Healing Love

by Jennifer Slattery

  “Oh.” The woman scanned Brooke’s peach, ruffle-trimmed blouse and crisp slacks. “You’re one of those career women, aren’t you?”

  “Uh … I guess.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m in television.”

  “And you’re afraid to fly? I’d think people like you would be on United’s VIF list.”

  “VIF?”

  “Very important flyer.”

  “Yeah, well …” The woman had a point. What kind of news anchor hated to fly? And choked on her words in front of a camera? But it’d get easier, right? Practice made perfect? First step: conquering her fear of flying. Best way to fight fear? Focus on truth. She grabbed her backpack and searched for her pocket Bible, plopped it onto her lap.

  Her seatmate suddenly grew very interested in one of the flight magazines.

  I need to hear from You, God. Because right now, everything felt chaotic and uncertain.

  She had a week to respond to Mr. Echo, and God only knew how long the interview process might take with NBC. Or what the outcome would be. Then there was Ubaldo ... and Fatima and Dinora and all the other girls at the orphanage. She couldn’t explain the love she felt for them, except perhaps that God had infused it. But why? So she could mail care packages and form pen pal relationships? Buy fair trade coffee? All good things, but she wanted—needed—to do more.

  She flipped through her Bible and landed on John 21. She started to turn the page when one verse caught her eye.

  “Do you love Me more than these?” A lump lodged in her throat as numerous “these” came to mind. She skimmed to the beginning of the passage. It was a conversation between Simon Peter and Jesus. Three times Jesus asked Peter, “Do you love Me,” and three times Peter said yes. So why did Jesus keep asking?

  She read His reply, and this time her heart pricked. “Do you love Me? Feed My lambs.” “Do you love Me? Tend My sheep.” “Do you love Me? Feed My sheep. Follow Me.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Ubaldo paced the sidewalk. Men, women, and children filed out of the airport and into waiting vehicles. Alberto’s truck—not exactly limousine service—was parked along the curb. Ubaldo had meant to wash it and air out the cab, but ran out of time. Not that it mattered. Nothing could compensate for its rusty appearance or Ubaldo’s meager lifestyle. Brooke’s heart belonged to another—a handsome, successful American who could give her the life she deserved.

  He inhaled in an attempt to lighten his heavy heart and spun around as another wave of passengers exited the airport. Brooke emerged, and his breath stalled. Clutching a pink suitcase, her silky hair falling to her shoulders in loose waves, she looked more beautiful than ever. She scanned the mob of people gathered on either side of her.

  “Brooke!” Resisting the urge to run to her, he squared his shoulders and took firm, deliberate steps.

  Her eyes lit up with her smile. “Hey, good to see you.”

  For once, he was thankful for the customary Latino greeting because it enabled him to hold her close, even if for only a moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled the sweet floral scent of her shampoo. It took every ounce of self-control to pull away.

  “Let me get that for you.” He took her suitcase. “I’m parked right here. The fancy 1980 rusted pickup with the dented tailgate.”

  “Thank you.”

  He laid her baggage in the back then opened her door. When she slid into the seat, her arm brushed his, igniting his nerves. He paused, holding the handle, to look into her eyes. Remembering the day at the beach when he’d held her in his arms. What he wouldn’t give to hold her once again, to taste her lips. To never release her.

  How long would it take for him to get over this beautiful woman?

  He forced a smile, closed her door, and rounded the truck. With a flick of the key, the engine sputtered to life. “It’s a noisy beast, but it’ll get us there. Promise.”

  “I trust you.”

  He froze with his hands on the steering wheel. But then a horn blared, startling him back to reality. He eased into the road and began the long drive to San Miguel.

  He cleared his throat to hide his mounting emotion. “Thank you for your generosity. It’s much appreciated.”

  “It’s what the body of Christ does, right? And it was largely Aubrey’s idea. She organized a jewelry fundraiser.” A soft pink highlighted her cheeks. “How’s your father doing?”

  “Better. The doctors are giving him antibiotics intravenously. Hopefully, they will release him soon. I’m not sure how much everything will cost, but I doubt we’ll need the ten thousand dollars your church gave us.”

  “Perhaps you can give whatever is left to the orphanage. How is Fatima doing?”

  “Well and has begun to take classes with the other children. Though she’s considerably behind, she’s a quick and motivated learner.”

  “How’s your mom?”

  “Good. It’s good for her to spend time with the children.” Should he ask her about the man named Caleb? It was none of his business. And yet …

  If only he could convince her to stay. Did that mean he didn’t truly love her? True love sought what was best for the other. In Brooke’s case, that was a thriving career with a North American who could provide for her much better than he could.

  He pulled around back of the orphanage, got out, walked her to a small metal side door. He knocked, and Alberto and Carmela greeted them with open arms. Boisterous children gathered near.

  “Brooke, welcome back.” Carmela kissed Brooke on each cheek while Alberto took her luggage from Ubaldo. “Perhaps to stay this time?” She winked, and Brooke blushed.

  If only.

  They ushered Brooke into the living room where the children soon besieged her with hugs and chatter. Fatima stood on the outskirts, eyes wide, clutching something in her hand. Her bottom lip quivered as she unfolded it.

  Surrounded by children, Brooke glanced up and met her gaze. “Sweet Fatima!” She rushed toward the child and pulled her close. Then Brooke stepped back, blinking rapidly. As if fighting tears.

  Such a tenderhearted woman. He’d be ruined when she left.

  She glanced at the page in Fatima’s hands. “You kept the letter?”

  The child dropped her gaze but Brooke lifted her chin, forcing eye contact. “May God forever bless you.”

  They embraced again then Brooke led her and a few other children to the couch. Fatima sat to the right, Dinora to the left. A handful of others squished between them and the armrests.

  Brooke looked up at Ubaldo, and his throat burned. Somehow he had to ready himself for their goodbye. He worried it’d be even harder than before.

  “Aqui.” Carmela rushed forward holding a stack of books which she placed in Brooke’s hands before moving to Ubaldo and Alberto’s side.

  “Gracias.” Brooke glanced down. For a moment, Ubaldo feared she might cry, but then she took a deep breath and slowly opened the first book.

  He leaned toward Carmela. “What did you give her to make her well up with such emotion?”

  She shrugged. “A book called the Father’s Lost Sheep. Does she read Spanish?”

  “A little.” He watched Brooke a moment longer, noting the quiver in her voice and the moisture in her eyes. Her vulnerability drew him. Made it hard not to go to her, to hold her, to feel her soft lips against his.

  He straightened. “I’ll put her things away. You readied a room for her by the office, no?”

  Alberto nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No need. I know where it’s at.”

  “I will come nonetheless.”

  Ubaldo walked out, through the courtyard, around the classroom, and down a long hall leading to the orphanage office. The wheels of the suitcase scraped against the concrete, muffling their steady footfalls.

  He turned into a storage area converted into a makeshift guest room. Most of the items had been cleared out, although a few buckets and boxes lined the walls. A mattress covered in a pale blue sheet
centered the room. A shade-less lamp rested on an overturned crate.

  Ubaldo set the suitcase down and scratched his chin. “Perhaps I should have offered my room. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that earlier.”

  “She’ll be near the computer here, in case she has work to do.”

  Ubaldo frowned, thinking back to the Facebook photos of her standing beside the man in the pictures.

  He turned to leave.

  Alberto grabbed his arm. “If you love her, fight for her. Don’t let her go.”

  “What do I have to offer her? A room in an orphanage? An El Salvadoran teacher’s salary?”

  “Love. The same as I gave to Carmela.”

  “She’s not interested. She belongs to someone else.”

  “How do you know? Did she tell you this? Because the way she looks at you says otherwise.”

  Could that be true? Dare he even hope?

  “If you love her, hold on to her with both hands. This may be your last chance.”

  ***

  Standing beside a bunk bed, Brooke tucked the last child in while Carmela folded a few items of clothing and placed them on shelves along the far wall.

  Then she and Carmela slipped from the room, turning off the light behind them.

  Alberto and Ubaldo waited for them at the foot of the stairs. Ubaldo’s mother, whom Brooke had met during dinner, sat on the couch, resting.

  Carmela squeezed Brooke’s hand. “I will make us some tea. Ubaldo can show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

  “Thanks.” She followed Ubaldo through the orphanage to a dimly lit room to the right of the office. Although sparsely furnished and small, it looked clean and comfortable. Silver moonlight drifted in through a glassless window facing the street, casting a long beam across the tile floor.

  Stars glimmered like tiny diamonds against a black sky, reawakening memories from when she and Ubaldo sat below them. How she longed to do the same tonight. If only to grab hold of a few more moments with this man who had stolen her heart. A man she soon would say goodbye to. For good. The thought sent a stab of pain to the back of her throat.

  “Will this be comfortable for you?” His dark eyes held hers, as if he wanted to say more.

  “Yes, thank you.” She lingered in the doorway, unable to move, unable to look away. “I suppose we should return—”

  “Wait.”

  She paused.

  He took her hands in his, standing so close, his breath tickled her face. “Brooke from the United States.” His gaze intensified. “The woman who invades my dreams. Who has invaded my heart.” He stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair from her face, his hand tracing the contour of her cheek. “I love you.” He tilted her face upward and lowered his mouth on hers.

  She shivered and closed her eyes. Oh, how she loved him!

  He deepened his kiss, pressing her to him and nearly causing her knees to buckle. When he pulled away, the air between them felt cold and vacant.

  “I have nothing to offer you,” he said. “Though you deserve the world.” He got down on one knee. “Nothing except my love, which I give freely, and my promise to cherish you above all else. Above my very life.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “Please don’t leave. We need you here. The children need you. I need you.”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Back home, Brooke wrapped both hands around her coffee mug, watching the steam rise. So many emotions clouded her heart. How could love feel so good and cause such pain at the same time? Aubrey sat across from her stringing beads. Once in awhile, she shot Brooke a lopsided-Aubrey grin.

  “You off today?” Her aunt wiped her hands on a dishtowel and tossed it onto the counter.

  “No. I’m meeting the crew on location.”

  “Looks like you could use the extra rest.” She gave Brooke a sideways hug. “So how was your trip? You got in pretty late last night.”

  Uncle Lester entered, blowing his nose. He shot Brooke a wink, “Morning, world traveler,” then plunked down at the kitchen table and snapped open the newspaper.

  She lifted her mug and took a sip, trying to find a way to broach the topic burning in her chest. She set the cup down. “I need to talk to you all, about … El Salvador.”

  Aubrey’s head snapped up. “Is everything okay? Ubaldo’s dad didn’t die or anything, did he?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Shew!” She resumed her beading. “So spill it already.”

  Uncle Lester lowered his newspaper. “What do you got?”

  Brooke inhaled and wiped her hands on her lap. “I’m in love with Ubaldo. And he loves me.”

  Aubrey laughed. “For real? No way!” She bolted to her feet and tackled Brooke in a hug while her aunt and uncle shot each other cautious glances. “So now what? Will he move here? Y’all can get married and rent one of those condos down the street. They’ve got a pool. Perfect for parties. I’d come visit.” She returned to her seat, making an okay sign and bobbing her head. “I could use a weekend hangout.”

  “He’s not planning on coming to the United States.” Silence thickened the air. She swallowed. “I’d move there.”

  Her aunt slid into an adjacent chair. “But you barely know him.”

  How could Brooke explain the intensity of her love for this man, and how certain she was of God’s call? “This isn’t just about Ubaldo. Even if he weren’t in the equation, I’d still want to move to El Salvador. To serve in the orphanage. I honestly believe this is God’s will for me.”

  “What?” Aubrey scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

  Her aunt’s eyebrows furrowed. “Have you prayed about this?”

  “I have.” Again and again and again, and each time, the tug on her heart grew stronger.

  “What about the interview with NBC?” her aunt asked.

  Brooke picked at a thread in the tablecloth. She gave a slight shrug.

  The kitchen clock ticked.

  Uncle Lester shifted, his chair leg squeaking.

  She continued to pull at the thread.

  “Have you talked with Pastor T?” Aunt Isadora’s voice sounded small.

  “Not yet.”

  “Have you talked to missionaries? There’s a lot more to serving overseas than you may realize. Give yourself time. Talk with missionaries. Do some research into the area and what orphanages are like.”

  Brook breathed deeply and nodded.

  “This is insane.” Aubrey screeched her chair back and stood. “Insane.” She shook her head and walked out.

  “Aubrey, wait.” Brooke glanced at her aunt and uncle one last time, who stared back at her with sad eyes, then took off after her sister. She caught up with her in the hallway. “Please, listen.”

  “What? You want to go? To like, live there? For real? So you’re going to ditch us, ditch me and …” She made a sweeping motion with her arms. “Your whole life, for some guy you met on a mission trip, because you feel like it’s what God wants? That’s really stupid.”

  “I believe this is my calling.” Even if nothing came out of her feelings for Ubaldo, she couldn’t leave those girls. God had burned them permanently on her heart.

  “This is stupid. I’m done talking.”

  Brooke rubbed her forehead. Her sister’s reaction didn’t surprise her, not really. Nor could she blame her. They stuck together. Always. After their parent’s death, they’d been each other’s constant. And although their aunt and uncle offered plenty of love and support, it wasn’t the same. True, they’d lost a sister, but she and Aubrey had lost their parents, and all the security tied up with that. Now Brooke threatened to rock Aubrey’s world again.

  Moving down the street or to another state was one thing. But to another country? No. She couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t. After work she’d send Ubaldo a Facebook message.

  ***

  Ubaldo pulled around the back of the orphanage and parked behind the bus. He helped his father from Alberto’s truck an
d walked slowly toward the rusted metal door in front of them. “I think you’ll like it here, Papa. Or at least, I hope you will.”

  He glanced around. “Is this where you live?”

  “For now.” After week’s worth of searching and worrying, he realized God had a plan all along. At the end of the month, he would move in with one of the older men from church. Ubaldo would help with car and home repairs in exchange for minimal rent. Although the place was small, it was clean, and within walking distance to the orphanage.

  “Your mother said you plan to quit teaching?”

  “Not sure if quit is the term. The principal felt we were incompatible. A decision I believe was motivated by an influx of foreign applicants. Some kind of teaching exchange program with high dollar funding and a great deal of political motivation. But I’d rather work here anyway. I’ll spend my time teaching the children and helping Alberto and Carmela. If you and Mama decide to stay, perhaps they can return to Spain. I told you Carmela is feeling ill, no?”

  “I remember. She wishes to move back with her family?”

  “Si.”

  Ubaldo studied him—the wrinkles under his eyes and around his neck, the slight curve to his shoulders. He and Mother were too old to manage this orphanage by themselves. And as of yet, his father hadn’t agreed to stay past his recovery time. Ubaldo hoped the idea—and the children—would grow on him. They’d need help.

  Ubaldo would be here during the day, doing whatever was necessary. At least for now.

  The girls hung back, gathered in a group, whispering and giggling.

  His dad raised an eyebrow. “It appears I have quite a welcoming committee.”

  His wife hobbled to him and took his face in her hands. “That you do, my husband.”

  Carmela and Alberto rushed to greet him. “We are honored to have you, Señor.”

  “I’ll show your father to our room.” Ubaldo’s mom took his father by the arm.

  “Gracias, Mama.” Hopefully, she could help his father warm up to the idea of staying long term. Of selling the farm and settling in to a new way of life.