He widened his eyes.
“Aftershock,” Cassie assured him. “You’ll get used to them.”
After five minutes or so Arnulfo returned with steaming bowls and bottled water and gave the nurse a meaningful gaze.
“I think I’ll go get breakfast.” Cassie dusted her hands on her shorts and traipsed off toward the scent of coffee.
Mitch reeked. What he wouldn’t give for a bath, a change of clothes, and a croissant from the corner bakery back home.
Then and only then did Mitch see a ghost of the bright smile that had haunted his dreams. “That Cassandra always was a smart one.” Nulfo handed over a bowl and a bottle to Mitch. “May I sit next you?”
Mitch nodded and moved over, careful not to crowd the girl. “What is this?” He stared at the bowl.
“The typical Salvadoran breakfast of beans and plantains.”
He sent a quizzical glance toward Arnulfo, who smeared beans on something similar to a cooked banana, cut lengthwise. He wanted, no, needed to know about the girl, but he’d only get an answer when Arnulfo was ready. That much he’d learned about the local culture—pleasantries before business.
Arnulfo took a bite, moaning before casting an apologetic look at Mitch. “It’s been a long few days. I’m very hungry.”
Mitch eyed his own bowl. This was a favored breakfast? In the year they’d been more or less a couple, Nulfo had never mentioned breakfast of beans and plantains. But then Mitch had never asked, always assuming the man liked the same things he did. Strange how little he actually knew about someone he’d wanted to build a life with.
These rations might be all he’d get. Best to emulate what he’d seen, smearing smushed beans on the banana looking thing. He took a bite. Oh, dear God! He bit off a scream. Hot beans seared his palate, held in place by the overly firm banana securely wedged between his teeth.
“Oh, shit!” Arnulfo came to Mitch’s aid with nimble fingers and a bottle of water. “I’m so sorry. I forgot you’ve never had these before. Are you okay?”
Mitch probed his tender palate with his tongue. Nothing hurt but his dignity. “I’m okay.”
Arnulfo smiled. “The plantain is the perfect shape and firmness to get stuck. You have to take smaller bites. No Salvadoran over the age of seven makes that mistake.” The smile fell. He dropped his gaze from Mitch’s face to the sleeping girl’s. “She’s my cousin Yadira’s child. Yadira was cooking when the quake hit, and a pot of hot water scalded Lida.” He pointed with his bottom lip to the girl’s bandaged face—a gesture often witnessed over the past year, and since arriving in this country, Mitch discovered it wasn’t exclusive to Nulfo, for he’d seen it many times in the last few hours among the villagers.
No more seemed forthcoming. “What happened to your cousin?”
Arnulfo nodded toward what once had been a house, and probably one of the better examples in this village. Nothing else needed to be said. The pile of rubble told its own tale.
“You’re not really...”
“Her father was in the coffee fields, buried beneath a mud slide. His was the first body found. When Lida asked if I would be her Papa now I couldn’t say no. I’m all she has left.” His eyes grew warm as he studied the young girl, and a bittersweet smile played about his lips. “She’s also all I have left.”
She was? “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve only mentioned sending money back home to family. You were never specific.”
Arnulfo stared off into space. “My father was killed in the civil war here many years ago. My mother left me with my grandmother while she searched for work in the city.”
Mitch eyed the sad little village. Whatever he wanted growing up, either his parents or grandparents indulged him. What had life been like for young Arnulfo in a place so very different from Mitch’s childhood home?
“Oh, it wasn’t as bad as you might think, Mitch. If you’ve never known anything better, how can you miss it?”
Excellent point. Still, to be raised without karate and swimming lessons, with no summer camp, no private school and vacations at the beach? Mitch had always known he and Nulfo came from different worlds. It took seeing the village for himself to understand just how different.
Arnulfo swallowed another bite of beans. “Then my mother met an American man working here. They married and went back to the States. Although they wanted me to come, my grandmother forbade it.”
His attention roamed to the