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ON WARA’S FIFTH DAY AT THE OSTRICH FARM, she allowed herself to admit that Rupert’s pancakes really were delicious. That morning, he had cooked up one pile with fresh raspberries and cream, and the other with bittersweet chocolate and dulce de leche. The day before it had been orange butterscotch and strawberries with a wine sauce.
Wara still couldn’t remember what she had had for breakfast the first morning she had come here; it was all still a blur. The night had been filled with violent dreams about Noah and Gabriel, and Wara had woken up late, without the strength to talk to anyone.
On Day Number Two, at night, Rupert had sat down, with a very silent Alejo, and presented the crazy plan in which she, a flabby linguist from Montana, would become part of the organization Rupert worked with, called CI. She truly couldn’t imagine she would be any use; she didn’t know anything about all this spy-style business. But it seemed obvious that God wanted her here, and honestly, she didn’t have the strength at the moment to spend hours analyzing why.
Day Number Four was the day she had sat in Rupert’s office and told him she would go on a trip to learn more about CI. When she informed Rupert that the answer was yes, she had been sitting in one of the plaid swivel chairs in Rupert’s office, trying not to look at the blank computer screen where she had seen Gabriel’s suicide video. Rupert stood behind Alejo’s swivel chair, and his teeth flashed in a grin under his bushy mustache as he punched Alejo in the shoulder.
“So it begins!” he crowed, obviously quite pleased. “There you go, che.” Alejo smiled weakly at Rupert’s words. Rupert walked over to Wara and clasped her hand, shaking it warmly. “I swear I will take care of you like my own daughter. Of course, you can still change your mind after your exploratory trip, but if you’re who I see when I look at you, I know you won’t.”
Now it was Wara’s seventh day at Rupert’s little ostrich farm, and tomorrow she would be leaving to fly to Lima. She would spend a few days with the Martirs, then fly home to Bozeman to spend three months with her family. Alejo would go to see his family after Wara left them, and help them get settled in a new location that he and Rupert had worked out. Then Alejo would come back here to the ostrich farm to stay for the time until their exploratory trip.
I need time to heal, Wara thought as she leaned back into one of Rupert’s chocolate leather sofas and stretched her bare feet out on the coffee table. Her laptop was open next to her on the couch and she was alone in the living room, listening to the sound of Noah’s voice. Until a few days ago, she hadn’t remembered that her laptop contained two albums of music Noah and Eduardo Sejas had recorded in Cochabamba at a studio. Maybe it wasn’t professional quality, but to Wara Noah’s voice was beautiful.
A door scraped across the wood of Rupert’s living room and she saw the older man and Alejo standing in the office. “Wara, dear, could you come in here for a minute?” Rupert was grinning, as if he and Alejo were in the middle of a joke. Alejo, however, had the pained grimace of a man who had just escaped the dentist after a root canal. What plots had they been hatching in Rupert’s office?
Wara reluctantly muted Noah mid-song and slid her bare feet to the floor. She headed towards the office, where Rupert motioned towards a swivel chair.
“We’ve already covered a few things for your upcoming trip,” he addressed both of them. “And the rest we’ll talk about later, after you’ve had more time. Wara’s flight’s leaving tomorrow, though, so it’s about time to put the finishing touches on her passport. Of course I have to make your docs with different names, since you’re both supposed to be dead. Now,” Rupert fought off a yawn and leaned into the swivel chair with a heavy squeak, “I’ve got you down as Paulo.” He fixed his eyes on Alejo, who grimly nodded. “Paul, the man who, like you, was healed from blindness by God. Now what about you, Wara Cadogan? Are you ready to change names?”
She had known Rupert was going to ask her this; he had warned her at breakfast this morning. After pancakes, she had taken a walk and thought: If Alejo is Paul, then I am Peter.
Once again she had seen Noah beside her on the bus, holding her hand with eyes full of grace and saying those words: You’re back.
At the seaside, after Jesus rose again, he brought Peter back. Peter swore with a curse he didn’t know Jesus and Jesus forgave him. Jesus brought him back.
Unfortunately, Peter was not a good name for women.
Thankfully, Wara knew quite a few languages.
“I’m thinking about…Petra,” she said carefully, trying out the sound of the name on her lips. “You know, Greek for ‘rock’.”
Rupert’s eyes glowed. “It’s good,” he said simply. “I love it.”
The living room was dim as they left Rupert’s office, closing the door on him as he powered up his spy computer to make some Skype calls. A single, white porcelain lamp with a scuffed shade was shining from the corner next to the sofas. Tabor and Sandal were nowhere in sight.
Preferring to say goodnight here rather than in the pitch black hallway on the way to their rooms, Wara turned towards Alejo, the words on her tongue. But Alejo was gone.
Then she noticed him crouching on the floor in front of her, head bowed towards the floor. He was crying.
“Wara,” he said gruffly, “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t remove his gaze from the floor and his hands shook. “I can never pay you for what I did to you. Please, forgive me.”
Wara took an unsteady step back and swallowed hard. Alejo was asking her to forgive him.
I’m Petra now. I’m here because He forgave my huge debt. And now it’s time for me to follow in His footsteps.
The words formed very slowly in her brain. “Alejo, it’s ok,” she said, then slid down to the warm wood floor in front of him. “It’s all taken care of.”
Starting visibly, Alejo lifted his head and peered at her with reddened hazel eyes. “But I can’t…”
“I know. I accept that you can’t pay. I forgive you.”
He let his head roll back towards the ceiling, then faced her again. “Thank you.” He lowered himself down to sit cross-legged as she was, not even bothering to swipe away the raw tears matting his eyelashes. “Thank you.”
She struggled to know what else to say to him. It was one thing to forgive him. Trusting him was quite another.
But what good is forgiveness if it’s only words?
One day at a time. And it had to start somewhere.
There was something she still hadn’t said to him, and it was important.
“Thank you,” she told him honestly, searching his face. “You saved my life. You gave up a lot to save me. Thank you.”
Alejo blinked, then his face found a hint of the famous Martir grin he shared with his father. They sat there staring at each other for a few minutes, letting the moment sink in. Then Alejo broke the silence, voice thick with relief.
“So, we’ll meet in three months, then. You’re going to see your parents?”
Wara paused to consider, then decided to blaze forward. “Yeah. Maybe you can call sometime, just, you know, to make sure that none of the bad guys have hauled me away.” She pressed her lips together and tried to match Alejo’s small smile. “You are going to be pretty hard to get a hold of out here on the farm with Rupert.”
Alejo blinked fast, obviously pleased with her idea.
"Should I give you the phone number to my parents’ house?” she asked.
Now Alejo’s mouth flickered into a full-blown smile.
“Naw. Don’t worry, Wara.” The warm white light of the lamp glinted off his eyes as the two of them sat facing each other, she with a spark of curiosity, he with eyes making a solemn promise. “I’ll find you.”