Dinora’s eyes brightened. She took the container in both hands. After three loud gulps, she stopped and looked from the bottle to Fatima, her thin brow furrowing.
Fatima shook her head. “I’m fine, Dulce Din. I had plenty to drink back at the house.”
Dinora nodded and brought the bottle to her lips then set it down again. “But … is this stealing?”
Fatima sighed and rubbed her face, thinking of the street children she saw during her many trips to the market. Some so hard they’d take a man’s life as easily as she had stolen the stolen rice and beans.
But she was nothing like them. Never would be.
***
Brooke slumped in her seat, a dull ache spreading through her skull. The early evening sun reflected off the dashboard and burned her gritty eyes. What she wouldn’t give for a cold soda. She grabbed her warm water bottle and chugged down the remaining liquid.
The van slowed and Ubaldo eased onto a gravel alley leading to their hotel.
His smiled drew her. “You did a good job today teaching our women how to reach the heart of the child. How to make Jesus real to them. Many adults don’t take the time to do that.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you like children?”
Did she? They made her laugh, and presented a carefree view of the world, but outside of subbing, she’d never given them much thought. Was that strange?
A long metal door, much like those on American garages, barred entry onto the hotel grounds. Ubaldo tapped his horn then waited for the armed clerk to let them in.
Engine idling, the van rocked, the deliriously sleep-deprived youth rapping in the back. They bobbed in time to be-bop sounds vibrating from their mouths. This had been going on for the past twenty minutes, ever since they left the church. Brooke was developing a headache. Soon, she’d lose it. Say something very nonmissional.
By the time Ubaldo cut the engine and the teens scampered out, Brooke’s headache had reached full-throb mode. She paused to rub her temples, praying Aubrey’s exuberance would wane before they hit their room. And as long as she was making requests, a full-night’s sleep wouldn’t hurt either.
Ubaldo rounded the truck and held her door open for her. “You all right?”
Genuine concern radiated from his eyes. Compassionate and handsome. Had she met him back in the states, they might have dated. She smiled weakly. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“Yes, I know what you mean.” He laughed, glancing toward three youth tossing a dented water bottle between them. “Where do they get their energy? They tire me out just watching them.”
“Yeah, and I have to room with three of them.” She looked at Aubrey, who stood talking with her friends.
“She’s your sister, yes?”
She nodded. “You’d think that’d make it easier, huh? Family. Gotta love ‘em, crazy antics and all.”
Ubaldo frowned and looked away. Had she said something to offend him?
Pastor T whistled, calling everyone to attention. “You’ve got an hour then we’ll meet out here for our devo time. Make sure you read tonight’s assigned passage and take a moment to pray over what God might be saying to you.
“Come prepared to share. Oh, and the Wi-Fi’s working, so if any of you want to Skype your parents, let them know you’re alive and plan on returning home eventually, stop by my room.”
Brooke grabbed her backpack and turned back to Ubaldo, her gaze locked on his for the span of two breaths. What was it about him that drew her so? “Thanks for taking me to the store today, and for driving us all over the place.”
“Of course.”
“Hurry up!” Aubrey stood outside their hotel room, hands cupped around her mouth, hollering loud enough to wake the city. “You’ve got the key, remember?”
Brooke rolled her eyes, waved goodbye to Ubaldo, and strolled across the parking lot. As soon as the lock clicked, Aubrey pushed past her and into the bathroom. The other girls clamored in, talking so fast Brooke’s jaws ached listening to them.
“Hey, ladies, how about if we lower the volume level a bit.” She popped some Tylenol then fished her air Mac from the bottom of her suitcase. Settling on the bed, she deliberately ignored the ants scurrying up the wall beside her and waited for her computer to connect to the internet. Ten emails lit up her inbox, most updates sent from work, two mass-forwards, and one from her aunt. She clicked on the latter.
Hello, my two sweet girls. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves and growing deeper in your walk with God. The house is awful quiet without my splashes of sunshine, but we know you’re in God’s hands. We love you and miss you.
Aunt Isidora closed the email with a row of Os and Xs.
When Aubrey bounded back into the room and flopped onto the bed, Brooke handed her the computer. “We got an email.”
Aubrey tapped the trackpad with a huge smile.
A barrage of knocks shook the door and Brooke answered it to find the rest of her roommates standing on the other side holding various hair products.
“Hi. We brought supplies.” They raised matching toiletry bags and pushed inside, chattering about hairstyles, fingernail polish designs, and make-up.
Brooke inhaled and smoothed her bangs to the side. “Something tells me this is going to be a long night.”
When her sister initiated a “pun war,” Brooke gritted her teeth and pulled Aubrey into the bathroom. “Calm down a little.”
“When did you turn into such an old lady?”
“Because I don’t screech every word, flutter around, and laugh until my face turns red? If I’m an old lady, then perhaps you need to catch up with me a bit.”
“We’re teenagers. We’re supposed to act loud and crazy. That’s what we do.”
“Somehow I managed to get through adolescents without all the theatrics.”
“Yeah, that’s because you pushed all your friends away and buried your nose in a book all the time. Like you were afraid to laugh or something. I thought this mission trip would be good for you. Help the old Brooke break out, but you know what? I think you’ve gotten worse.” Aubrey shoved past her and re-joined her friends.
Brooke stared at the wall, thinking back to the year they’d lost their parents. Although Aubrey mourned the hardest, crying herself to sleep every night, somehow she’d bounced back the quickest. Less than six months later, she’d jumped back into the social scene, exchanging tears for giggles while Brooke retreated—to her room, her books, her school work.
She pushed those thoughts aside, picked up her Bible and study notes, and left. She sat on the warm asphalt outside their room and leafed to Revelation chapter three: “I know all the things you do, and that you have a reputation for being alive—but you are dead. Wake up! Strengthen what little remains, for even what is left is almost dead.”
She read the first question printed on the Bible study leaflet: Jesus came to give us life. What is keeping you from experiencing the abundant life He offers?
Surrender. Loosen your grip.
She shook her head and closed her study. Tucked it inside her Bible.
Chapter Twenty-one
The sky turned a deep shade of pink as the early morning sun peeked over the horizon, pushing back a blanket of fog. Ubaldo stacked an armload of twigs in a pile then made sure his mother had everything she needed for the day. He hadn’t time to gather more coconuts, which meant she’d have to drink the murky water from the stream.
Reluctantly, he checked his watch. “I’ve got to go. I need to pick the North Americans up in less than an hour.”
She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Such a smart boy, doing such important work. Where will you take the gringos today?”
“The orphanage. They wish to spend time with the children.”
“Ah, what a joy that will be. I can remember when you were but a boy, the way you’d follow me around with your hands raised, saying, ‘Up, Mama. Hold me.’ Your father thought I’d spoil you, but I told him you would only be young onc
e, and see, I was right. Today a strong and handsome man stands in the place of that chubby-cheeked toddler.” She held his face in her hands.
“One of these days, you must go with me. The children would love you.”
“Maybe when there is not so much work to be done around here.”
“Perhaps.” He embraced her once more then left.
When he reached the main path, he paused to glance toward the stream, thinking of the young girl he’d met a short time ago.
Lord, I don’t understand the concern I feel for this child, except perhaps that she reminds me of Raquel, and a thousand other girls like her. I know I’ll probably never see her again, but she’ll never leave Your sight. Watch over her today. Keep her safe and fed. And above all else, may she feel Your love, and may it penetrate deep, driving out the fear I saw in her eyes.
“Ubaldo!”
He turned to see his younger sister, Raquel, rounding the corner. She came toward him holding a bucket in each hand.
He smiled. “Hola, hermanita. What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”
She set her pails down and they hugged. Then she pulled away and crossed her arms. “It wouldn’t be such a surprise if you came to see us more often. Or is Mama the only one you care for anymore?”
“I’m not welcome here. Father made that clear enough.”
“I suspect it’s not you who is unwelcome but the condemnation and anger you bring.”
“Condemnation?” He snorted. “It’s father who judges me. I come with food, and to help our mother.”
“Because father doesn’t, right? That’s what you think. Men.” She threw her hands up then grabbed her pails. “Both of you are ruled by your pride and not your heart. One of these days you’ll look back over all you’ve missed. Only then it will be too late.”
***
Fatima chomped on a handful of dry rice, wishing for a fire and pot to boil it in.
Dinora slumped beside her, legs spread before her. A dull shadow replaced the spark that once filled her eyes. Once again Fatima wondered if she’d done the right thing by taking Dinora with her. But then she remembered the way her cousin had looked at her that day in the forest. If Fatima hadn’t returned when she had ...
“What’s wrong?” Dinora studied her.
“Nothing.” She forced a smile. “Come. Let’s see if we can find something else to eat.”
Perhaps they could sell some of their beans in the market? But they wouldn’t sell for much, likely not enough for a meal. Besides, what if they ran into Mama or Aunt Isidora? Not that they’d care. Aunt Isidora would probably shoo them away. But still, Fatima didn’t want to take the chance.
Dinora swept sweaty hair off her forehead. “Where’re we going?”
Fatima pressed through the branches, using her shoulder to keep the brush from snapping back into Dinora’s face.
When they reached the main road, her sister stopped. Faced her. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
***
As Ubaldo drove through the streets of San Miguel, Brooke rolled down her window, her fancy video camera pointing from it. For what? To show on the North American television stations? Why would anyone care what happened in El Salvador? No, she was capturing memories, as they liked to call it. To post on Facebook?
Would she remember him? His pulse quickened at the thought, but he shoved it aside just as quickly. He was a paid driver, nothing more. To any of them.
Traffic slowed as cars wove around a stray cow that meandered into the center of the street. A man in a straw hat left a handful of calves on the shoulder to chase after the heifer.
“That’s crazy.” The teens clamored to the right side of the vehicle until heads and arms hung out all the windows.
“Oh, man! Check that out.” One of the youth leaned forward and pointed toward a man standing along the side of the road. Four iguanas, with mouths sewn shut, dangled from a piece of twine wrapped around the man’s hand.
Ubaldo glanced at the pastor in his rearview mirror. “Would you like me to stop?”
Cheers erupted, and Ubaldo pulled to the side of the road. The teens jumped out as soon as the van came to a stop.
The man strolled over with a wide smile. Sweat glistened on his nose and forehead, and a layer of dust covered his clothes.
“Dude, Kodak moment.” A teen with spiked hair raised his camera, and the man’s face fell.
Brooke stepped forward. “Guys, he thinks we want to buy something.” The teens continued to talk, oblivious to the man’s slumped shoulders. She turned to Ubaldo. “I don’t think we need a bunch of iguanas in the van, but what if we paid him for pictures? Would that be disrespectful?”
“That would be an honorable thing to do. How much?”
“Five dollars each?”
He nodded and translated her offer to the man, who readily agreed. Once finished, Brooke handed over a twenty-dollar bill. Ubaldo watched her, his gaze focused on her dancing eyes and soft smile, as she returned to the van. In but a few words, she’d demonstrated a depth of wisdom and compassion he hadn’t expected. And it threw him off guard. Made her all the more beautiful.
“You surprised me.” And drew him to her much more than was prudent. Reminding him of the need to maintain distance, or at the very least, keep a firm grasp on his thoughts. Because beautiful or not, she’d be returning to the United States with her teammates before the month ended. Never to be seen again.
She slipped her wallet back into her backpack. “Is that a good thing?”
He cranked the engine and eased onto the road. “Yes.” He smiled. Cast her a sideways glance and tried not to notice her long, dark lashes and the tiny dimple on the right, just above her delicate lips. “Most North Americans wouldn’t have noticed the man’s disappointment, or perhaps wouldn’t have cared. Or they would’ve simply given him money, demeaning him. And yet you … you found a way to meet his needs without hurting his pride. Instead, you built him up.”
“Thanks.” A hint of pink colored her cheeks. “Your comment reminds me of one of my favorite verses. It’s from 1 Corinthians and it says, ‘Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.’”
He stiffened and focused his attention on the road ahead. Pulled to the curb outside of Le Casa de Niñas and thought of the verse Brooke referenced in light of his conversation with his sister. Has my desire for social justice and change spoken condemnation to my father? Before he could contemplate this thought more, the orphanage’s long metal door slid open and smiling children scampered out chanting, “Americanos! Americanos! Americanos!”
The mission team climbed out of the van, and the children ushered them inside. Soon the Americans were engulfed by prattling, giggling orphans. Brooke stood, stiff, glancing about her with wide eyes. Was she afraid they’d get her dirty? Or did she not like niñas? One minute, she seemed so tender, like with the man on the roadside. Then the next, aloof.
Lolita, one of the orphan girls, lifted a picture attached to Brooke’s backpack and pointed at it. “Mamma y Papa?”
Brooke nodded, and appeared to tear up. Lolita wrapped her in a hug while Brooke continued to stand, stiff-backed, with her arms at her sides. But then her face softened and she returned the embrace.
Upon seeing this, a handful of girls jumped to her side. She was soon surrounded by smiling faces, all clamoring for a hug.
“I … oh, my.” She stumbled backward. But then, her stiff posture visibly relaxed. Before long, Brooke’s laughter joined theirs as they taught her a rather complicated hand-clapping game called chocolate.
“Choco, choco, la, la,
Choco, choco, te te,
Choco, la, choco, te,
Cho-co-la-te!”
Chuckling, Ubaldo watched from a distance. Each time Brooke messed up, the girls laughed and began the game again, adding one more motion for her to learn. After about ten minutes, Brooke lifted her hands in defeat, speaking broken Spanish, and sat on the concrete. Opening her arms wide, sh
e motioned for the children to come to her.
They did just that, nearly knocking her over in the process. They climbed into her lap and rifled through her backpack, a handful of children vying for her attention. She pulled the children even closer and rested her chin on one of the girl’s head.
Maybe the princess did have a heart hidden behind her shimmery lipgloss and designer clothes. Perhaps he’d misjudged her.
Not that it mattered, considering she would soon be gone.
Chapter Twenty-two
Sweat trickled down Fatima’s forehead and stung her eyes. She licked her lips and glanced at the water bottle in her hand. Beside her, Dinora walked with her face to the ground, hugging her torso.
The square brick buildings on either side of her looked the same. She turned and peered at the trash-covered road behind her then ahead. How far had they come?
Grabbing Dinora’s hand, she turned around and tried to retrace their steps. They reached a four way stop that didn’t look familiar. If only she had traveled in a straight line, or somehow paid more attention to where they were going. Or never left the woods in the first place.
Dinora stopped abruptly. “Can we rest? My feet are tired and my legs hurt.” Sweat glimmered on her nose and forehead and white clumped to the corners of her mouth.
Fatima released her grip on her sister and allowed her to sink to the ground then squatted down to eye level. “Are you thirsty?”
Dinora looked at the water for a long moment. “But it’s almost gone. You said —”
“We’ll get more. I promise.” She handed her sister the bottle and tried not to watch as the last drop of water disappeared.
Fatima’s stomach rumbled. She tugged Dinora to her feet. “Come. Maybe one of the storekeepers will have some water.”
They approached a row of concrete buildings. Large sheets of fabric with yellow writing covered the outer wall. Additional fabric sheets stretched across wooden poles, giving shade to outdoor merchants. An old woman with wiry white hair and a caved-in mouth sat on a folded chair outside a store selling masks and other items. She ate from a Styrofoam cup.
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