Healing Love

by Jennifer Slattery

  At least life hadn’t taught Dinora that same thing, and Fatima would do all she could to keep things that way. She paused, her heart cramping, as Irma’s words spoken only a few days before, flooded her mind. “You cannot protect her, Fatima.”

  She fisted her hands and trudged forward. Irma was wrong. All this time Fatima had protected Dinora, seeing she had plenty to eat and time, like now, to play. And Fatima would continue, whatever the cost.

  She glanced at her sister one last time. Fatima would gather twigs for both of them, so Dinora could play a little longer.

  She soon drifted into a game of her own, turning into a beautiful maiden living by herself in a magical forest. The branches she gathered would be used to build a tall fence able to keep out the Chupacabra—an ugly monster with black, hateful eyes and sharp, jagged fangs—while she waited for the king to take her and her sister away to a castle made of gold and jewels.

  By late-morning, she was so deep in her make-believe world, her smile came easily and a bounce lifted her step. She gathered up her pile of twigs and pranced through the forest, breathing the sweet scent of sunbaked foliage.

  Reaching her sister’s hideout, a patch of cleared away branches lined with fallen leaves, she froze. No. Her throat tightened. Her cousin stood a few feet away with his back to her, watching Dinora. The branches snapped, sending bolts of electricity up Fatima’s arms, as her cousin neared her sister.

  “Get away from her.” She dropped her twigs and raced forward. Vines clawed at her neck and face.

  Her cousin whirled around. “Look who we have here.” His crooked smile twisted her stomach. “You’re not jealous, are you, my sweet little chili pepper.”

  She shivered, spoke through clenched teeth. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Or what? You’ll tell your mother?” He gave a deep-throated chuckle and grabbed her wrist, pulling her so close his hot breath flooded her face. “What do you think would become of that? I’ll tell you. My parents would throw you and your pathetic mother out in the streets.”

  He brushed his lips against her ear. “Who would care for your precious little sister then, huh?” He pushed her away, sending her falling against a thorny bush. Still laughing, he shot her a wink then sauntered back through the forest toward their house.

  Scampering to her feet, Fatima watched him go. Tears surged to the surface, and her legs wobbled.

  “Fatima?” Dinora ran to her with wide eyes.

  “Everything’s all right.” She’d make sure of it, she’d keep Dinora safe. Somehow.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brooke sifted through her closet searching for items that might keep her cool in the hot El Salvadoran sun without revealing too much. According to Pastor T, shorts and skirts needed to hit the kneecap or below.

  Although Brooke would’ve considered herself quite modest, she found only a handful of items fitting that criteria, and none of them appealing. She reminded herself for the umpteenth time this was a mission trip and not a fashion show and selected two mesh shorts for the “work days,” a long cotton dress, and a floral skirt.

  “Buenos dias, mi amiga! Como estas?” Her sister barreled into the room and plopped on the bed. “You ready?”

  Brooke added three purse-sized hand sanitizers to a sealed bag then closed her suitcase. “Ready? Not sure if that’s the word I’d use.” She glanced at her audition clip, still sitting on her dresser in an addressed envelope, and sighed.

  “You going to mail that thing yet?”

  “I don’t know. I’m wondering if I should wait for more on camera opportunities—successful on-camera opportunities. That way I can send actual footage.”

  “We can always do a retake—”

  “For the tenth time?” She chuckled. “Maybe so, but I’ll deal with it when I get back.” And yet, would she ever be completely satisfied with her video?

  What kept her from sending it? Besides the rolling sensation in her gut every time she glanced at the package? And praying for peace didn’t help. In fact, the more she prayed, the greater her angst. God, You promised to guide me. Now seems like as good a time as any.

  Maybe two weeks in El Salvador, away from cameras, cell phones, and to-do lists, would help her find clarity. Or at least hear God a little better—or more accurately, hear Him at all. Because right now she was getting nothing. Zero. Zilch.

  She checked her watch. “Almost show-time, huh?”

  Mr. Morley, their ride to the airport, would be here soon with his pickup. She glanced at a stack of papers, printed off the Internet, one more time. An image of half a dozen El Salvadoran gang members stared back at her.

  Aubrey jumped to her feet. “Loosen up, sis. This is going to be fun. Almost like one of those survivor shows.”

  Not a helpful analogy.

  “Wow, can’t believe I’ll actually see Central America, home of the Panama Canal, cocoa beans, and yummy coconuts.”

  Not to mention violent crime, malaria, and dengue fever. “Oh, insect repellant.” Brooke dashed out of the room and returned with two canisters of bug spray, which she placed in a freezer bag.

  Aubrey laughed. “You know, it might be easier to wear a hazmat suit.”

  Brooke crossed her arms. “You laugh now, but if you’d taken the time to read through the travel literature, perhaps you’d be more prepared.”

  “Why do I need to do that when you prepare enough for the both of us?”

  “You did pack the repellant and sanitizer I bought for you, right? Because I’m not sharing. I’m telling you now. Nor will I allow you to get sick.”

  “Allow me?” She snorted. “I know you enjoy playing the momma role, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m fifteen now. Almost sixteen, and fully capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay, Miss Responsible, why am I going on this trip then?”

  Aubrey sighed and slumped her shoulders. “Because you and everyone else want to keep me caged in, shielding me from everything that freaks you out. But you know what? Life happens. Maybe if you spent less time stressing over everything, you wouldn’t be such a crab all the time. You might even,” With a pronounced gasp, she held her hand to her chest, “have fun.”

  Brooke’s jaw slackened.

  Aubrey spun on her heels and stormed out.

  That wasn’t fair. Aubrey was young. Had nothing to worry about other than maintaining her GPA and what nail polish to choose. She didn’t—couldn’t—understand. Brooke blew air through tight lips, zipped her suitcase closed, and rolled it out of her room and into the kitchen. Mr. Morley, Aunt Isidora, and Uncle Lester stood in the center of the room in varying stages of agitation while Aubrey and Mr. Morley’s daughter talked.

  Aunt Isidora wrung her hands and stared from Brooke to Aubrey. “Call me when you arrive.”

  Brooke shook her head. “I doubt we’ll get cell phone service, but Pastor T said the hotel has Wi-Fi. I’ll email you.”

  “You’ve got cash, right?” Uncle Lester’s normally rosy cheeks looked slightly pale.

  Brooke nodded. “And my credit card.”

  His eyes widened. “Do you really think you should bring that?”

  “But of course she should!” Aunt Isidora rushed forward, as if trying to form a barricade between her husband and Brooke. “What if something should happen and she needs … she needs …” Her eyelids fluttered.

  Uncle Lester grabbed her hand and pulled her close. He wrapped his arm around her waist. “They’ll be fine, isn’t that right Mr. Morley?”

  “Of course. Pastor T leads mission trips all the time. Always returns with the same number he came with.” He shot Amanda a wink then checked his watch. “Well, guess we better get going so these girls don’t miss their plane.”

  A tempting scenario.

  “Oh, my.” Aunt Isidora teared up. She enveloped Aubrey in a hug while Uncle Lester did the same to Brooke, smooshing her face into his chest.

  Trying to fre
e her smashed nostrils, she swiveled her head to the side and cast a glance toward the safety and familiarity of the living room. Two weeks. Fourteen days. No big deal. Right?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fatima lay flat on her back and stared at a twinkling star through a hole in her roof. Her pulse pounded in her eardrums. Although she fought to quiet her breathing, her lungs ached for air. She strained to listen to the steady snores all around her. Movement rustled to her right and she held her breath.

  And yet, what was she so concerned about? Would anyone care if she left? Would anyone notice? During planting and harvest season perhaps, but now she was nothing more than another mouth to feed.

  She turned toward her sister and watched the rise and fall of her chest in the dim moonlight. Was Fatima making the right choice? An image of her cousin’s hungry eyes flashed through her mind, causing bile to flood her throat.

  She thought of Yesseca, her downcast gaze and slumped shoulders and the way she flinched whenever a man approached. At fifteen, she would soon give birth to her first child.

  That would never be Fatima. Or Dinora.

  They needed to leave, tonight. Even living on the streets would be better than this.

  She eased onto her knees and moved to her sister’s mat. Nudging Dinora’s shoulders, Fatima lowered until her mouth brushed Dinora’s ear. “Wake up. Dinora?”

  Her sister moaned and rolled onto her side. Fatima froze. She paused to listen once again to the steady breathing all around her then leaned close once again. “Dinora.”

  She opened her eyes. Rubbed them. “What’s going—”

  “Sh!” Fatima clamped her hand over Dinora’s mouth and cast a glance behind her. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. “Come. Quietly.”

  She grabbed her bag of beads, her sister’s doll made from cornhusks, and her aunt’s sandals. Tiptoeing, she led Dinora out of the house to a pile of branches gathered in the thicket. Beneath them, wrapped in one of Fatima’s shirts, lay a handful of sapotes and tortillas taken from Irma’s the day before while her mother gathered water from the stream. Beside this sat a hidden and filled water jug.

  “What’s happening, Fatima?”

  “I’ll tell you later, but now we must go.” After grabbing their stash, she cast one last glance at the dark hut behind her, then led her sister down the path and toward the main road. A full moon glimmered in the late-night sky, lighting the path before them.

  Dinora hurried to keep up. “But where are we going? Mama will be angry.”

  Fatima whirled around and pressed her finger to her lips, then spoke in a hoarse whisper. “No, she will be happy.”

  Dinora winced and tears filled her eyes. Fatima longed to hold her, comfort her, but she pressed on. There’d be time for hugs later.

  When they reached the highway, she paused to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. The road stretched into thick blackness on either side of them. The right led to San Miguel. To the left, between her village and San Salvador, lay miles of forest with an occasional cluster of mud and tree-limb homes.

  Which way should they go? The only stream she knew of lay at the end of their village. Without water they’d die, but if they found a coconut tree … Only she had nothing to cut them open with.

  Falling to the ground, she dropped everything onto the side of the road, pulled her knees to her chest, and buried her face in her arms. Dinora sat beside her, reached a hand to Fatima’s, and laid her head against Fatima’s shoulder.

  Wiping the tears from her eyes, Fatima wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She stared up at the starlit sky and focused on the brightest star. If You’re really there, why don’t You help us?

  God bless them indeed.

  ***

  Darkness settled over San Miguel. The single light bulb dangling from the ceiling of Ubaldo’s studio apartment did little to dispel the shadows. He stared at two sheets of newspaper spread across the coffee table—one listing apartment rentals, the other car advertisements. The money he’d scrimped and saved wouldn’t cover both. He glanced at his watch, wondering if the medicine he left with his mother allowed her to sleep. If only she had a cell phone.

  He set his tea mug on the coffee table and stood. Today, the North Americans would be arriving, marking the start of a very long, very frustrating two weeks. But at least their generous pay would help toward his apartment search.

  His phone trilled, and he glanced at the screen. Alberto.

  “Hello.” He turned from the window and ambled into the kitchen. “We’re meeting at the airport, correct?”

  “I think that would be best. The North Americans said they were bringing a great deal of luggage.”

  Of course they were.

  “Orfeo has agreed to help as well. He’ll drive the truck.”

  “Help transport or translate.”

  “Both.”

  “You explained the payment?” He pulled his wallet from his pocket and sifted through the bills—all totaled, $15.

  “We discussed it briefly. I’m not sure what he’s used to receiving.”

  “I don’t care how much he’s used to. We split it fifty-fifty.” All this, for what? To help a bunch of North Americans hand out gospel tracts and throw cash around?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Birds chirped as the emerging sun pushed back the night sky. Clutching her small bundle of provisions, water jug squeezed between her arms and ribs, Fatima clasped Dinora’s clammy hand. The child stumbled, her head swiveling as her wide eyes scoured the shadows all around them.

  “My feet hurt, and I’m hungry. How much farther?”

  Tears burned Fatima’s eyes. How could she answer that when she had no idea where they were going? She stopped on the side of the road. Looked first behind her, then before her, then to the thick rows of trees fencing her in.

  “Come.” She pulled Dinora away from the street and through the forest, doing her best to shield her from the clawing branches.

  Her sister tripped with a yelp and fell face first into a jumble of brush. Fatima dropped her load and pulled Dinora to her feet. She drew the trembling child close. As they stood in the dark forest, shivering from a cold that came from within, Fatima felt ready to break. But she needed to stay strong, for Dinora’s sake.

  She sucked in air and pulled her shoulders straight. “Come.” She tugged Dinora to an overturned log covered in vines and moss. “You’ll feel better after you eat.”

  She reached into her pouch and pulled a single tortilla from her stash. After tearing off a chunk, she handed the rest to her sister.

  Dinora stared at the food, tears welling behind her lashes. She shook her head and shoved it back to Fatima.

  Fatima leaned back against a tree trunk and forced a smile. “It’s okay. Take it. I’m too tired to eat, and once we rest, we’ll find everything we need in the forest. Okay?”

  She nodded and ate the tortilla. Then she rested her head on Fatima’s shoulder and together, they fell asleep as the first rays of sunlight speckled the forest floor.

  ***

  Brooke paused at the end of the jet bridge before stepping onto the plane.

  The stewardess smiled. “Welcome. Is everything all right?”

  She glanced at Aubrey, surrounded by a group of teens, talking and giggling. Electricity shot through her veins as she fought against a sudden urge to grab her sister and bolt. What if their plane crashed? What if they got separated in El Salvador? Or if something terrible happened and she lost Aubrey for good?

  Her sister, focused on her friends and yapping so fast her jaw looked ready to take flight, barreled into her. “Oh, sorry!” She studied Brooke. “You about to get sick or something?” She scrunched her face and shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not sitting by a barfer. No way.”

  Giggles broke out and Brooke rolled her eyes. “If that’ll keep you from harassing me the rest of the flight …”
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  But the minute the words left her mouth, her stomach knotted. If the plane went down, she wanted Aubrey with her. Like she’d be able to save her in the event of a crash. Ugh. Enough catastrophizing! Take your thoughts captive. Think truth. Promises. Recite those gazillion verses tucked in your back pocket and scrawled on note cards shoved in your Bible.

  She inhaled, put on her best smile, and giant-stepped onto the plane. While everyone else shoved carry-ons in the overhead bins and squeezed into their seat, she pulled her Bible from her tote. She turned to the slips of paper sandwiched in the Psalms. The first one was a passage written by her mother less than a year before the car accident. When Brooke was young, her mother read the verses to her nightly, ending with a kiss to the forehead and a prayer.

  The Lord Himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective shade. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon at night. The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.

  What about Mom and Dad? Tears stung her eyes as a familiar surge of grief took hold. God hadn’t kept her parents from harm, which meant there were no guarantees as far as she and Aubrey were concerned. But now wasn’t the time to obsess on the past. It’d only work her up more.

  She leaned her seat back and closed her eyes, letting the steady hum of the plane’s engine lull her into a restless sleep. As her mind drifted into dreamland, the memory of the night she’d lost both parents emerged.

  It was the Fourth of July, the end of a peaceful evening spent watching flashes of blue, red, orange, and purple light up the California sky. Although tired, having just returned from a long trip, their father insisted they travel the thirty minutes to the college campus a few miles from her aunt and uncle’s home. They gathered on a quilt sewn by Brooke’s mother, and he wrapped an arm around his girls. Thanked God for His blessings and ever-watchful eye.