Mending Walls With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 3)

by Lorin Grace

  Marlissa sat on the floor not far from Marci, cradling a length of pink fabric, her eyes bright with excitement. Most of the girls in the room wore similar expressions. New clothing always was cause for excitement. Kyle hoped some of them could master at least the basic sundress many of the girls wore when not in their school uniforms. Most of the dresses came from various church groups and were nothing more than pillowcases with one end cut off and ribbons attached to tie at the shoulders. The shapeless sack dresses were easy to pass down from child to child. As the girls grew, some of them felt uncomfortable in the minimal dresses and added T-shirts under them. Being able to sew dresses with proper sleeves would open their world to new fashions.

  It was time to clean the outside stairs again. The birds continuously congregated under the roof—whether to escape the heat or the rain, the result was the same. A big mess.

  “Martin, Wendy, come off the roof and bring the others with you, please,” he called in Creole. The children who’d gathered hurried to obey. Once they were in the stairwell, Kyle put the safety gate in place. “You may watch from the stairs but no farther. D’accord?”

  “Okay,” one boy answered in the English equivalent.

  A half dozen heads bobbed in agreement. “Why don’t you go find a bucket and wash off all the bird droppings while you are waiting? You can each clean two steps. See if you can get it cleaned up before one of us needs to go back downstairs.”

  Kyle crossed the roof and joined the men from the volunteer group and a few local workers.

  Boyd turned at his approach. “We are concerned about the amount of rain forecast for the week. Aselòm says it’s always rainy this time of year. That is going to be a problem with the sealant. I estimate it will take at least two to three hours to dry in this humidity after the primer dries.”

  Kyle pulled out his phone—four bars, a rarity anyplace on the island—and checked the forecast. “It shouldn’t rain again until tomorrow afternoon. Could you complete a section and then start a new area on Monday?”

  “We are going to disrupt the electricity from the solar panels. If there is a power outage, they may not have enough battery power for essential areas,” said Boyd.

  “Can we take only part of the panels off the grid?” asked Kyle.

  Boyd frowned. “I’ll need to check the configuration, but I don’t think so.”

  Kyle gestured to the city in the distance. “There is a place in Port-au-Prince we rented from in the past. We can get a couple of gas generators. That should keep the kitchen up and running if we do lose power. There are some battery-powered lanterns for the nursery area. The dormitories have windows, and there are backup batteries from the solar panels during most blackouts.”

  “Let’s move these panels and start on the roof. With the rainy season beginning, it is better to get the roof sealed now,” said Brandon.

  Boyd split the men into teams. Ryan made a friendly wager involving Askanya, the famous Haitian chocolate, and the men began to work in earnest. Kyle joined a team, knowing that this was where he was most needed.

  ten

  After lunch, several of the children helped Madison trace the outlines of clipboards with chalk where Araceli had drawn X’s on the wall. Younger children stood by observing. André grabbed a roll of masking tape and handed it to Araceli.

  “We need to tape off where the boards will be mounted. No point wasting paint underneath the boards. I’ll show you how, then you’ll paint your own boards. You can even use the tape to make stripes and patterns.”

  Araceli picked at the end of the masking tape to get it started. Something was wrong. The first five inches of tape flaked off the roll. Finally, she got the tape started and pulled off about a foot, only to discover the tape wasn’t sticky as it should be. She pressed a strip to the wall, but it hung limply from the one spot near the top. Rolling out another couple feet, Araceli tested it for stickiness. She rolled out several yards of tape, then tried another roll and another. Garbage—more useless than the rugby balls. Inspecting the cardboard roll, she noted the tape had been manufactured three years before she was born. The rolls must have sat in some garage someplace for over two decades for it to be this degraded.

  “Okay, new plan. I need to get some tape. You help the others mark off the squares, and I’ll be back.” Araceli ran down the stairs and found Marci and EmilyAnne near the nursery playing clapping games with a circle of children.

  Marci listened to Araceli’s plight and looked at her watch. “There should be time to go get some today. I am not sure if the hardware store will be closed on Sunday or not.”

  “I don’t want to lose another day of painting. I hoped the older children could help, and they will be in school so much of the time we are here.”

  “I think Kyle is up on the roof. You should ask him what he thinks.”

  It took a while to find the stairway leading to the roof as Araceli had walked the wrong way around the building. At the top of the stairway, she found several children vying for a spot to watch the men work. After working her way through the group, Araceli straddled the child gate, to the laughter of some of the children.

  She found Kyle on the far side of the roof and showed him a scrap of the rotted tape.

  “I just sent Aselòm to town on an errand. If you hurry, you might be able to catch him. He was going to stop by the kitchen first to see if we already own an adapter. Otherwise, you will have to see if we can buy some tape tomorrow or Monday. Tell him CK will have the tape.”

  Araceli raced back down the stairs and to the front of the orphanage. Aselòm was climbing into the SUV. She shouted for him to wait.

  “I need new masking tape.” Araceli held up the dried out and cracked piece. “Also some more paint brushes. Kyle said to buy tape at a place called CK.”

  “What kind of tape?”

  “Masking—it is tan and about this wide.” Araceli held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

  “Like the blue tape the painters use?”

  “Yes. Buy the tan, not blue or purple.” The latter two would not work for all her needs, and there was no point getting several different kinds or widths.

  The driver pursed his lips. “There are many kinds, yes? And what kind of brushes?”

  As Araceli started to describe the brushes she wanted, the driver’s eyes grew large. Maybe she should wait until Monday after all.

  The driver nodded. “You come?”

  Araceli paused. They weren’t supposed to go anywhere alone, but she would be with the driver. She thought about Kyle’s words. He must have assumed she would go get the things she needed herself. She should tell someone she was leaving. As Aselòm got into the driver’s seat and started the car, Araceli spotted a boy who’d helped earlier and spoke understandable French.

  “Manuel!”

  The boy jogged over to her.

  She continued in French. “Tell Miss Marci and Mr. Kyle I went to the store. D’accord?”

  “D’accord, Miss Araceli. I will tell Miss Marci.” Manuel ran off in the direction of the front door.

  Araceli ran around to the SUV’s passenger-side door, double-checking to make sure she was still wearing her fanny pack containing her money and passport. As one of the guards opened the first of the two gates for the vehicle, Araceli wondered if she should hand the two twenty-dollar bills in her pocket to Aselòm and go back. But she doubted he would bring back the type of brushes she needed. And if CK carried as many kinds of tape as some of the stores in the States did, she could end up with the wrong thing entirely. It was best to go herself.

  The first coat of sealant had dried quickly, and the men now worked to spread the mesh out and fill it with the next layer of smelly black gook. Kyle knew he should have a more articulate vocabulary for the process, but construction had never interested him, even if he could
follow instructions enough to be useful. Marci joined him on the roof.

  “I have been listening to the radio. They are announcing blackouts for parts of Port-au-Prince area tonight and tomorrow. The nursery manager says she thinks there may be a manifestation tonight in protest.”

  Kyle frowned. “Boyd, how long will it take us to finish this step?”

  “An hour, maybe an hour and a half. Then the sealant needs to dry at least three hours.”

  “Let’s work as fast as we can, and hopefully the generators will be back by then. Regardless, I want all of you in the vans by four. Tonight isn’t a night to be caught out on the roads. Marci, go let the other groups know they need to be packed up by four—no, make that three thirty.” Jade would need to be told an earlier time. He had no idea about the rest of the group’s propensity to be punctual.

  Marci nodded. “No problem. I’ll tell—never mind. I see the drivers are up here except for Aselòm. I was going to say I would tell the drivers.”

  “I sent Aselòm to get some generators. I think Araceli was asking him to get some tape too.”

  She stopped near the top of the stairs. “She went with him.”

  “She what?”

  Several heads turned at Kyle’s outburst.

  “I told her to tell him what to get, not go with him.”

  Marci tilted her head. “Is that exactly what you said? You know sometimes you assume people understand more than you say.”

  Kyle pulled off his ball cap and ran his bandanna across his face. “I told her if she hurried, she could catch him. But we have been telling everyone to stick together. She should have known.”

  “At least it’s Aselòm. He is the best driver we have ever hired. She will be safe. She isn’t exactly alone.”

  “You are right—I hope.” Kyle replaced his hat.

  The inside of the car grew warm, but Aselòm told Araceli it was better she not be seen at the rental store or they would be charged double. So she slumped in her seat. Aselòm opened his door. “Do you have twenty dollars? They only have one generator left, so they raised the price. Mr. Kyle did not send enough money.”

  Araceli pulled one of her twenties out of her pack. Aselòm hurried off and returned ten minutes later with the generator, which he put in the back. Araceli kept her head low, hoping the store clerk would notice only her dark hair, not her pale skin. The tailgate of the SUV slammed shut, and Aselòm entered the vehicle.

  “We need to hurry. That took longer than I thought. He charged me twice what he did last time we needed a generator. Remind me to tell Mr. Kyle it would be cheaper to buy one to keep on hand.”

  They made small talk as they drove.

  “Your name—Aselòm. Does it mean something in Haitian Creole?”

  The driver laughed. “Too many men.”

  “Too many men?”

  “Yes, my parents had five boys, then me. They wanted a girl, so they named me Aselòm.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No, they had another boy.” Aselòm shook his head.

  They both laughed.

  They continued to one of the larger streets, perhaps the only one in the city with four distinctively painted lanes. Araceli recognized the large building visible over the wall as the American embassy, a line of people standing at the gate, hoping to get one of the elusive visas, she assumed.

  The entrance to the parking lot of the CK lumberyard was a steep, man-made hill. The tall orange metal gate was rolled open. As the SUV descended into the parking lot, metal-on-metal scraping could be heard, the angle of the hill making it impossible for most vehicles to not bottom out.

  “Why do they do that?”

  “So cars must slow down. Harder to steal tools if you can’t drive away quickly.” Aselòm found a parking space, and they entered the store. Surprisingly, the store was not much different from the stores stateside. Araceli paused in the paint aisle. There was no one to mix the paint, just predetermined colors to choose from. She selected white, a green that hadn’t been in the stack of colors in the storeroom, and a small can of black. A couple bags of assorted brushes would enable more children to paint at once. She also found masking tape in several sizes and styles. Araceli added six rolls to the cart. At the checkout, she was happy to find the credit card sign on the front door held true. She didn’t want to spend her cash here.

  At the exit, an employee checked the contents of every bag against the receipt, marking each item as he went. Not so different from an American warehouse store, only more meticulous. However, the guard with a military-style rifle slung across his shoulder glaring at them made it an experience Araceli wouldn’t soon forget. She bit her lip, hoping everything had rung up correctly and not making eye contact with either the employee or the guard. When her receipt was approved, Araceli followed Aselòm to the SUV. Only when she was inside did she dare look at the guard. Shoplifting must be more of a problem than she thought.

  A cloud of dust billowed on the far side of the wall, but the vehicle responsible for it moved past the orphanage. All the student volunteers were in the van. Even Jade had made it on time.

  “Marci, there’s a chance Aselòm will head straight for the guesthouse. Their phones must be out of range because I can’t reach him or Araceli. I’ll stay here. Call me if they arrive there, and have Aselòm stay the night. I can stay on the couch in the director’s quarters if necessary.”

  “What if they come back here? Will you stay?”

  “It depends. I’ll call you.” Kyle tipped his hat at the drivers and opened the gate for the vans. With any luck, they would be through the city before the rioting started.

  eleven

  The five makeshift lanes of crawling traffic came to a standstill on the road built for two lanes. Even the incessant honking diminished. Drivers rolled down their windows. Motorcycle taxis continued to weave into empty spaces. Aselòm turned up the air-conditioning.

  Araceli looked at her phone. 4:38. “Rush hour?”

  “No, Saturday all day is rush hour.”

  Gradually, the oncoming traffic cleared, trickling through one lane, and they inched forward like fans leaving an end-of-season Patriot’s game. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. A few vehicles made U-turns and yelling men swarmed the cross street in front of them.

  The driver used a few words Araceli didn’t recognize, but from his tone, she figured he’d sworn in Haitian.

  “What is going on?”

  “It is a manifestation.”

  “A what?”

  “They are angry at the government, so they are marching and blocking the way to the bridge. They will choose to let some cars past, then send the rest back.” Aselòm looked around nervously. “I have an idea. I will lie. You must—”

  A man pounded on the window. Aselòm rolled it down a few inches.

  “Vers le bas!”

  Araceli didn’t need to know any French to understand the man wanted the window open wider. When Aselòm complied, the man thrust his head in, his anger evident as he glared at Araceli. He spoke to the driver in rapid Haitian Creole. Despite some words’ similarity to French, she could only ascertain that the conversation revolved around her. And judging by the look on the man’s face, that wasn’t a positive thing.

  Aselòm lifted her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “Fiancée, green card, and American became recurring words in the conversation. Weeks ago, she read a blog about Haitian men finding wives for the green card, then leaving them once they got to the States. When the conversation escalated, Aselòm gestured to the paint supplies in the back seat, then cast Araceli a tender look.

  Two other men joined the first. They argued among themselves.

  Aselòm took advantage of the distraction and turned to Araceli. He tapped the birthstone ring on her right hand and
raised her left hand to his lips, kissing her ring finger. One of the new men bent down into the window and started to question the driver in Haitian.

  Araceli slipped her ring off and moved it to the other hand.

  The driver switched to French. “Oui, elle parles français.”

  The men moved their attention to her. Her heart raced so fast she wished it could power the SUV to get them out of there. Their expressions grim, the men reminded her of the actors in TV crime dramas. The bad guys.

  “How long have you known him?” the tallest one demanded.

  Having no idea what answers had already been given, Araceli paused, praying for inspiration. “Long enough to know we are in love.”

  The man grunted, and the two behind him laughed mockingly.

  “Show me your ring.”

  Aselòm lifted Araceli’s hand, displaying the birthstone ring.

  Stretching her arm to the limit, all three men took a turn inspecting the tiny cubic zirconia. Only her seat belt prevented her from being pulled onto Aselòm’s lap. Never had she been so happy for an April birthday.

  Apparently not satisfied, the men reverted to Haitian as they grilled the driver again.

  “Bizee elle!” demanded one.

  Araceli only had a second to register what Aselòm had been requested to do. His eyes pled for her cooperation. If only she were a better actress! She let her eyes drift closed and imitated the first movie scene that came to mind. Fueled by desperation to survive, the kiss lasted longer than most. Aselòm smiled at her before turning back to the men and speaking in Haitian again. Araceli was sure she was being called a stupid American woman, and she agreed for entirely different reasons than the context of the conversation.