Valerie couldn't tell her sister that the very handsome "Dr. Botox" was standing within earshot, smiling down at her. She had a hundred questions for Beth--and two hundred for Max--but right now, she was desperate to get off the phone.
A truck roared by on the road outside the gate, conjuring up a dust devil. She turned away from Max, ostensibly to keep the dust out of her face.
"What's that racket?" Beth asked.
"Oh," she said, seizing upon the convenient distraction.
"It's just a truck on the road. We're...I'm outside. In the courtyard. But...I really do need to go," she stuttered. "I'll call you from the airport, okay? Give my love to Dean and the boys."
Before Beth could ask any more questions about Dr. Botox, Valerie pulled the phone away from her ear and studied the keypad. She punched the off button and handed the phone back to Max, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush that had risen to her cheeks. "Thanks so much."
"You're welcome."
He eyed her in a way that told her he probably had a pretty good idea of Beth's end of the conversation. "Did I hear my name being taken in vain?"
She swiped at an imaginary stain on her skirt and pretended not to hear him, then hated herself for the deceit.
Max pinned her with a stare and tried again. "So your sister's heard of me, I take it?"
She let out a puff of air. "It sounds like everyone has."
"Well, that might be a stretch. But...I suppose I'm pretty well known in the Windy City."
"And...are you filthy rich?" She affected a lopsided grin. It did feel good to get this out in the open.
He gave a snort. "Is that what your sister said?"
She nodded.
"I guess it depends on how you define filthy." His gaze panned the orphanage compound. "I think probably every American is filthy rich in comparison to this."
"Good point," she said, feeling properly chastened. "I'm sorry. That was none of my business."
"No. It was a fair question. I've been very...prosperous in my business." He looked down at the ground before meeting her eyes again. "Financial success isn't all it's cracked up to be. Despite popular opinion to the contrary, there are a lot of things money can't buy."
The sorrow in his eyes told her he was thinking of his son. She hated that their conversation had somehow come back around to this again. "You're right, of course. But then, some of the best things in life don't cost a nickel either, so I rather think it evens out, don't you?"
He scratched his head, and a slow smile lit his face. "I guess I hadn't thought about it that way."
She followed his line of vision to the west where a bright orange ball of sun was sinking below the wall.
"Oh, and look..." He cocked his head. "A beautiful sunset to prove your point. Did you arrange that?"
She laughed. "I wouldn't dare take the credit. But it is beautiful, isn't it?" Thank you, Lord, for your perfect timing.
His gaze lingered on her for a moment. "Yes, it is." He turned ninety degrees and glanced out through the gate. "Well, I suppose I should get back before it gets dark. Madame Duval will be wondering what happened to me." Looking down at his feet, he said, "I've been walking in the mornings--just a short walk between the two orphanages. Would...would you like to join me tomorrow?"
"I'd like that very much. What time?"
"I've been going around five-thirty."
"A.m.?" She blew out a breath of feigned annoyance.
"You're almost as bad as the roosters."
"Well...if that's too early..."
"No. No, it sounds wonderful." She'd be back in time to have her quiet time on the rooftop and help with breakfast.
"I'll meet you at the gate?"
He nodded. "See you in the morning then. Goodnight, Valerie."
"Goodnight. Be careful going back." She glanced at the quickly fading sun. "Are you sure you don't want Henri to go with you?"
"I'll be fine. It's only five minutes."
She turned and walked back to the dormitory, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She liked Max Jordan. A lot. But reconciling the sad, kindhearted man she'd come to know with Beth's "Dr. Botox"...That was something of a struggle.
Valerie was already waiting at the gate when Max arrived the following morning. Her cheeks looked fresh-scrubbed and her hair was pulled back into a smooth chignon.
The watchman, Henri, was with her. He unlatched the gate, then locked it behind her. He pointed to the bell high up on the gatepost. "You ring when you get back," he said. Then turning to Max, he wagged a finger. "You not leave her until she back inside, okay?"
"I'll make sure she gets back safely."
Henri made a slashing gesture across his throat. "Madame Phil, she have my head if anything happen to Miss Valerie."
"I understand," Max said. "I'll take good care of her."
"Good morning," Valerie chirped, after Henri had started back across the yard. "It's beautiful out here this morning...almost cool."
The sun that rose behind the palm trees was a mirror image of the stunning sunset they'd witnessed last night. It would soon burn off any hint of the cool breeze they enjoyed now, but Max had to admit Valerie's optimism was rubbing off on him. He liked who he was when he was with her.
They walked the short distance to the potholed lane that ran in front of the orphanage, then set out toward Madame Duval's. "So you're not mad at me for getting you up so early?"
She cast him a sidewise glance. "I might be tonight when I'm falling asleep in my dinner plate, but right now I'm thrilled to be alive." She flung her arms out and whirled around in the lane, her simple red gingham skirt swishing gracefully around her legs. It was the same thing she'd worn yesterday and he asked without thinking, motioning toward the skirt. "You've still not gotten your luggage?"
She looked down and smoothed the skirt. A mischievous twinkle came to her eyes. "Why? Are you tired of seeing this outfit?"
"Oh, no," he said, embarrassed. "I'm just surprised you're still waiting for it."
"I actually haven't thought much about it. At this point, it probably makes more sense to just grab it when I get on the plane to go home. I'm getting along fine with what little I did get here with. It's amazing how few things a person really needs, you know?"
Her carefree air took him by surprise and he opted for a teasing tone. "Hey, I don't know if I'm up for the Pollyanna routine this early in the day."
"Okay, okay...I'll sober up." She straightened and donned an unconvincing somber expression, falling in stride beside him.
They walked in silence for a long minute. "Well, I didn't mean you had to totally clam up."
Her smile broke through again. "I'm just enjoying the sights. It's interesting to see Brizjanti come to life from down here."
He shot her a questioning look. "Down here?"
"I usually watch the sunrise from the roof of the orphanage. Up there, I see all this--" she waved an arm over the scenery "--from a very different perspective."
"Why the rooftop?"
She shrugged. "I don't know really. I discovered it one day when we were washing down the walls of the dorms. It's just kind of gotten to be a habit. It's quiet up there so I can meditate and read."
"Oh? What are you reading?" Now here was something they could talk about. He prided himself on being well read.
"Wait...Let me guess. Poetry?"
She smiled. "You could say that. I'm reading through the Psalms." But she said it with a hint of apology in her voice, as though she knew he'd be sorry he'd asked. He was.
Or was he? Looking at her, seeing the indisputable honesty in her eyes, he stifled a sigh. He'd studied countless faces in his life. Mostly the faces of women grasping desperately to hold on to what was meant to be fleeting. He could erase wrinkles, plump up lips, and take years off a woman's face. But Valerie Austin's countenance shone with a quality he could never dispense. Honesty. Sincerity. And something else he couldn't quite place.
He'd be gone from this place in
a few days, and would never have to see her again. Maybe she could answer some of the questions that had plagued him since he got here. No, before that. Since Joshua's death.
"So...how exactly do you read it?"
Her brow arched. "The Bible?"
He nodded. "It doesn't seem like the sort of book you read cover to cover. I mean, I remember reading it for some lit class. It was a little like reading Shakespeare, as I recall. I think of myself as a pretty cultured guy, but I never could get into the Bard."
"Well, believe it or not, the Bible's like that for me sometimes, too. But not usually. Most of the time it's exactly what I need to hear. But I wouldn't necessarily recommend reading it cover to cover to start with."
"So what? Do you just...flip it open and start reading?"
She shrugged. "Sometimes. When I'm feeling desperate." She flashed a crooked smile. "Come to think of it, I've been using the flip method a lot lately."
He laughed. "Yeah, I suppose that's how I would've done it lately, too--if I read it, that is."
Her expression turned serious. "It really does help, you know. There's a lot of good stuff in there."
He worked to keep the cynicism from his voice. "So I've been told."
She tilted her head, questioning.
"Joshua often went so far as to preach certain passages at me."
She cringed. "Oooh, ouch."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
"I'm sure he meant well, Max. I'm sure he just wanted you to know the same joy he'd found." She dipped her head. "People sometimes go a little overboard when they first give their life to the Lord."
He stopped in the road and put his arms akimbo. "Okay. Right there, for instance. You're talking in that same...foreign language Josh used to speak. What does that mean anyway? Give your life to the Lord? How do you give your life to somebody else?" It sounded like handing over control. He'd fought too long and too hard to relinquish that.
"Hmm..." She scratched her head. "I guess I never thought about the way that sounds. It just means..." She rubbed her temple, then rested her hands on her hips, mirroring his stance.
"Okay...are you really asking, or are you just giving me a hard time?"
He blew out a breath, considering her question, then plunged in headfirst. "I'm really asking."
"It's all about a relationship. You said you believe in God, right? Or a higher power, or whatever you called it."
He nodded, but already he felt the teeth of a trap clamping down on him.
"That's a good start," she said, "but the Bible says even the devil believes. It's not so much believing in God as it is having a relationship with him." She paused, and her expression told him she wondered if he was following.
He nodded for her to continue.
"The provision God made for that relationship is Jesus Christ. I don't know how to explain it any better than that."
He wanted desperately to change the subject. He'd heard all this sappy religious stuff before. It had been the wall between him and Josh. He hated it.
He looked down to find Valerie studying him. He squirmed under the microscope of her gaze, however benevolent.
"I can tell I've lost you," she laughed. "I think it's just so much simpler than people try to make it. All you have to do is talk to God--just like you're talking to me. He'll take care of the rest. It's the coolest thing you'll ever experience. Trust me." She gave him a hint of a smile and started back up the lane.
Max wasn't sure he understood, but he suddenly found that he wanted to. He wanted to believe in a God who worked in people's lives, a God who showed people what all the junk in their life was about. Made some sort of sense of it.
She walked ahead of him, obviously unaware of how desperately he was hanging on her words.
He shook his head and tagged after her. "The coolest thing I'll ever experience, huh?"
"Trust me," she said again, quickening her pace.
He worked to keep up with her. Trust me, she'd said. She couldn't have known that trusting was the one thing Max Jordan had never succeeded at.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Walking back to Madame Duval's, Max replayed his conversation with Valerie. She was a delightful woman. He'd lived so long in the world of studied artifice that Valerie's genuine demeanor surprised him at every turn. He'd forgotten what it was like to have a conversation without having to take measure of its truth. His own included. He found himself speaking more frankly with her than he had with anyone in a long while.
How refreshing it was to meet a woman who didn't think having to wear the same outfit two days in a row was an international catastrophe. How could she be so happy with so little? He thought of his own arsenal of expensive playthings and was shocked to realize that it hadn't brought him more than a few hours of fleeting pleasure. What was her secret?
He knew the answer. And he knew why it fascinated him so. Her joie de vivre had the same source as Joshua's had. It was their faith in God. He knew that. But what was the key? He believed in God. He honestly did.
He thought about the things Valerie had said. She seemed so certain of what she believed. He'd told her the truth that day they'd met in the market: he couldn't remember a time he hadn't believed in God. But there had to be some element he was missing.
Over the years, he'd heard all the maudlin lingo about inviting Jesus into your heart and making him the Lord of your life. Josh had spouted a variation of it. But Max had been so disgusted with Joshua's wasted education, his wasted life, that he'd blamed Josh's brand of religion.
Bottom line, it made him uncomfortable. Even now, all alone on this road, the thoughts he was having made him squirm. If he'd been wearing his customary necktie, he would have been tugging at it.
Except somehow, the way Valerie Austin had spoken of her relationship with God made it seem like the most natural thing in the world.
As he neared the compound, a mangy dog picked its way up the rocky ditch and trotted along beside him on the lane that led to Madame Duval's. He wondered where the shaggy brown mongrel had come from. This was the third time he'd seen the dog outside the compound. Madame Duval's watchman, Alex, had shaken a stick at it this morning, demanding that it leave. The dog seemed friendly enough, and Max was tempted to reach down and pat its head, but he'd been warned to keep his distance. Few Haitians kept pets of any kind--most could barely afford to feed their children--and too many stray dogs and cats were vicious or even rabid.
When he reached the gate and unlocked it, the dog attempted to follow him inside.
"No," Max said firmly. He put out a foot and nudged the dog's hindquarters before slipping inside and shutting the gate behind him. He latched the gate and started to walk away, but something made him turn around. The dog stood, waiting, looking at him with soft brown eyes.
Max grasped the metal bars and stared out between two of them, watching as the dog plopped down on its haunches on the other side. Silently the animal tilted its head to one side, cocking an ear. Those pitiful eyes never left Max's face.
It struck him that, for some unknown reason, the dog trusted him. Max felt that even if he turned away and left the dog sitting outside the fence, it would still be there tomorrow, waiting patiently for him. A foreign emotion swelled his throat. Pity? What kind of man felt more compassion for a stray animal than he'd managed to muster for the dozens of homeless children he'd encountered in this impoverished country?
"Go on, boy," he said, trying to keep any hint of compassion from his voice. Madame Duval would chastise him for encouraging the dog to hang around. But he found himself hoping the animal could read his mind. Maybe he'd try to filch some scraps from the kitchen in case the dog was still there when he left for Port-au-Prince later this morning.
Madame Duval had asked him to pick up some supplies at the airport, but he had another mission in mind for the day as well. His spirits lifted thinking of it.
The tiny lizard flicked its tongue and puffed out its neck. Valerie bru
shed it off her bedpost and onto the floor. It scurried beneath the low dresser in her room. She continued brushing her hair, then laughed to herself. She'd come so far in twelve short days.
She bent to check the alarm clock on the dresser. Max would be at the gate for their morning walk soon. She didn't want to make him wait.
In the tiny bathroom, she washed her face and patted it dry with a threadbare towel. Running a hand through her coarse waves, she suddenly missed her specialty shampoo and bath soap from home. Her hair had suffered from the sun--and probably even more from the constant braiding the little girls performed. But frizz and split ends were a small price to pay for the "therapy" of the girls' attention.
She ran a hand over the waistbands of the two skirts hanging from hooks in her room. The one she'd worn yesterday was more comfortable, but it was still damp from the laundry bucket, so she pulled the other one on and finished dressing. She closed her bedroom door behind her and tiptoed from the dormitory into the courtyard. The morning air was damp and heavy with the odors of the bay--fishy with a faint stench of the runoff from the latrines. She was used to it by now.
Henri was already working in the yard, his shirt damp with sweat as he pulled weeds from the anemic rectangle of grass. "Bonjou, kijan ou ye?" She was proud that she could speak a few simple Creole phrases passably.
Henri looked up from his work. "Bonjou, Miss Valerie." He answered in Creole before quickly switching to English. "You go walking with Dr. Jordan again, eh?"
"Yes. He should be here any minute."
"Ah, but Dr. Jordan has already been here." His white teeth gleamed and his eyes twinkled, as though he harbored a secret.
"Oh? I missed him?" She looked at her watch, then toward the gate. She didn't see anyone waiting in the road beyond.
"Dr. Jordan bring something for you," Henri said, smiling.
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