Texas Miracle

by Mae Nunn

  “Mac? Are you packed?” Jacqueline let herself in the door of Mac’s house. He had closed the office for a few days so they could make the road trip to El Paso, which was about the same distance as Grandma Violet’s house from Kilgore, but in a completely different direction. Since the Prius got better gas mileage, Jacqueline insisted on taking it instead of Mac’s truck.

  “Who is that breaking into my house?”

  Mac padded down the hall from his bedroom wearing a luscious white terry-cloth robe. He was drying his hair with a matching towel. Jacqueline sidled up to him, reeling him in like a fish by tugging on the belt to his robe. “You gave me a key, remember? However, if I were a burglar, I see it’s the perfect time to take advantage of you.”

  Mac dropped the towel to the floor and kissed her. She threaded her fingers through his damp hair. Whatever soap he used smelled delicious.

  “Do you think I wouldn’t be packed? Really?”

  “No. I just said that for fun.” She released him, hitting him softly with the end of the terry-cloth belt.

  “Girl, I have two sets of clothes for every day, and plastic bags, and Germ-X...”

  “Um, it sounds like you may have more luggage than I do. Can I ask why?”

  “Germs.” Mac picked up his towel.

  Jacqueline sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Germs.”

  “Have you ever been to a border town?”

  “Have you ever been out of Kilgore?”

  “Got me there.” He grinned and walked back down the hall.

  * * *

  JACQUELINE HELPED HERSELF to some pink champagne grapes she found in Mac’s fridge and wandered out onto the deck to enjoy a view of the lake. She sat down in one of the Adirondack chairs, squinting when she thought she saw a fish jump. The sun had just risen, and the sky seemed like a blue chalice, pouring out its contents over the lake. The effect was somewhere between gold and platinum as the water drank in the light. A bald eagle floated high above and squirrels chattered in the trees. The scene was breathtaking. Jacqueline could hardly imagine what it could be like to wake up to such beauty every day.

  She didn’t wait long before Mac appeared beside her. He wore his Old Gringo boots—her favorites—and distressed jeans, plus a sharply tailored pinpoint shirt with a Western front yoke. The shirt was as soft as Egyptian cotton and featured nickel-colored buttons with a Lone Star emblem. It was untucked, so atypical of Mac to go without a belt, but Jacqueline liked it. She reached for his hand.

  “You live in a picturesque place.”

  “You like it here?” He bent to one knee and put his arm around her, leaning over to nuzzle her neck.

  “Are you kidding me? I love it.”

  “Good,” he whispered. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I was thinking of what it must be like to wake up to such beauty every day.”

  Mac kissed her neck, sending all sorts of fireworks though her body.

  “Hmm. I was wondering the same thing.”

  Jacqueline turned to face him. “You do, silly. You see it every morning.”

  “No, I don’t, but I want to.” His eyes smoldered.

  “Mac, you’re confusing me again, as you seem so fond of doing.”

  He smoothed her hair, cradling her face in his calloused hand. “While you were looking at the lake, I was looking at you.”

  * * *

  BEING THE OCD sufferer that he was and given his need to be in control, Mac drove all the way to El Paso. This was fine by Jacqueline. It gave her the chance to review the information she planned to present to the ORR people, as well as take a couple of naps. She and Mac had fun chatting and listening to music, although they fought over the radio. Mac’s station of choice featured country songs. He subjected her to several hours’ worth of George Strait, Hank Williams Jr. and Garth Brooks. When it came time for Jacqueline’s turn to pick, she alternated between stations that played U2, Coldplay and Muse, as well as the occasional Indigo Girls selection. She sang along at the top of her lungs.

  On I-20 West, it was almost a straight shot across the entire state of Texas. They passed through Dallas, Fort Worth, Abilene, Midland and Odessa, as well as a slew of small towns, some of which had nice names like Sweetwater and Big Spring. The farther west they drove, the more Jacqueline understood how far she’d need to transport the children. El Paso would be a different world compared with their home country—El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, etc. And Kilgore a different world still.

  They stopped to eat lunch at a chain restaurant they trusted, not wanting to take a chance on a place they didn’t know. Jacqueline ordered fettuccine alfredo and Mac the “Tour of Italy.” As they shared the yummy salad with breadsticks, Mac asked, “Have you ever been on a tour of Italy?”

  “Not on a tour, per se.” Jacqueline cut a piece of red onion with her knife. “I backpacked through there, though, one summer when I was in college.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I went with a friend. We started in Greece—flew into Athens. After Greece, we took a ferry to the port city of Brindisi and then rode a train first to Rome, then Florence, then Venice.”

  “Wow. That must have been amazing,” Mac said as he helped the server who appeared with their plates.

  “It was.”

  “What did you like best about it?”

  Jacqueline pondered awhile. “That’s hard to answer. I loved pretty much everything about Italy—the art, the food, the culture.”

  “Would you like to go back?”

  “I would. I’ve always wanted to go back and go to the Cinque Terre.”

  “What’s that?” Mac asked.

  “I heard about it while I was staying in a hostel in Florence. It’s really not too far from there, about three hours by train, but we were kind of locked in to our itinerary by then and couldn’t make it out to the coast.”

  “So it’s on the Italian Riviera?”

  “Yes.” Jacqueline nodded. “Cinque Terre means ‘five lands.’ The way I understand it there are these five little villages tucked into the cliffs over the Mediterranean Sea. They have the most romantic names, like Vernazza, Corniglia, Riomaggiore. A hiking trail connects them and you can walk through olive groves and vineyards—it’s called the Via dell’Amore. It means ‘the way of love.’”

  “Wow, that does sound pretty cool.”

  Mac slipped his phone out of his pocket and typed something into it.

  “Someone texting you? Everything all right at home?”

  He usually never interrupted time with her to text.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said as the server reappeared to check on them.

  “Do you guys need anything? Ready for some dessert?”

  Mac looked at Jacqueline questioningly.

  “I’m stuffed,” she said. “No dessert for me.”

  “We’ll take the check, then,” Mac told the server.

  * * *

  ABOUT SIX THIRTY that evening, they pulled into the hotel where Jacqueline had reserved two rooms. It was the Camino Real, on the National Historic Register. Built in 1912, it was located six blocks from the Mexican border and she chose it for its character, as well as easy access to the International Bridge that would take them into Juarez.

  “Feel like some dinner?” Mac asked, after they checked in at the front desk.

  “Just something light. How about you?”

  “Something light and a walk. I’m tired of sitting.”

  Jacqueline asked the clerk for a restaurant recommendation within walking distance. “Our restaurants are good, but there’s also a great Mexican place three blocks that way.” The clerk pointed in the eastern direction. “It’s called La Rana.”

  “The frog?” Mac seemed amused.

  The clerk nodded. �
�You know your Spanish.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jacqueline said. “Thank you.”

  They parked the car and deposited their bags in their rooms, which were side by side on the seventeenth floor. They each took a few moments to freshen up. Then they set out, hand in hand, toward La Rana.

  “I’ve gotten really adventurous since I met you,” Mac said as they walked along.

  “Yes, you have,” she agreed. “Now if I can just get you to chill out about the germ thing.”

  “You’re criticizing me for being sanitary?”

  “No, I’m pointing out that you’re a little psycho about germs.”

  “I’m not psycho. I merely like things clean.”

  “Mac, you packed two sets of clothes for each day. And a gallon of Germ-X.” She thought she saw color rising in his cheeks.

  “It’s good to be prepared.”

  “But life gets messy sometimes, Mac. And it’s okay.”

  “Well, it’s never really been all that okay with me.”

  They walked along in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the city. El Paso was bigger, more sprawling, than Jacqueline had realized. She definitely liked its urban-desert vibe. But there was something bothering her that wouldn’t go away. It was like a rock in her shoe that she had to get out.

  “Mac, sometimes I worry about you and the home, the children. I want you to be involved. But I’m afraid—sometimes I wonder how you’ll be with them. Poverty is messy. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

  “They won’t be in poverty when they’re at the home, right? I thought that was kind of the point.”

  “It is, but—”

  Mac squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, babe. I know life—and love—can get messy. I’m working really hard at getting better at both.” He exhaled.

  “I know you are. And you’re so good. So good to me.”

  “Do you think I’ve changed you as much as you’ve changed me?”

  What a strange question. “Yes—I do, definitely. Don’t you?”

  “No. You’ve been pretty much perfect all along.”

  Jacqueline stopped in her tracks, stopping Mac. “Uh, no I haven’t. I was an idiot after I first met your family.”

  “Well, there was that. But you weren’t an idiot, really. It was just part of the journey.”

  They resumed their pace.

  “It was, and yet when I look back on that I can see I’m a different person now. Can’t you? You and your family made me want to put down roots and call Kilgore my home.”

  Mac nodded. “I guess that’s pretty huge.”

  “Believe me. It’s huge.”

  “But we are pretty cool. Just like my feelings for you.”

  * * *

  LA RANA WAS a quaint little adobe structure with people lined up out the door. When Mac and Jacqueline were finally seated, it was eight o’clock. They both ordered tortilla soup, which turned out to be delicious with its ample chicken and chunks of avocado and cheese. The bowls of fresh, homemade green and red salsa served with tortilla chips were also impressive. Someone in line had told them to try the sangria, which they did. It was not disappointing. Overall, they had a lovely experience.

  The next day was full of meetings at the ORR office, where Jacqueline shared the blueprints for her home and also received a checklist of standards, which her home needed to meet in order to become an ORR-certified center. The meetings went well. Nothing could have prepared Jacqueline and Mac for what they would do next, however. Nothing.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  WHEN CHRISTINA, Jacqueline’s ORR contact, suggested they visit the temporary shelters at the border, Mac started to feel a little squeamish. There was a difference, in his way of thinking, between being adventurous and asking for trouble. And he and Jacqueline often differed on these two things. But Jacqueline was dead set on going. She said she needed to see it, to understand what she was really dealing with, what the children were experiencing. She wanted to be able to relate as much as possible to the kids she wanted to help. And there was no way he would let her go without him. So Mac tagged along.

  Christina led Mac and Jacqueline into a huge, concrete block structure, so square and sparse it looked like a Lego building. The first thing he noticed once inside was the smell. It wasn’t like a bathroom or the locker room of a gym. It was more like a crowded, un-air-conditioned bus in the heat of summer. Except it wasn’t summer here. It was spring. And the place was air-conditioned.

  Weary-looking workers in green government uniforms patrolled the corridors, occasionally stepping over a child who was trying to sleep on the floor. Christina led Mac and Jacqueline down one of the halls, and he got the sense he was in a warehouse. There were big rooms with metal doors and one small window. Beside the window were labels printed on white sheets of printer paper, in bold, black font. They read Guatemala, Honduras, El Salvador. And through the windows, Mac could see their faces—boys and girls of all ages peered back at him with sad, hollow eyes.

  They walked by one room with its door ajar. A worker with a clipboard stood in its entrance. The children were on their feet, raising their hands like students with something to say. The eagerness on their faces, as they waited for their names to be called, was crushing.

  “They’re waiting for placement,” Christina explained. “We start with the list of those who have relatives who will take them in the US. Those are the easiest—and luckiest—cases here.”

  When they rounded the corner of the corridor, another hall opened into a large, open space.

  “This is overflow,” Christina told them.

  Jacqueline looked at Mac and then released his hand. Without saying a word, she rushed ahead of them into the room. It was full of children, packed like sardines. Some of them sat on thin, gray blankets, while others lay directly on the concrete floor. Industrial-sized trash receptacles were placed at intervals, but still there were wrappers on the floor, litter from random things like candy bars and snack-packed cheese and crackers. Donations, no doubt. Jacqueline sat down by a little girl who looked to be about eight. As Mac approached, he heard Jacqueline ask, “Como se llama?”

  “Adela,” she answered shyly.

  Jacqueline offered her hand. “Hola, Adela.”

  The little girl’s face registered the hint of a smile as she placed her hand in Jacqueline’s. Mac noticed there was dirt under her ragged fingernails, and her tennis shoes had holes. Her hair was matted and her face smudged with something that looked like blood. But Jacqueline didn’t seem to notice. She pulled Adela into her lap and kissed her on the cheek. Then, taking something out of her bag, she opened Adela’s hand. It was her lip balm. The girl wrapped her fingers around it. Jacqueline pantomimed putting it on her lips and Adela laughed. Then she nodded. She knew what to do.

  Just then, a skinny little boy who might have been five years old scooted in Jacqueline’s direction.

  “Mi hermano,” Adela said softly.

  “Ah! Your brother!” Jacqueline dug in her bag some more. “Let’s see what I might find for you.”

  The little boy edged closer and Mac studied his features. A long, jagged scar cut across his left cheek, leaving an angry red mark on his otherwise flawless brown face. Round eyes the color of midnight watched in anticipation of what Jacqueline’s bag held in store. These children were literally stripped of everything but each other and the clothes on their back. A tear threatened to spill out of the corner of his eye.

  “Mac, can you help me?” The question was more of an instruction.

  He sat down beside the little boy. Presumably the most boyish thing Jacqueline could produce from her bag was a piece of white paper.

  “If you’ll hold Adela, I can make him an airplane with this,” Jacqueline explained.

  Mac stared at Jacqueline’s love
ly face, so full of purpose and compassion. Then he looked into Adela’s lonely eyes. A rush of compassion washed over him. He reached out his arms and smiled at Adela invitingly. She looked at Jacqueline as if to ask if he was okay. Jacqueline nodded.

  Tentatively at first, Adela moved an inch in his direction. Then, with Jacqueline’s encouragement, she plopped down in his lap and laid her head on Mac’s shoulder. He stroked her soft hair, which was glossy and sable and matted with dirt. A perfect metaphor for life, he thought. A beautiful mess. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Mac didn’t worry about the mess. Instead, he embraced it.

  Early the next day, on their way out of town, they stopped to tour a home called the Lighthouse. It was a temporary-housing facility run by the network of Catholic churches in El Paso and the surrounding area. Mac was impressed by how clean, neat and orderly it was, and so was Jacqueline. She asked the nuns a lot of questions and took copious notes.

  But as they drove the many miles toward Kilgore and home, it was the image of Adela and her brother on the floor of the shelter that lingered in Mac’s thoughts. After meeting them, he knew he would never be the same.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “MAC?” JACQUELINE TURNED off the radio after the Indigo Girls finished “Closer to Fine.”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  “I was thinking about you and your Pap.”

  “Are you ever not thinking?”

  “No.”

  He laughed. “Well, what were you thinking about Pap and me?”

  “I was thinking you need a little more Indigo Girls in your life.”

  Mac groaned. “Oh, no, no, no, no. I have had enough Indigo Girls on this trip to do me for a while.”

  “Now wait. Bear with me.”

  Mac leaned back in the driver’s seat with one arm slung across the top of the wheel. Jacqueline admired his profile, and then looked straight ahead. Interstate 20 stretched out before them like an eternal gray line.

  “We’ve got miles to go before we sleep.” Mac spoke with the irresistible charm of a cowboy quoting Robert Frost.