Healing Love

by Jennifer Slattery

Chapter Fifty

  Brooke picked at her blueberry muffin and watched a woman fight to get her toddler into a high chair at the table across from her and Naomi. The little one squealed and flung her arms, knocking over her juice. A man sitting nearby sprang to his feet to help, but the woman’s waitress beat him to it.

  “I don’t believe you killed your career.” Naomi moved her water aside and planted her elbows on the table. “Just because you didn’t accept one cohost position? That’s ridiculous.”

  Brooke sighed. “Not in broadcasting. There’s at least half a dozen qualified journalists jockeying for camera time. I had my chance, but I blew it. I for sure will never get a second chance with NBC. Not that I’m terribly distraught about that, except …”

  “Your family’s still concerned.”

  Brooke nodded. “Aubrey mostly.” In the three months since she first mentioned the possibility, her aunt and uncle had started to warm up to the idea. Especially after she talked with the Central American Mission to the Nations.

  “I’d hope so, with all the research you’ve been doing. And funding?”

  “If my application gets approved and my interview with CAMN goes well, they’ll help quite a bit. Plus, my church family’s pretty supportive. Many of them have committed to sponsoring me.”

  “That’s awesome.” Her eyes grew moist, and she dropped her gaze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Naomi tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll just miss you, that’s all.”

  As would Aubrey, and that was what made this so hard. “I’m really confused.”

  “About what? Why I like you so much?”

  “Shouldn’t that question be flipped?” She smiled. “But no. I’m starting to doubt my ability to hear God. I mean, I feel such a strong urge to go. Like if I don’t …” She shook her head. “I can’t explain it. I’ve just got to. It’s like I can’t not go, know what I mean?”

  Naomi gave a one shoulder shrug. “Maybe. Like how I feel around chocolate.” She winked then dipped a fry into her ketchup.

  “But at the same time, no matter what I say or how I try to explain it, Aubrey is dead set against me leaving. Which honestly feels strange, considering how quickly she got over our parents’ death.”

  “Are you sure about that, or was she just good at playing happy?”

  “I don’t know. Regardless, I can’t do this to her. Besides, I’m not even sure Ubaldo wants me to come anymore. I haven’t messaged or heard from him since I told him of my decision a few months ago.”

  “So is he the reason you want to go? Because I thought we were talking about the orphans.”

  Brooke released a long breath. “It’s both.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “What can I do?”

  Naomi wiped her hands on a napkin then tossed it onto her plate. “Leave it in God’s hands. If He wants you to go, He’ll work it all out.”

  “I guess.” And if He said no? What if He told her to stay in the states forever? Could she handle that?

  ***

  A few weeks later, Brooke sat in her aunt and uncle’s porch swing, gazing at a silver crescent moon. A warm breeze stirred the tree leaves framing Aunt Isadora and Uncle Lester’s home, the air filled with the faint scent of fresh baked apple pie wafting from one of the neighbor’s homes.

  Brooke tapped on her Pandora, plugged in her ear buds, and leaned against the back of the porch swing. This was all so messed up. If only she’d never gone to El Salvador. Had never met those sweet orphans. And Ubaldo. An image of his face, his warm eyes and gentle smile, filled her mind.

  She tapped the Facebook icon on her phone’s screen then navigated to his wall. No new updates. She clicked on his photos then scrolled to the album labeled, “American Missions, June.” Tears welled as she skimmed through the images.

  How long would it take her heart to heal? To forget?

  She closed her eyes and focused on the chorus drifting through her earphones. Jonathan Masters sang about a love deeper than the darkest valley, and the cord constricting her lungs tightened. She yanked out her ear buds and tossed her phone onto the swing beside her.

  The door creaked open, and Aubrey stepped out. She wore her favorite polka-dot pajamas, the ones with a giant yellow smiley face printed on the shirt. “Can I join you?”

  Brooke forced a smile and moved aside. “Course.”

  Aubrey sat, pulled one leg to her chest and rested her chin on her knee. Brooke draped an arm across her sister’s shoulder. They stayed like that for perhaps five minutes, the swing creaking beneath them.

  Aubrey handed a lavender envelope to Brooke. “I found this tucked in my old Early Reader’s Bible today.”

  “You still have that?”

  She nodded.

  Brooke studied the writing on the envelope. Their dad’s.

  “Read it,” Aubrey said.

  A lump lodged in Brooke’s throat as she slid the card out. On the front, the moonlight shone down on a girl seated on her father’s shoulders, reaching toward a night sky. She opened it. Their dad’s block-like handwriting triggered tears. His favorite verse—the one he told both girls each night as he tucked them in bed, the one Brooke clung to even now—filled the page on the right.

  Ephesians 2:10: For you are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

  He’d underlined the word “masterpiece.”

  She closed the card and slid it back in its envelope.

  “Do you remember what Mom and Dad used to tell us about success?” Aubrey asked.

  “True success comes from following wholeheartedly after God.”

  “And joy comes from full surrender.”

  Surrender—laying down her dreams and desires to let God work, love, through her. She could do this—let El Salvador, and Ubaldo, go. Move on. For good. Though it hurt now, Scripture promised joy would come in the morning.

  Aubrey slid out from under Brooke’s embrace and turned to face her. “I’ve been thinking. And praying.” She tugged on a lock of hair, studied the ends. “If Dad were here … he’d tell you to follow after God with your whole heart. Even if that meant moving to El Salvador. You should go.”

  Brooke studied her sister’s moist eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Besides, you’ll only be a plane ride away. Plus, I’ll be back soon.” She thrust out her arm, revealing a multicolored bracelet made from paper beads. “I want to teach the girls to make these, so they can have a way to earn money when they leave the orphanage.”

  “Oh, Aubrey.” Warmth welled within her.

  Brooke started to laugh, but then she thought about her aunt and uncle. “I need to talk to Aunt Isadora and Uncle Lester.”

  As if on cue, the screen door squeaked open and her aunt and uncle appeared, standing side-by-side.

  “We agree.” Her aunt pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, honey, your parents would be so proud.”

  ***

  Saturday morning, Ubaldo sat outside with his father, the scent of sunbaked earth wafting toward them. The seedlings, planted in neat rows across their garden, were doing well. Soon, they’d have plenty of vegetables to sell in the market. But even better, Ubaldo’s father actually seemed to be settling in. Alberto had greatly helped in that regard, asking Father’s advice on absolutely everything agriculture.

  “Geraldo says Señor Benítez offered to buy the farm.”

  “Si.”

  “For a fair price?”

  His father gave a one-shoulder shrug. “More than I would have expected.”

  Ubaldo waited, reluctant to press him too hard and push him in the opposite direction. “Mother really likes it here.”

  He smiled. “Yes, she has always loved children.”

  “She’s very helpful to Alberto and Carmela. As are you.”

  His father studied him, a deep crevice forming between his brows, then gave a stiff nod. “I’ve taught him
a few things, though he still has much to learn. Like how to rotate crops, what grows best when.”

  “He really wants to return to Spain, but he’s worried—”

  “That the farm will die. I can understand, especially since it’s only just begun to grow.”

  “Does that mean …”

  “Of course I will help. For your mother. And the nińas.”

  Ubaldo kept his smile in check. “Gracias. That is very kind of you.”

  “Ubaldo?” Alberto stood at the end of the field.

  “Si?” He stood.

  “There’s someone who wishes to see you.”

  He faced his father, “I’ll be back,” then crossed to where Alberto stood. “Who is it?”

  “Come.” He led the way back to the orphanage.

  “You’re acting strange. Is something wrong?”

  He kept walking, through the kitchen and courtyard, continuing to his and Carmela’s office. Then, he moved aside, allowing Ubaldo a glimpse inside.

  He blinked and stepped back. Brooke stood before him, her eyes bright above a delicate smile. His heart leapt. But … what was this about? He hadn’t seen or talked to her in months.

  Had she come to bring more money—to fly in and save the day before returning back to her suave boyfriend in the United States? And to think he’d actually thought she might be different. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hate her. If anything, he loved her more.

  “I appreciate your kindness, but we’re doing fine.”

  Alberto cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two alone.” Eyes twinkling, he slipped from the room.

  Brooke’s smile widened.

  “What’s so amusing?” He didn’t know whether to be confused or irritated. He looked away to hide his torment. Three matching suitcases and a large duffel bag caught his eye.

  “Perhaps you could help me with my things?” She motioned to her luggage.

  “Si.” He paused. “How long are you staying?”

  She handed him an itinerary. He scanned the page. It didn’t make sense. He read it again, then again. The third time, it clicked, and he stared at her. He was almost afraid to ask. “You purchased a one way ticket?”

  She nodded, pink flushing her cheeks.

  “Does that mean …?”

  “I’m staying.” Her eyes danced. “To help Carmela and Alberto with the children.”

  He gave a slow nod. “Ah. I see. But while you are here, we can court, no?”

  “Court? Oh! You mean date?”

  He flicked a hand. “Call it what you wish. But,” he paused. “If, after our cour—dating period, you find my presence agreeable …”

  “Yes?”

  He stepped forward and drew her near, lowered his lips to her ear. “Then perhaps, just perhaps, you will come to love me as much as I love you.”

  “I’m afraid I already have.” She wrapped her hands around his neck, her soft breath tickling his skin. “Ubaldo Covas Callas, something tells me I couldn’t let you go if I tried.”

  He laughed. “That is correct, because I’ll be holding on to you much too tightly.” He twined his hands in her thick, soft hair, bringing his mouth to hers.

  Cheers and laughter erupted behind them, and he pulled away to see his parents, Alberto, Carmela, and what appeared to be the entire orphanage, gathered in the hall.

  Fatima and Dinora scampered forward and stood in front of him.

  Alberto clapped his hands together. “We must celebrate!”

  Ubaldo grinned. “Si.”

  Epilogue

  One year later

  A gentle breeze stirred the curled locks that framed Brooke’s face, the rest secured by a simple yet elegant veil made by her mother-in-law. She touched the white headband, decorated with hand-sewn roses and shimmering beads then ran her hand gently down the tulle.

  She still couldn’t believe she was doing this. Getting married. To Ubaldo. Here, in El Salvador, at one of the most beautiful coffee plantations in San Miguel. Perhaps in all of Central America. The fact that she could celebrate this day with her family and some of her dearest friends made it all the more special.

  Standing beside her aunt, she glanced back at her bridal party. They wore matching lavender gowns made of soft chiffon, their hair styled in long, loose ringlets. Dinora had spent most of her morning alternating between chasing butterflies and twirling in her dress. Carmela had been worried all her dancing would ruin her hair, but the steady dose of hairspray Aubrey supplied prevented that.

  Fatima, on the other hand, stood stiff and tall, as if afraid to move for fear of wrinkling her fabric.

  “You are beautiful.” Naomi, her maid of honor, took both of Brooke’s hands and turned her toward her. “And the venue; absolutely enchanting.” She gazed down the gravel path, set between rows of lush coffee trees. Red beans glimmered in the mid-morning sun.

  The scent of jasmine, carried from the vine-covered arbor leading to the formal garden area, drifted toward her. “I still can’t believe the plantation owners are allowing us to use this place free of charge.”

  “Well, you have become his greatest advocate and cheerleader.”

  “I blog about all fair trade farmers.”

  From around the corner, the harpist began to strum. Brooke straightened and sucked in a deep breath. Caught her aunt’s eye. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She fanned her face, blinking rapidly, probably to prevent the tears building behind her lashes from sending streaks of mascara cascading down her face. “Though I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you planned this day around the church’s mission trip.”

  “Wasn’t that hard, considering they’re coming twice a year now.” More than that, they’d begun to take their love for orphans back home with them, advocating for adoption, increased awareness, and generosity.

  Alberto appeared at her side dressed in black slacks and a white shirt. “This is it.” He held out his elbow for Aunt Isadora. Then went the bridesmaids, escorted by men from Ubaldo’s church. Finally her uncle appeared beside her. He’d been facing the coffee trees, gushing like a monsoon cloud and swiping at his eyes.

  “My girl.” His nose was red, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. “Your daddy would’ve—” He choked up and shook his head. Swiped his face with his handkerchief.

  Brooke smiled and looped her arm through his, fighting tears of her own. “He’d be glad you’re walking me down the aisle.” She blew a breath toward her eyes, drying them before she ruined her make-up. “Now so long as I don’t trip in these ridiculously impractical but absolutely fabulous shoes.” She poked a toe out from beneath her gown. The sun caught the tiny crystals embedded in her silver sandals.

  He patted her hand. “I got you. For a little while longer, anyway.”

  Fresh tears falling once again, he guided her down the path and around the corner, drying his eyes every third step.

  The guests stood, a kaleidoscope of color set against a shimmering backdrop of white chairs draped in tulle. In her peripheral vision, Brooke saw blurs of movement. Children squirming. A little boy started to dart in front of her but was snatched back by his short, stocky mother. Someone sneezed.

  But all that faded as she focused on the handsome man standing at the altar. He watched her with an intensity that stole her breath.

  As they drew closer, her uncle’s sniffles grew louder and more frequent. He made it hard for Brooke to keep it all together. Was he missing her parents as much as she was?

  She faced Ubaldo, Pastor T standing between them, Uncle Lester to her right.

  “If I stick with the formalities, will that make you cry more or less, Lester?” Pastor T. grinned.

  Her uncle gave a strange, warbled laugh. Waved for him to continue.

  “Who presents this woman to be married to this man?” Pastor T asked.

  “I do.” Uncle Lester’s voice came out froggy. He turned to Brooke and kissed her cheek. “Love you.”
Then faced Ubaldo. “Take care good care of her.”

  Ubaldo nodded, and as Uncle Lester took his seat, focused on Brooke. The depth of love in his eyes confirmed everything he said in his vows. That he’d love her, until the day he died. That he’d cherish and care for her, even to his own harm.

  He folded up the sheet of paper he’d been reading from and tucked it in his front pocket. “Though I’ve spent hours—”

  Alberto coughed. “Days. No, weeks.”

  Ubaldo smiled. “Okay, weeks. Preparing what I would say, when I finally stood in front of you, here.” He took her hands in his. “I don’t need a speech to tell you how I feel. And though my friends,” he cast Alberto a stern look, “will tease me unmercifully for what I am about to say, I cannot help but tell you. I wasn’t planning on falling in love. I certainly wasn’t planning on falling in love with a woman from the United States. But then I met you.”

  She took in a deep breath as warmth radiated through her. His words easily could’ve been hers.

  “Brooke Endress, outside of salvation, you are the best thing that has happened to me. If you only knew how much I look forward to seeing you every day. I often plan my day around when I can spend time with you, and I dream about what our life together will look like.”

  He paused, his eyes searching hers. “I’ll do everything I can to show you, in everything I do, just how much you mean to me. You are the most caring woman I have known, and you have captured my heart completely. I promise to cherish you, forsaking all others, in sickness, health, and … poverty.” He gave a sheepish smile and a one-shouldered shrug.

  A few of the guests snickered.

  “I’d say until we part at death, but since we’re both going to heaven.”

  She smiled, her eyes going misty.

  “In other words, once I place this ring on your finger …” He held a hand out to Alberto, who dug the ring from his pocket and gave it over. “You’re stuck with me.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Her vows, though painstakingly written, weren’t nearly as poetic. “Just over a year ago, I prayed for a way out of coming here.” She glanced toward the striped bamboo behind them, interspersed with ferns and flowering bushes. “But God had other plans. And I’m so glad He did. Pastor T. told me that mission trip would change me. Neither of us had any idea how true his words would become.”