a champion for their cause.” Arnulfo paused for a moment. His voice grew hesitant, and Mitch could easily visualize the man’s typical nervous gestures of lip biting and hair pulling. Had he slicked his hair back into a tail, or did dark waves flow over his shoulders? How Mitch missed combing his fingers through his lover’s hair. “If I return to the United States I’ll insist on spending at least a few weeks every year down here, helping out however I can, and I intend to be heavily involved in improving life for my people.”
If I return? Mitch’s heart pounded double-time. When faced with a choice between sharing Nulfo with a faraway village and not having him at all, the decision became a no-brainer. “I can live with that.”
“Can you? Can you also live with, how did you put it, ‘half my pay going to family back home?’ Only, now, it’s not even family, just people who need money worse than I do.”
Two doctors? Together? They’d make more than enough to share. And once Mitch included his parents and their wealthy friends in a fund-raiser, they’d see to constructing more earthquake-proof houses. “Actually, having had time to consider the matter, I think it’s a pretty admirable trait.”
“Will you grumble and complain if I cook pupusas for lunch?”
Pupusas? “Never! Um, that is some kind of food, right?”
A strained chuckled reached his ears. “You really should ask more questions, you know. The flat bread, filled with meat and cheese. You said you liked them.”
“Oh!” Yes, they had been rather tasty. “I guess eating a few papoose... or...”
“Pupusas.”
“Pupusas, then. Eating pupusas won’t hurt me.” Although they might add to Mitch’s waistline.
“And if I attend an opera with you, will you go kayaking with me?”
Oh, to see Arnulfo in a tux. Of course, shorts and a T-shirt worked too. “I’ve heard kayaking is great exercise.” Plenty of local rivers to kayak in. Might be fun. Didn’t kayakers wear skin-tight suits? Lycra, stretched over Nulfo’s trim frame. Yep. Kayaking. Mitch’s new favorite sport.
The phone went quiet. “Arnulfo? Are you still there?” Please let them not have gotten disconnected. Lines into the country were still kind of iffy.
“Yeah, I’m here. I should warn you that I’m not an easy man.” Something unspoken hid within those words. Something Mitch couldn’t quite decipher—almost a question.
“I never thought you were easy.”
A heavy sigh, then, “No, I mean I’m not easy. I wasn’t raised to think like an American. Just moving in with you isn’t something I can do.”
The tiny hoped that flared to life when the phone rang quivered and died. “If that’s how you feel, then I have no choice but to accept that and...”
“Hush, you crazy gringo, I’m trying to propose!”
May 3, 2003—Atlanta, Georgia
“Her burns healed nicely. She’s a beautiful child.” The gray-haired pediatrician ruffled Lida’s dark curls.
“Yes, she is.” Particularly with her strong familial resemblance to Arnulfo. “Smart as a whip, too. Her English is improving every day.” Oh, damn. There Mitch went, sounding like a proud papa again. Aw, who the hell cared? He was a proud papa.
“Gonna stay with Gamma,” Lida announced, chubby cheeks flushed pink.
Her trip to “Camp Rollins” would likely be quite the adventure. Mitch laughed. “She’s going to be staying with my parents for a few weeks.”
The doctor was well-familiar with Mitch’s family. “I saw them last week. Seems they’re quite smitten with their granddaughter.”
“Smitten doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Mitch grinned. “C’mon, munchkin.” He lifted Lida from the exam table. She wrapped one arm around his neck, waving the other one.
“Bye,” she said to anyone who’d listen on their way out of the pediatrician’s office.
“Where would you like to go for lunch?” Mitch managed in broken Spanish while strapping his daughter into a late model minivan. A minivan! My, how the mighty Mitchell Rollins has fallen. A top of the line minivan, but a minivan nonetheless. Smiling to himself, he corrected, No, how the mighty Mitchell Rollins has risen.
“Daddy!” Lida wailed. “I haf ‘Mercan. Speak Inglés! ’Mercan, Daddy. Haf ‘Mercan!”
He laughed and patted her cheek. “Yes, since one of your fathers is American, I guess that does make you half American. But Daddy needs to practica Español. Tell you what. We’ll speak English in the afternoon and Spanish in the morning.”
“Sí, Daddy.”
She was attempting to feed French fries to her doll by the time they pulled up to the house in the suburbs Mitch never thought he’d own. With the touch a button the garage door opened, revealing an