky. Puffs of gray shadowed the thickly clustered trees, deepening their green. “Mother says I can return to school.”
Fatima plucked a twig from the ground and twirled it in her fingers. “Will you catch a ride on Señor Chaves’s truck?”
“We can’t afford his fee. I’ll walk.”
“That’s such a long way. You’d walk two hours, even though you’ll only go to school for a short time? Come planting season, you’ll work in the fields, right? That seems like a waste.”
“It’s not.” Claudia lifted her chin. “Every month I go to school, even if it’s in bits, helps. My mother says so. You should come with me.”
“We can’t pay for the supplies. Plus, I need to earn money.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll make things to sell in the market.”
“You and everyone else in the village.”
Fatima frowned, thinking of the market, crowded with shoppers bartering for the best deal. And all the merchants much more skilled than she. But what else could she do?
“At least we have money in our pockets now, right?” Claudia flashed a smile, cracks spreading through a dried splatter of dirt on her cheek. “It’s enough to purchase a notebook and pencil for my first day of school.”
“Good for you.” So Claudia would spend the next few months inside a classroom while she worked in the hot sun. A true friend would be happy for her. If only they could go together. What fun they would have.
A sputtering engine rumbled, and she peered toward the main street ahead. Exhaust blackened the air as a rusted red pickup screeched to a stop, and a handful of children scampered from the back.
Irma, Fatima’s best friend, jumped out last and skipped toward her, waving. Her long, silky hair bounced on her shoulders, and her toothy smile flashed in the late-afternoon sun.
The three talked for a moment, mainly Claudia sharing her plans to start school, and asking what to expect once she did.
She glanced behind her, then back at her friends. “I got to go. I have chores.” With a wave, she disappeared down a brush-lined trail.
Irma produced two rolled tortillas from the top hem of her skirt. “For you and one for your sister. And look what Juan gave me.” She pulled a piece of hard candy from her skirt pocket.
“Ah. Your boyfriend.”
Irma shoved her. “He is not my boyfriend. More like … my admirer.” She held out the treat.
“You take it. It’s yours.”
She stuck out a blue stained tongue. “I already ate mine.”
“Thank you.” One of these days, she’d have something to give Irma. Maybe a necklace or … or … something.
Fatima nibbled on her tortilla and continued down the path. “What’d you learn today?”
“Well, Señor Torres said, in the United States, sick, sweet, and cool mean the same thing.”
Fatima wrinkled her nose. “Sick as in ill?”
Irma nodded. “I also learned Rolando must think there’s something very important hidden up his nose.”
“Ew!”
“And…” She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned closer. “I heard Yessica is pregnant.”
Fatima stopped. “Are you sure?”
Irma nodded
. “I don’t think it was her choice either.”
“You mean…?” She swallowed hard. This happened often in their village, especially to the poorer girls. What could they do? Denying the urges of a supervisor could cost them their jobs, sometimes even their whole family’s.
She grabbed Fatima by the shoulders. “Now do you see why you must go to school? So these men who know you have no choice but to please them can’t hurt you.”
Fatima jerked away. “School, school, school! Is that all anyone can talk about? As if that’ll fix everything. Do you think evil men don’t exist outside of the hacienda?” She stomped off.
“Fatima! Wait!” Irma’s footsteps scuffled behind her and soon matched her step for step. “Please, let’s not fight.” She grabbed Fatima’s fisted hand.
Fatima sighed. “I don’t know why you talk of school so much. You know I can’t go.”
“One of these days you will.”
“How would you know?”
“I pray for you every night.”
“Then your God is ignoring you. Plus, I would be too behind.”
“They have teachers to help with that, and my mother says no child belongs in the fields. The harvest season is over now, anyway, so you’ll have plenty of time to catch up on your studies.”
Fatima paused to watch a broad-hipped woman wearing a floral dress spread mud over a jagged crack in her earthen home. Another woman sat on a nearby stump nursing a child while three more children tossed a coconut back and forth. With one staunch kick, the largest of the three sent their “ball” sailing toward the trail. The youngest, a boy with hair that stuck out from his head like porcupine quills, chased after it. When the coconut dropped at Fatima’s feet, he stopped and stared at her, as if shy.
“Here.” She smiled and handed him his toy, then he ran off.
She and Irma started walking again. They rounded the corner leading to Irma’s home with its palm-frond roof and wooden frame. Fatima slowed, waited in the shade of a flowering fuchsia. The rich aroma of sizzling chicken fat filled the air, making her stomach rumble. She shoved the last of her tortilla in her mouth and placed her sister’s in her pocket.
“Irma, Mija!” Señora Gonzales stepped from her home tucking stray strands of hair under a strap of cloth wrapped around her head. A toddler with thick lashes and wild hair trailed behind her. “And Fatima, God bless you, my friend.”
“Señora.” The kind woman’s smile was contagious; her faith was not. How easy for Irma and her mother to speak of God and His blessings when papusas sizzled on their griddles and giggles filled their home.
Señora Gonzales used the end of her apron to wipe sweat from her forehead. “Would you like to come in for a drink of water and a story? I promised Irma I’d read about a man named Joseph. Perhaps you have heard of him?”
Fatima shook her head. “My mother needs me.”
“Another time then. We’ll pray for you. And for your family as well.”
“Thank you.”
Irma turned to face Fatima. “After you finish your chores, come back and I will teach you the new English words I learned today.”
“What does a girl who works in the fields need with English?”
Señora Gonzales smiled. “There is always hope, dear one. In Christ, there is always hope. But before you go …” She spun around and dashed back inside, returning with a handful of yellow sapotes. “Brother Brioszo brought these by this morning. As you can see, we have way more than we need. Here, take these home to your family.”
Fatima nodded and accepted the fruit. “Gracias, Señora.”
Low-pitched laughter rose behind her, and a chill crept up Fatima’s spine.
“If it isn’t my favorite little cousin.” The stench of alcohol swept in with Julio’s slurred words. “What do you have there, chica-bonita?” He flicked his tongue over his bottom lip and slowly swept his gaze the length of her.
“Fatima, are you all right?” Señora Gonzales stepped forward, arms crossed, face hard.
Fatima clutched the sapotes to her chest. “Thank you for the fruit.” She hurried toward the path. Señora Gonzales called after her, but Fatima only walked faster.
Chapter Five
Fatima rolled on her mat and watched the early morning rain drip from the palm branches laid across the roof. Water pooled in the corners, spreading across the earthen floor like a web. The air smelled clean and fresh, and a gentle breeze cooled her skin.
She stretched, yawned, then propped on her elbow.
Dinora, her younger sister, peered at her beneath thick lashes. “I like it when it rains. And when you stay home.” She traced her finger in the moist ground, creating a swirl.
Fatima smiled. “And I like you.”
Smoke drifted from a coal griddle sizzling in the corner of the room, their mother and aunt’s back to them as they cooked papusas. Their uncle sat on a stump a few feet away. A deep scowl cast shadows over his wrinkled face.
Fatima shrank when his gaze met hers. She turned back to her sister and forced a smile. “Perhaps we can even play Jaguars and opossums.” Though Fatima was too old for make believe, it was her sister’s favorite game. She’d play it a thousand times to see her smile.
She pulled a cloth satchel from beneath her mat and opened it, allowing her sister to catch a glimpse of the seed beads tucked inside. “Would you like to help me string these?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Then we can sell them in the market.”
Dinora’s eyes sparkled, and she bolted to a sitting position. “Do you think Mama will let us keep some of the money?”
Fatima held her breath to listen to the talk behind her until she was sure the rest of her family paid her and her sister no mind. “I think I would like some fried plantains along with something sweet to drink. What about you?”
Dinora grabbed Fatima’s hands and squealed.
“Shh.” Fatima pressed a finger to her lips. Her gaze shot to her uncle who stared at her with dark eyes for the span of three tight breaths.
Then, with a grunt, he looked away. Fatima exhaled, her tense shoulders relaxing. She cinched her bag closed, tucked it into the waistband of her skirt. “We’ll make beautiful necklaces.” She tapped Dinora on the nose then sprang to her feet. Lard popped and sizzled on the grill, making her stomach growl. “Come before the papusas get all eaten.”
No longer smiling, her sister hurried to stand. Fatima led her by the hand across the room where they waited like dogs watching for fallen crumbs. Her cousin glanced her way. The corners of his mouth lifted as his gaze swept across her. Then, with a smirk, he looked at her sister. Flinching, Fatima placed her arm around Dinora and pulled her close.
They waited until the rest of their family filled their plates, then inched forward. Their aunt slapped a papusa on a plate before shoving it Fatima’s way. “You two can share. We’re low on corn meal.”
Fatima dipped her head and moved to a far corner of the room where she and Dinora wouldn’t have to watch the others eat their larger portions. At least she still had the fruit Irma’s mom gave her. She and Dinora could have those later.
She tore off a small chunk of food then pushed the rest toward her sister.
Dinora stared at her. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I must save room for the goodies we will buy in the market.” Her stomach growled. She cleared her throat, hoping her sister hadn’t heard.
After breakfast, Fatima gathered the dirty dishes and followed her aunt and mother outside. Rain splotched the ground, making puddles of mud. Their metal tub sat in a clearing, catching the drops.
Fatima placed the dishes in with a clang as a bolt of lightning flashed through the sky. Thunder rolled. She shivered and looked at the black clouds overhead. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought against the images from her past flashing through her mind—of the oozing mud barreling down the hill, pulling up trees in its wake. Of their home reduced to a sloshy mound of twigs and branches. The next day, her father had left without s
aying anything. That was the last they’d seen of him.
Momma had changed after that. Everything had changed.
“Those dishes won’t wash themselves.” Her aunt’s harsh voice jarred Fatima back to the present.
She grabbed a rain-filled vase beside her and added its contents to her tub. Started scrubbing bean globs from the plate as rain, lighter than before, plunked on her head and trickled down her arms.
Bare feet slapped on the mud as her sister raced toward her. “Did you ask Mama yet?”
“Get back inside before Tia puts you to work.” She winked and bumped her sister with her hip, making her giggle.
As soon as the dishes were washed, brought inside, and the tub emptied, Fatima went to find her mother. She sat in a far corner making fresh tortillas.
“Are these for Dinora and me to sell in the market?”
Her mother’s eyes were hard, dull. “Si.”
Fatima stayed beside her, longing to sit on her lap as she used to. Mama’s laughter, and her singing, used to fill their home. Oh, how she’d loved to sing. Loud enough to make others stop and look, and at times, her voice would squeak, but to Fatima, it’d been beautiful.
Oh, Mama, will you ever smile again?
Fighting tears, Fatima grabbed a clean cloth and plopped steaming tortillas in the center. After wrapping them, she took her satchel of beads and tucked them into the waistband of her skirt. With a jerk of her head, she motioned to her sister, and the two of them hurried from the house before their aunt found something else for them to do.
Outside, the rain slowed to a trickle, the scent of damp earth filling the air. Women and children exited nearby homes, talking and laughing. Tubs were balanced on their heads, bags thrown over their shoulders. They were likely heading to the market as well.
When they neared the road, Fatima grabbed her sister’s hand.
Cars whizzed by, weaving around men on bicycles and the occasional cow. A woman pushing a wheelbarrow of watermelons scurried by in sandaled feet. Fatima and Dinora followed close behind, moving near the shoulder to avoid the mud-splatter flying from passing tires.
Healing Love Page 3