Healing Love

by Jennifer Slattery

  Before the final words rolled off his tongue, the teens grabbed their gear and ran that direction.

  Ubaldo smiled at Brooke, who stood admiring the white-capped waves. “Do you like to swim?”

  The wind blew a lock of hair across her forehead, and it took all of his self-control to keep from reaching up to brush it away. Rubbing the silky locks against his fingertips.

  “I like to stay cool, except … those waves look strong. Maybe it’s not such a good idea?”

  “Live a little,” Pastor T said. “You know you can’t leave El Salvador without tasting the salt water and dragging your toes through the black sand. You saw that, right? They’ve got black sandy beaches.”

  Ubaldo nodded. “From the volcanoes.” When Brooke’s eyes widened, he quickly added, “Very far away.”

  Bathroom doors banged shut and teenagers gushed out, tossing backpacks, shucked clothing, and towels every which way.

  “Last one in’s a rotten coconut!” Aubrey raced by.

  “Stay close to shore.” Brooke peeled off her T-shirt and carpris to reveal smooth golden skin next to a coral bathing suit and matching board shorts. “I better go before that girl challenges the guys to an open-water swim or something equally reckless. You coming?”

  He swallowed, trying not to notice the sleek muscles in her calves and thighs, or the soft curve of her shoulders. “Yes.” His voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat and glanced around. Heat flooded his face when he noticed the smirk spread across Orfeo’s.

  “You go.” Laughter danced in his friend’s eyes. “I’ll stay here to help translate orders.”

  With a brisk nod, Ubaldo walked Brooke to the pier. He helped her down the rickety stairs, her hand soft in his. The water lapped at their legs, tugging the sand beneath their feet.

  She waded deeper, scanning the horizon. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Aubrey, don’t go any farther.”

  Either the teenager had selective hearing or the pounding waves drowned out her sister’s words, because Aubrey dove in, feet kicking the air.

  Brooke huffed and inched her way out. He joined her. When the water reached mid-thigh, she swayed with each wave, and at one point, slipped. He grabbed her by the elbow to steady her, acutely aware of her slender yet curvy frame, but inches away.

  Eddie splashed beside them, flinging water from his fancy North American hairstyle. “Ever try body surfing?”

  Three of his buddies hollered and punched their fists in the air. “Wicked!”

  “Let’s do it!”

  “Catchin’ waves in El Salv.”

  Ubaldo guided Brooke away from a pole jetting up from the water. “What do you say? Want to jump the waves?”

  She laughed and soon followed his lead, leaping each time a wave rolled. Framed by a golden halo of the sun, water dripped from her long, silky black hair and glistened on her skin. So incredibly beautiful.

  Another wave crashed over them. He started to reach for her, longing to twine his fingers through hers, to hold tight to her before he lost her forever.

  “Where’s Aubrey?” She straightened. Squinted and scanned the water.

  He followed her gaze, unable to make out individual faces or body shapes in the sun’s glare.

  She lunged forward, pushing at the water with her hands. “Aubrey?” Her face went pale as she looked about.

  “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” He reached for her hand, but she shook it off.

  “I don’t see Aubrey.” Her voice pinched, as if on the verge of panic. “Where is she?” She pressed forward, the current tugging her sideways.

  “She probably headed back to get something to eat.”

  “No, I would’ve seen her.”

  The waves grew more forceful as high tide ushered in, the undercurrent clawing at their legs.

  He moved toward Brooke with heightened awareness. He needed to calm her down and get her and the others to shore.

  He reached for her again and drew her near. She pulled away, and a tall wave crashed over her. It tugged with such force, it knocked him back and yanked him under. Choking and sputtering, he found his footing and cleared the water from his eyes as another wave rolled. Through the onslaught of water, he watched her fight against the pummeling whitecaps. Her arms flailed, her cries muffled by the water. She was pulled under by another wave.

  “Brooke!” He dove headfirst, the salt burning his eyes, and searched the cloudy water. He zeroed in on her coral bathing suit. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her to her feet and held her close. Her cheek pressed against his chest and her hair wrapped around his neck. The waves continued to pound, growing stronger. He struggled to maintain control. Taking slow, firm, steps, he helped her back toward shore.

  Once her coughing subsided, she pushed at his chest and twisted toward the sea. “Where is everyone? Let me go!”

  But he wouldn’t. The waves were too strong. He needed to get her and her sister back to shore. Where was she?

  He studied the frothy waves glimmering beneath a pale blue sky. Not a swimmer remained in sight. Brooke tried to jerk back toward the ocean.

  He tightened his grip around her. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” Please let that be true.

  A whistle split the air and he turned to see Pastor T standing on the pier, waving his arms. Youth stood on either side of him, Aubrey among them.

  With a soft whimper, Brooke melted against him, igniting the protector within him. She buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her soft, still trembling frame and rested his chin on her head. “Everything’s all right. Your sister’s all right.”

  She pulled away and looked at him through wet lashes. Her drenched hair shrouded her face. He brushed it away, his knuckles grazing her cheek. His gaze locked on her soft, thin lips. Releasing his grip before giving in to the growing desire to kiss her, he took her hand and helped her up the stairs. But instead of turning to her sister, she ducked her head and walked away.

  The others clamored around him. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

  He nodded. “Everything is fine. She’s just shaken up, that’s all.” And likely embarrassed.

  He continued past the well-intentioned gawkers and followed her to a far table. He grabbed a towel and draped it over her shoulders, then sat across from her.

  She looked up at him with pink-tinged cheeks, offered a hint of a smile. “Sorry for my total freak out moment, as my sister would call it. Bet it was the first time you ever saw an adult act like a toddler, huh?”

  He cupped her chin in his hand, lifted it until their eyes met. “Why are emotions childish? Especially those rooted in love?”

  Oh, how he’d misjudged her! Beneath what appeared to be a shallow, materialistic shell hid a frightened woman looking for someone to hold her close and tell her everything was going to be all right. How he longed to be that man. But tomorrow, she’d catch her plane and head back to America.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Brooke lingered outside the van. She stared at the ocean while the rest of her team piled in. With high tide at full force, waves crashed against the pier and misted the air. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky like a giant ball of fire, drying her hair and clothes.

  Ubaldo approached carrying a backpack covered in sand. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Just completely humiliated. And emotionally drained. She climbed into the van and slid next to Aubrey.

  No one spoke as they drove back to San Miguel. Students leaned against windows, wind-blown hair draped over their shoulders or protruding in clumps, cheeks and noses red. Some closed their eyes; others gazed out at the blur of green lining the road.

  Sitting kitty-corner to Ubaldo once again, Brooke watched him drive. She thought back to the panic that had gripped her when the waves swept over her. Then the deep peace of resting in his strong arms. In that moment, once he pulled her close, and her body had melted against his …

  She was falling in
love. With a man she could never be with.

  Tomorrow she would catch a plane, returning to America.

  The van slowed and the lush landscape gave way to box-like concrete buildings enclosed by razor wire. They pulled alongside the orphanage, and she scanned the adjacent curb, searching for the child with the big, sad eyes. Her heart sank. The girl wasn’t there.

  Brooke climbed out and waited while everyone gathered along the curb.

  As if on cue, the large metal door screeched open and children emerged, smiles bunching their rosy cheeks. They wrapped their arms around the Americans before pulling them forward. Spanish words tumbled out, merging with the Americans feeble attempts at communication. Brooke was quickly engulfed by children.

  She peered over the girl’s heads, catching Ubaldo’s gaze. “I left my package in the van.”

  “I’ll get it. Would you like me to set it on the curb?”

  She sighed, casting a glance behind her. “Yes, thank you.” Hopefully that poor child would get it. If she was still alive.

  The children continued tugging everyone forward, moving the group like a massive, multi-armed organism with many wiggling parts. Brooke tripped over her feet, children clamoring on every side, yanking, pulling, hugging. She felt like a frayed rope stuck in an extreme tug-of-war. Words spilled over her, and she caught them in bits and pieces.

  “Amigos.”

  “Love you.”

  “Don’t go.”

  “Come back.”

  Lolita ran toward her clutching a sheet of paper. Tears glistened in her eyes as she handed it to Brooke. Flowers, hearts, and smiley faces bordered the words, which were printed in alternating colors of pink, purple, and red. Brooke studied the Spanish lettering, focusing on one phrase she recognized, “Hermanas en Cristo.” Sisters in Christ.

  She nodded, leaned over one of the girls cemented to her side, and cupped her hand behind Lolita’s head. “Hermanas en Cristo. Familia.” She kissed her cheek.

  Lolita gave a soft whimper and grabbed hold of Brooke with such desperation, her heart wrenched. So many words surged to her tongue, but nothing came.

  Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned to see Gabriella, a girl with long hair and a jagged scar stretched from her ear to jaw, holding a folded piece of paper. Like Lolita’s, flowers and hearts decorated the page. Brooke embraced the girl and started to open the note when two others tapped her arm.

  Children darted from the tables to the Americans, passing out notes then writing more. Soon, Brooke’s pockets bulged with letters. She moved toward the table, wanting to write a few responses, but was whisked toward a brick wall for a photo.

  Ten or so pictures later, Pastor T moved to the center of the courtyard and got everyone’s attention. “I’m going to go get some photos printed. So we can leave them with the girls. I’ll be back in—” he checked his watch, “—an hour. Say your goodbyes and be ready to leave at that time. And remember, don’t make any promises you can’t keep.” His expression turned stern as he looked from face to face.

  Brooke swallowed. She wasn’t ready to go. Would she ever be able to come back? And for what? To stay for a week or two once a year?

  She sat on the ground and leaned against the wall behind her. Watched her sister and a handful of youth initiate a game of “monkey in the middle.” Ubaldo stood across the way, apparently translating for Ralph and Alberto, the orphanage “father” while Carmela and Barb communicated by way of pantomime.

  Lolita stepped in front of Brooke and held out a rubber ball like those sold in vending machines. “Jugar?”

  “I would love to play.” She stood and brushed the dirt from her pants.

  “Ahora?”

  “Si, now.”

  Lolita giggled, as if Brooke offered her a long-sought-after gift.

  It took so very little to make these girls happy—a hug and a rubber ball purchased for a quarter. Oh, if only she could stay but one more day.

  ***

  Fatima lay on the warm, dry earth, twigs poking her cheek and side, pebbles eating at her bony hip. Flies swarmed, biting her ears, ankles, her arm, but she lacked the energy to swat them away. The hot afternoon sun beat down on her. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she struggled to swallow against her dry, scraped throat. Not that she had anything to swallow.

  Laughter spilled over the concrete wall behind her, and she closed her eyes, thinking of Dinora, happy and well fed.

  Branches rustled. She lifted her head and opened her eyes to see a rat emerge from beneath a plastic bag. He rose on his hindquarters, twitched his nose and flicked his tail, then scurried over a mound of trash. A twinge of nausea swept over her as a gust of wind carried a thick stench of rotting meat, or perhaps decaying rodent. But fatigue weakened her gag reflex. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back to the ground.

  This was it. This was where she would die. Without seeing Dinora. Without telling her goodbye. And how much she loved her.

  ***

  The dusty air tickled Brooke’s nostrils. She tucked the ball between her arm and her side to fix her ponytail before bouncing it on the concrete.

  Lolita grinned and chased after it. Then, with a grimace, she threw it back in mid-run. The ball flew over Brooke’s head and into the concrete wall behind her. It ricocheted in the other direction, tumbled through the mess of feet entangled in a keep-away game, and settled in a muddy splotch beneath a leaking hose.

  She blocked Lolita with her arm and raced for the ball, reaching it moments before her companion. They continued this game, playing catch and darting after the misses until Brooke gasped for air.

  She licked her dry lips, tasting salt in the corners of her mouth, and signaled for Lolita to wait so she could get a drink. Sitting to catch her breath, she pulled her water bottle from her backpack and guzzled until the plastic caved in. She paused for air then gulped the rest.

  Pastor T emerged from the kitchen smiling and waving a photo in the air. He held an envelope in his other hand. The orphans scurried after him to a plastic picnic table, some pressing close to either side, others peering over his shoulder.

  Brooke’s heart felt heavy. It was time to go. They needed to start their goodbyes.

  She turned to Lolita and squeezed her hand. “I’ll be …” Don’t make any promises. Especially those she knew she couldn’t keep. No matter how much she wished she could. “I love you.”

  Tears filled Lolita’s eyes and her grip tightened on Brooke’s. But then she raised the ball in the air. “Jugar! Jugar!” Desperation heightened her voice, as if playing one more game might delay the inevitable.

  “Uno mas.” Brooke held a finger in the air.

  Lolita hopped on the balls of her feet. “Uno mas!” With an even wider smile than before, she raised her arm high above her head then slammed the ball into the concrete. It bounced off the ground and through a glassless window cut into the concrete wall.

  Her smile vanished.

  “It’s okay.” Brooke joined her at the wall to peer toward the vacant lot on the other side. She squinted against the glare of the low-lying sun and scanned the ground, covered in wood fragments, glass shards, and sheets of discarded newspaper. A plastic bag dangled from barbed wire edging the property, and a stray dog with skin stretched taunt across a bony frame nosed through a mound of trash.

  “Un momento.” Lolita lunged toward the metal door leading to the street, but Brooke grabbed the girl’s arm.

  “You stay here. I’ll go.”

  Lolita wrinkled her brow, so Brooke resorted to hand motions, pointing to herself then to the wall.

  “Si, gracias.”

  Brooke exited the building and approached the lot, barricaded by barbed wire.

  Standing with her back to the street, barbed fencing reaching to her hips, she eyed the thistles and dried grass in front of her, dotted with patches of crackling earth and debris. The stench of rotten fruit swept toward her, and she wrinkled her nose. She grabbed the wire between the barbs
and raised one string while stepping on another, creating a pocket to pass through.

  As she inched over the fence, twigs crunched beneath her feet, and a cockroach scurried away. Torn newspaper fragments, bits of broken plastic, and strips of cloth lay entangled between twigs and brush. There was no way she’d find Lolita’s ball in this mess. And there wasn’t time to buy her a new one. And yet, these girls had so little to call their own; she couldn’t turn away without at least trying.

  She tiptoed forward, swatting bugs, wrinkling her nose at the sour stench that wafted toward her, until she stood below the window. She made a slow scan of the area and tried to envision the trajectory of the ball.

  Was that—?

  Less than ten feet away, what appeared to be a child lay curled in a fetal position on the ground. A lead weight settled in Brooke’s gut. Had Dinora’s sister been here all along? The poor, helpless child!

  Was she dead?

  Oh, Lord Jesus, no. Please, no!

  Stepping on quivering legs, she drew near then squatted down to study the girl’s small, rounded back. It rose and fell! Brooke released a gust of air. Was the child hurt? Conscious? She covered her mouth then reached forward with a trembling hand. Matted hair covered the girl’s dirty face. Brooke smoothed it away.

  She turned toward the orphanage window and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Help! Someone please help me!” Could they hear her?

  Easing one arm under the girl’s shoulder and another beneath her legs at the knees, Brooke held her close and rose. So light!

  The girl’s head sagged back and her eyelids fluttered open. “Hagar … Dios … Dinora.” Then she closed her eyes, going limp.

  A sharp pain stabbed at Brooke’s throat. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”