Found at Sea - By Anne Marie Duquette Page 0,92

over. Please exit toward the parking lot, and Mission San Diego de Alcala thanks you for coming.”

Jordan looked up to see Bishop Vincente. Jordan rose, and the two men moved to one of the old wooden benches set on the uneven, handmade-tiled floor.

“Since when does the bishop play bouncer to tourists?” Jordan asked.

“The humble shall be exalted, and the exalted humbled. And you’re no ordinary tourist, thanks to your donation. You’ve given a brighter future to more orphans than you know.”

“The money doesn’t mean a thing to me now.”

“It does to my orphanage. Ten percent of—how many millions did the appraiser quote?” the bishop asked.

Jordan shrugged, his eyes on the blue-and-red glass in the wrought-iron black of the candleholders and the serene, painted image of the Madonna of Guadeloupe looking down at him. The emerald necklace had been entrusted to the Mission’s bank for safekeeping.

“I talked to Roberto’s mother earlier,” the bishop continued. “Señora Ortega is very grateful for all your help, as is this mission. She also told me about Aurora, who’s lucky to be alive.”

“The lady might not agree with you.” Jordan continued to watch the candles flicker. “She’ll never dive again—and it’s my fault.”

“Are you just guessing or did she tell you that?”

Jordan met the bishop’s gaze. “Why wouldn’t she blame me? Wouldn’t you?”

The bishop sighed. “I can’t pretend to understand women—and I was married and widowed before I became a priest. I also have three sisters and more nieces than I can count. Women are almost as much of a mystery to me as the Creator himself. But, my son, I would never be foolish enough to predict what a woman was thinking. Nor do I believe you a foolish man, Señor Castillo. Frightened, perhaps. But not foolish. Certainly not a coward.”

“Wrong. I’m a coward in the first degree.”

“You broke the law for this woman. You risked your life for this woman. Obviously you love her.”

“Yes, Your Excellency. I do.”

“Does she return your love?”

Jordan remembered back to her scrawled note underwater just before he’d descended to check on the dead divers. “She said so once, but that was before—”

“Lighting candles won’t give you an answer. Nor will hiding out here. My advice to you is this. Please exit to the parking lot and find out.”

Jordan rose. “Who am I to disobey a bishop? Good night, Your Excellency.”

“Good night, my son. Vaya con Dios.”

Hallway outside Aurora and Dorian’s room,

Mission Bay Hospital

7:30 p.m.

JORDAN GLANCED at his watch, noted visiting hours weren’t over yet and took a deep breath. He knocked at the door. No answer came from within. A female nurse noticed his uncertainty.

“Mrs. Atwell is sleeping, but Ms. Collins was awake last time I checked. She probably can’t hear you.”

She can’t hear you. The words stabbed deep.

The nurse poked her head inside the door. “She’s decent. Go on in.”

Jordan took another deep breath to calm his sinking stomach and entered.

Aurora didn’t look up. Didn’t hear him. He watched her sitting up in bed; her hair was swept back in a single long braid, neatly off her gauze-packed ears. Dorian slept on the other side of the room, while Aurora had her night-light on, the hospital writing table suspended above her knees. Papers were spread out all over, and she chewed on the pen in her hand.

He cleared his throat. She didn’t lift her head. He felt like turning tail and running. He hadn’t had a long conversation with her since before the second wreck of the San Rafael. After that, he’d timed his visits to coincide with those of others to prevent her from ordering him out of her life. He couldn’t stall any longer.

Jordan reached for the light switch and flipped it off, then on. Aurora lifted her head, her expression of welcome and joy flooding his heart. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so hard after all.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.” He approached and quietly pulled the privacy curtain around Dorian’s bed. “How is she?”

“Good. Great, in fact. She ate Jello-O today and kept it down.”

Jordan nodded, standing awkwardly in the space between the beds. He looked for a chair, but they were both on Dorian’s side of the curtain and he didn’t want to risk waking her. Aurora patted her bed.

“I don’t want to jostle your leg. How’s it doing?”

“It hurts whether I jostle it or not,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m still on the pain shots. I just had one, so why don’t you lower these safety bars and sit down?” she said. “I won’t feel