Healing Love

by Jennifer Slattery

  “I don’t know. Guess it doesn’t hurt to ask. Our members are pretty generous. Wouldn’t be surprised if they covered this thing by Sunday.”

  “Actually, I wanted to bring it personally.”

  “You mean return, like on another mission trip?”

  “Not really. More like a quick in and out.”

  He snorted. “Right. We’re talking Central America.”

  “A four hour flight. Closer than flying to Boston.” If she could use airline miles … last time her aunt had insisted on paying for her ticket.

  He planted both feet on the floor and propped his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on, Brooke?”

  She studied her hands. “I’d like to go back. To check on Fatima. Get closure.”

  “For what?” He studied her for a long moment. “Is this about Ubaldo?”

  She blushed. “What? No!” Was it? So many emotions swirled around her El Salvador trip. But did it matter? She needed to go there one more time, to say goodbye.

  “This short of notice, your plane ticket would cost an arm and a leg. Money you could send to help.”

  True, and yet, she needed to go. “I can save $300, maybe more, if I leave on Sunday.” She couldn’t explain the intense tug she felt, nor could she suppress it. If she couldn’t use points, she’d simply have to buy her airline ticket using her credit card.

  An awkward silence followed.

  She shifted, then cleared her throat. “Thanks again.” She started to leave then sat back down. “You got a minute?”

  He looked at his watch. “I’ve got eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds. What can I do for you?”

  “How do you know if you’re being called into missions? I mean, well, not missions exactly.” What? Orphanology? Was that even a ministry? To devote your life to loving on children?

  “Wow, El Salvador really got to you, huh?”

  “Kind of.” She’d prayed about it, but it seemed God was sending her conflicting messages. Or was it more she just didn’t want to hear what He was saying?

  “My advice? Let the dust settle. According to Ubaldo, many North Americans come down for a week or two and swear to return. Only most never do. But that doesn’t mean the trip didn’t have value. We often think in terms of big and radical. I believe God looks at heart change filtering into our day-to-day lives. The question I always pose is how can you take the passion you felt during the mission trip into your neighborhood, your work place, your circle of friends?”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Machines beeped, accentuating the thick silence in the hospital room, as if ticking down time. Ubaldo’s mother remained at his father’s bedside, but based on her drooping, bloodshot eyes, she needed to go home. Get some rest.

  Ubaldo stood and motioned for his siblings and Matteos to follow him into the hall. He waited to speak until the door slid shut behind them. “Father will be here for quite a while. You heard what the doctor said. The bacteria causing his infection, Pseudomonas, is resistant to antibiotics. If it moves to his kidneys or lungs …” He swallowed. “We must pray he has the strength to fight this.”

  Raquel buried her face in her hands. Matteos pulled her close as Ubaldo led everyone in prayer. Afterward, silence stretched between them. Ubaldo longed to speak words of truth, but the verses clogged his throat. How could he tell them to be strong, to trust God, when his faith wavered? And if his father died? A stabbing pain gripped his heart.

  Don’t think about that. Not now. Stay strong. They need you to be strong.

  He glanced at his mother through the window. “Madre needs to rest. I think it’d be best if she stayed with me, at the orphanage. The village is too far away and would make it difficult for her to visit Father.”

  “So that’s where you’re staying now?” his brother asked.

  “Until Father recovers.”

  “We can care for mother,” Raquel said. “At home.”

  Ubaldo shook his head. “The rest of you must take care of the farm. And I pray God blesses the harvest so we have enough to pay for Padre’s treatment.”

  “But how.” She threw her arms up. “There’s no way.”

  He lifted his chin, feigning confidence while a heavy weight settled on his shoulders. “God will provide. I’ve already contacted my pastor. He sent out a request to all our members, asking for help.”

  When no one raised any more objections, he slipped back into his father’s hospital room and went to his mother’s side. Laid his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him through bloodshot eyes.

  “Mom, you need some rest.”

  “I want to stay with your father.”

  “He may be here for a long time. You can’t spend every day in the hospital. Please. If you get overtired, you’ll get sick as well. Then who’ll help Father recover once he’s discharged?”

  She watched her husband, pressed a fist to her mouth.

  “I’ll bring you back tomorrow.” He lifted her by the elbow. “I promise. I’ll bring you to see him every day.”

  She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the door, leaning on him for support. When they reached the hall, her children embraced her one by one.

  Ubaldo’s brother held her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. “Everything will be okay.”

  Again she nodded. Hunched forward, she shuffled beside Ubaldo through the hospital and out into the early evening sun.

  Neither spoke on the bus ride to the orphanage. While his mother stared at her hands, Ubaldo poured his heart out to God. What if his father didn’t make it? If only he hadn’t wasted so many years in bitterness and pride. If only he’d sought reconciliation earlier.

  By the time they reached the children’s home, the first stars twinkled in a velvet blue sky. Alberto and Carmela met them at the door. “Buenas noches, Señora. Welcome.” Alberto turned to Ubaldo. “Both of you can stay in one of our transition rooms on the first floor of our living quarters.”

  The children gathered behind them. Ubaldo caught a glimpse of Fatima, who studied him with a furrowed brow, her gaze sweeping from him to his mother as if analyzing their every move.

  “Gracias, Alberto.” He led his mother through the courtyard and toward the room where he once laid Fatima. Soft footsteps followed them, and questions came in hushed whispers.

  Upon seeing the bed, his mother gave a contented sigh.

  With one hand on her back and the other supporting her by the arm, Ubaldo helped her onto the mattress. He grabbed a folded sheet from a nearby shelf and spread it over her. “I’ll stop by your house tomorrow to get a change of clothes for you.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Mama. You get some rest. I have to teach in the morning, but I’ll be back by five-thirty to take you to see Papa.”

  “Such a thoughtful boy.”

  “I’ll be sleeping right next door if you need anything.” Praying his father survived.

  ***

  Brooke sat in a corner booth, nibbling fries, while her friend Naomi, picked her salad.

  “Thanks for the invite.” Brooke stirred her tea with her straw. “This sure beats vending machine sandwiches.”

  “I don’t know. Three day old tuna’s pretty enticing.” Naomi laughed and stabbed a tomato with her fork. “Besides, it’s about time you and I got together. You aren’t turning into a hermit, are you?

  “No. Been busy, that’s all.”

  “So make time. How about we head to the beach this weekend? Catch some rays and a few phone numbers.”

  “You and your over-active hormones.”

  “Just trying to find me a man before my bio-clock stops ticking. But hey, if you want to make it a girl’s night, no biggie.”

  “Can’t. I’m going back to El Salvador and need to take care of some things. Do laundry. Pack.”

  Naomi’s jaw went slack. “You can’t be serious. Miss Germ-a-phobe, El-Salvador-has-gangs lady? No way.”

  “Just for a few days. I w
ant to drop off some money and check on that girl I told you about. The one we found in the vacant lot.”

  “Right.” Naomi raised an eyebrow. “I’m thinking you want to check out your new Facebook friend, Ubundo.”

  “Ubaldo. You been stalking my wall?”

  “Once or twice. Wanted to see what’s so important you couldn’t spend a few moments with your bestie.” Naomi grinned. “Gotta admit, he’s hot.”

  “You’re pathetic. And wrong.” She grabbed a bottle of ketchup and squeezed a blob onto her plate. “Our church did a fund—” Her phone trilled and she glanced at the display screen. Not a number she recognized. She held up a finger for Naomi to be quiet then answered. “Brooke Endress, may I help you?”

  “Hello, this is Salena Wilkinson from NBC news.”

  She nearly dropped the phone. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We received your audition DVD and would like to schedule a time for a telephone interview. If the interview goes well, we’ll schedule a time for you to come here in person. You’re in Upland California, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thirty minutes east of Los Angeles.”

  “Are you available tomorrow at three? I know this is short notice.”

  “No, that’s fine. Tomorrow at three o’clock sounds great.”

  “Wonderful. Mr. Patrov, our morning producer, will contact you then.”

  Brooke ended the call. “Wow.”

  “Well? What was that all about?”

  “I have a phone interview with Mr. Patrov from NBC.”

  “No way!” Naomi’s eyes widened. “You serious?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s huge. See? What’d I tell you? You’re going to go far, girl. When you get to the top, don’t forget us little people. And you’re still committed to spending time with me, you know. Even if you gotta catch a plane to do it.”

  Brooke was no longer interested in her food. “Now I’ve got to muddle through an excruciating day and a half.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of, I’m late.”

  “Fine. Ditch me before dessert.”

  Brooke chuckled, tucked a twenty dollar bill under her plate, and left. Standing on the curb a moment later, she blinked and stared into a coffee shop window. Was that …?

  Caleb Silves stood over a well-endowed blonde, nuzzling her neck. One hand twined through the woman’s hair while the other drifted down the small of her back. Good thing she didn’t fall for that loser.

  She was beyond ready to leave Home Haven and Caleb Silves behind her.

  If her telephone interview went well …

  Ubaldo. Her heart sank as an image of him standing in the airport terminal came to mind. She sighed. As much as she loved him, loved the orphan girls, her life was here.

  ***

  Brooke couldn’t concentrate on her work, which included sifting through files of potential home show properties. Her thoughts jumped from Ubaldo and her upcoming trip to her interview and potential job with NBC. With each scenario, a thousand questions swirled through her brain, reducing her neurons to mush. By the time she made it to the church that evening, it felt like a colony of ants had invaded her stomach.

  “Wow.” Standing in the doorway, she scanned the fellowship hall. A horde of teenagers gathered around tables scattered with beads, wires, and wire cutters. A few ladies from the women’s ministry team darted about, from the looks of it, offering advice. Mrs. Tinker, a church member and owner of a local craft shop, distributed various supplies to students.

  Aubrey glanced up, waved her arm, and jumped to her feet. She bounce-skipped over to Brooke, a gargantuan smile on her face. “See, what’d I tell you?”

  “This is amazing. Way to go.”

  “We didn’t even have to pay for any of the materials.”

  “Seriously? How’d you swing that?”

  “Mrs. Tinker donated everything. And she’s gonna take fifty or so items back to her store to sell tomorrow.”

  “How much will she get out of it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s her cut?”

  “Not a thing. She paid us up front, $10 a bracelet. Plus a bunch of kids and church members came with their own donations.” Aubrey reached into her back pocket and pulled out a crumpled wad of checks.

  “You can’t just stuff those in your pockets. Give them to me.”

  Aubrey rolled her eyes and handed the contributions over. “Whatever.” But then her smile returned. “And you gotta see the little taggies Mackenzie made.” She pranced to the nearest table covered in beads and business card size slips of paper. They’d looped green ribbon through holes punched in the top right corners.

  “Nice.”

  “She made a Facebook page, too, and sent invites to all her friends, asking them to send invites to their friends, and asking them to—”

  “I get the picture. Need my help?”

  “If you want. Pastor T said we can sell these on Sunday, right?”

  Brooke nodded. “He’ll set up a table in the foyer before first service.” Her heart stuttered as she thought about sending Ubaldo a FB message telling him about their fundraising efforts. And that she planned to deliver the money personally.

  Would he be happy to see her?

  Stop it. She was going for closure, not to stir up feelings she had no ability to follow-through on.

  Chapter Forty-five

  When Ubaldo reached his parent’s house, Raquel met him with a bundle of clothing.

  “Thank you.” He kissed her cheek. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “How’s Mother?”

  “Resting, enjoying the children at the orphanage. This is good for her.”

  “And father?”

  “Mother and I will go see him tonight.”

  “Matteo and I talked. I worry that perhaps Momma and Papa are getting too old for this kind of life.”

  “I agree.”

  “Matteo’s family would like to buy Papa’s farm. Father could use the money to pay for his medical care.”

  “Madre and Padre could move in with me at the orphanage. Carmela and Alberto want to return to Spain but need someone to care for the children. This may be the solution.” Though raising a houseful of children wouldn’t be easy, his parents would be out of the sun. And they’d have access to clean water. “But what about Geraldo? As the oldest, the farm is his livelihood.”

  “No.” His brother’s voice came from behind. “It’s my bondage.”

  Ubaldo turned.

  “Two years ago I was offered a job in San Salvador,” Geraldo said. “When you left, the responsibility for this farm, and for our parents, fell on me. Who else would care for them in their old age? But now, perhaps it’s my turn for freedom.”

  A lump formed in Ubaldo’s throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  His brother shrugged and walked away.

  Ubaldo watched him leave, processing it all, then turned back to his sister. “Thank you for the clothes. I need to stop by my apartment to change as well.”

  “I agree. You’re beginning to smell.” She bumped her shoulder against his.

  Smiling, he shook his head. Then, after a final hug, headed to the main road to catch a ride to San Miguel.

  Back at the orphanage, he found his mother on the couch in the living room. She sat with a child under each arm, looking content. The other children gathered near her feet as she told a story Ubaldo had heard many times when growing up—El Cipitio, the Boy Who Never Grew Up. Based on the girls’ smiles, they loved the story as much as he had. Even Fatima appeared interested. She nestled beside her sister a few paces away, no longer pressed into the far corner.

  Alberto came to Ubaldo’s side. “I think your mother likes it here.”

  He nodded. “She looks peaceful. Happy.”

  “The girls love her.”

  “And make her feel needed, which is important. Thank you for letting her stay. I’ll try to cover the extra expenses when I get paid.”

  “N
o need. She’s very helpful to us. Today while I taught the older children, she sang songs with the toddlers. This gave Carmela time to rest.”

  “How’s Fatima doing? I know I said I’d help her with her studies, but I need to take my mother to the hospital.”

  “She could use some extra attention for sure, but that can wait. Familia is more important. Your father—how is he?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out today.” He raked his hand through his hair. “My only hope is that I’ll have a chance to talk with him before …”

  Alberto clamped Ubaldo’s shoulder, his gaze intensifying. “No before. Your father will recover. Have faith. Which reminds me, I received a message from one of the Americans today.”

  “Which one?”

  Alberto’s eyes twinkled. “The only one you think of. I imagine you’ve not had a chance to check your computer lately.”

  His pulse quickened, but he spoke smoothly. “Why? Just tell me.”

  “The woman with long black hair and crystal blue eyes says she’s coming back for a few days.”

  “For such a short stay? But why?”

  “To bring money to help pay for your father’s medical treatment. Ten thousand dollars.”

  He fell against the doorframe.

  Brooke, sweet, beautiful Brooke was coming here. He’d thought he’d never see her again. But why? For charity? Or did she feel something stronger? Emotions strong enough to make her stay?

  No. That was foolish thinking. Why would she leave the comforts of the United States, her job, to come to El Salvador? There was nothing here for her.

  Except him. Dare he hope?

  “Mijo?” His mother looked at him with a furrowed brow. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Mama. Everything’s fine. Much better than fine. Are you ready to go to the hospital?”

  She nodded and pushed to her feet, the girls on either side helping. “Perhaps I sat too long. These old bones do not wish to move again.”

  Ubaldo came to her side and took her arm in his. “No, Mama. It’s good that you rest.” He guided her out of the living room and through the courtyard.