Perfectly Ridiculous Page 11

  “I wouldn’t put it past him, but the boy runs off all the time. Can’t stand to be around him, I suppose. The mother is off working most of the day and he’s her only child, so there’s no one but that lug to keep an eye on him. He gets to the drink and the child disappears.”

  “But do you think he would hurt him?”

  “I have no idea, but he’s a frustrated man, and that can’t be a good sign. He sure wants to blame everyone else when the boy goes missing. But why do you keep asking?”

  “I would want to hide the boy, naturally, if he was hurt. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Daisy, if I tried to take on every parent around here who spanked their child, I’d have no trust at all in the village. This is the way to get them to God.”

  “But surely safety—”

  “Do you know where Pablo is, Daisy? You seem awfully curious about this subject.”

  “I—”

  Libby rushes into the house and I run after her, grasping my throat. I must not be meant for the missionary lifestyle because I can’t see the bigger picture if someone is hurting that little boy.

  10

  Libby enters the house as though she’s on the same rampage as Pablo’s stepfather. I enter behind her and see J.C. in bed, looking innocent in every way. He stares up at the two of us. “Daisy, thank goodness you’re here. Can you grab my pain pills? I thought you weren’t coming back. I should have taken two this morning when you gave me one.”

  “Did you call your grandmother yet to change your flight?” Libby asks him.

  J.C. nods. “I did. I texted her. I’ll be working at the food bank when I get home to fulfill my requirements, so you don’t need to worry about me. She’s already worked it out with the insurance company. I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful.”

  “Very good,” Libby says without the benefit of compassion, and I’m seriously disliking her at the moment. Not that she was ever my greatest aspiration in terms of people.

  “You’re making him go home? I thought he planned to stay through the week.”

  “He’s of no use to me like that, set up in the middle of my kitchen, is he? I thought you said the snacks were almost done. Where are they?”

  “They’re in the fridge on trays. But J.C.’s hurt. He got hurt helping a little boy who needed to find his way home.”

  “Pablo could find his way home from downtown Buenos Aires.”

  “Why does he keep running away from home? He’s just a baby.”

  Libby narrows her eyes. “How do you know how old he is?”

  “Uh, J.C. told me he carried him home. I assumed he was tiny. Plus he was here yesterday morning.” I try to remember if Pablo had been here any other time, but I can’t. Libby doesn’t seem to be looking for trouble, though, so I’m safe.

  “Don’t worry about Pablo, you’ve got enough worries with getting all those snacks done in time.”

  “They’re done,” I say proudly. “Just a few raisins to plop on.”

  She eyes me suspiciously and then shuts the door, leaving J.C. and me alone.

  “Do you think she trusts us now? She shut the door.”

  “Wait for it.” He stays immobile in bed, and the door thrusts open again.

  “Did you forget something?” I ask Libby.

  She shakes her head. “Fifteen minutes. No later on the snacks.”

  I nod. She leaves the door open this time and heads back to the classroom.

  “She hates me.”

  “No me gusta Señora Libby.” Pablo crawls out of J.C.’s bed.

  “Are you nuts? We’re the ones who are going to get accused of child abuse.”

  “Just cover for me.”

  “You’re not driving like that! For one thing, you’re on pain meds that could choke a horse. You are not driving anywhere in your condition.”

  “You can’t come with me. She’s itching for an excuse to send you back home without your scholarship paperwork, and I’m not sending this kid home again. Not without some answers first.”

  I look at Pablo’s forlorn face and my mission becomes clear. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t get him checked out. But something tells me I’m going to regret this.”

  J.C. smiles. “That’s my girl.” He bends down to Pablo’s level and tells him to hide in the cabinet until we’re ready to go. “Finish the snacks so they’re ready,” he says to me.

  “Does Pablo know where he’s going?”

  “Just to the doctor. That’s all he knows. Most kids don’t want to leave home even if they’re being abused.”

  “Why does he keep running away then?”

  “I think it’s instinctual but maybe counterintuitive, being that he’s so young.”

  “Dang. You are a psychologist’s son. So where am I on your psychology scan? Healthy? Not so much?”

  “It’s a curse hearing so much about the human brain and all that can go wrong with it. You never look at people the same. Get the snacks over to the classroom and let’s get out of here before Libby realizes we’re missing.”

  I pause at the table because my heart is pounding. “I could lose everything over this. My parents would be livid.” My stomach is churning at the thought, yet still I know I’m going to do it, if only because there might be no one else for the boy. Clearly Libby doesn’t see what’s happening at his house as a problem. And maybe it’s not, but . . .

  “I told you to stay here. I can handle it,” J.C. says. “I have the perfect excuse. I’m going to get my permanent cast on. Just tell everyone here that the swelling went down and you’re out of it altogether.”

  “They don’t put them on that quickly.” I pause, realizing I have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m only stalling for an answer from above. “Do they?” As I see the determined look on J.C.’s face, I know I can’t let him go without me. He is one big Band-Aid, and his brain is muddled from the pain meds. I can’t exactly let him drive in that condition, and I can’t let Pablo go back to that angry man without checking things first. I’m what you’d call “between a rock and a hard place.”

  J.C. opens the cabinet, sweeps up Pablo in his arm, and comes toward me. He kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll be back. Just cover for me.”

  My stomach is in knots. I look outside the door. Libby is nowhere in sight and neither is Pablo’s stepfather. “I can’t let you drive. Just wait in the house while I deliver the snacks and ask Claire to cover for me just in case we’re not back by lunch.”

  “What are you two up to?”

  “Ahh!” I squeal, nearly jumping out of my skin at the sight of Claire. “What are you doing sneaking up on us?”

  “I thought you two might be necking,” Claire jokes. She’s dressed like beautiful Queen Esther and has black kohl eyeliner and bloodred lips—and it’s a look that works for her. She’s got such innocent eyes, you’d never guess the trouble she’s capable of. I don’t know why she’s my friend, quite frankly. I’d look like the bride of Frankenstein dressed like that.

  “Claire, you have to do me a favor. Can you serve the snacks and lunch? The potatoes are in the oven and need to be turned off in half an hour.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’d rather not tell you. The less you know, the better.”

  “Oh, this sounds good. Do tell.”

  “Claire! Will you do the snacks or not?”

  “Done. It’s done. I know nut-ting.” She crunches a celery stick.

  “Don’t eat any more of those. They’re counted out.”

  “All right. Who’s the kid?”

  I stare guiltily at Pablo. “You never saw him.”

  “What kid?” she asks. “I never saw a kid.”

  “Let’s go.” I push J.C. toward the door. He checks to make sure the coast is clear and limps quickly to his rental car. He unlocks the compact yellow box car and I take my place behind the wheel. “I don’t have an international driver’s license.”

  “You don’t need one as long as you have yours from home. Besides
, we’re kidnapping a child from his guardian. A driver’s license is the last thing you should be worried about.”

  At that, I fire up the engine and slowly back out of the dirt drive until we’re on the dirt road. “Which way?”

  “Right. We’re going straight into town. Just follow the road.”

  “Doesn’t he need a car seat?”

  “Daisy, just drive.”

  “Maybe they don’t do anything about child abuse in this country. Won’t his stepfather say he just deserved it for running off? That he was trying to teach him a lesson?” I speak out every fear I have, and the roll of J.C.’s eyes is enough to tell me he doesn’t need my kind of assistance.

  “I want to know that nothing’s broken on this kid, Daisy, and if you’re afraid, turn around and I’ll go myself.”

  “I’m not afraid. I am afraid,” I keep repeating.

  “I have a sixth sense about these things, Daisy. I can’t explain it, but this kid needs our help, and I wouldn’t feel right if I left the country without checking on his welfare.”

  “I know it.” I stare into J.C.’s beautiful eyes. There’s a warmth there that seems to ooze from every perfect pore. But I always put too much faith in cute guys. Never enough in myself. It’s a character flaw, I think. God’s the only one worthy of true devotion. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe your sixth sense. There’s a reason that child keeps running from home, and his stepfather not letting him come to Vacation Bible School doesn’t speak highly of the man.”

  He smiles tenderly and Pablo looks at me. “Bonita.”

  “Thank you, Pablo. Muy guapo.” I rub his chin.

  “Ah, you understand enough Spanish when it suits you,” J.C. says. “Some charmer tells you that you’re beautiful and you understand that.”

  “Sí, you’re very handsome too.” I rub J.C.’s chin in the same fashion. “Is someone feeling left out?”

  “Mi chica,” J.C. says to Pablo. “Mi chica.”

  Pablo laughs and pats his chest. “Mi chica.”

  “Turn here!” J.C. says at the last minute, and I squeal a turn into the medical clinic’s parking lot. He starts to laugh. “You’re a terrible driver.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re a terrible navigator. Heard of a warning?”

  He continues to laugh, which lights up his whole face. “Come on, we don’t have much time if you’re going to get back. Hopefully they’ll have a nurse who can sit with him so we don’t get caught.” J.C. lifts himself out of the passenger seat and then grabs Pablo in his good arm.

  “Do you want me to take him? I have a hip I can rest him on at least.”

  “Good point.”

  “Quantos años?” I ask Pablo as I lift him.

  Pablo holds up four fingers. He doesn’t even look two, and I start to worry that J.C.’s premonition is more than correct, it’s spot-on. This boy doesn’t look older than a fresh-walking toddler, and yet he’s still in a diaper (today he has on a dirty polo shirt as well as my Pepperdine sweatshirt).

  J.C. gives me a knowing glance and we hustle into the clinic, which is little more than a packed room with hard chairs and a series of white doors, one with a banker’s window. I sit down with Pablo, and J.C. grabs a form and a clipboard. He whispers to the woman in white behind the counter, and I catch her glance at Pablo and nod her head. The only word I hear J.C. say is “hurry,” and the only word I hear from her is “policía.”

  I tighten my arms around the little boy and start to sing quietly in his ear. He snuggles closer to me, and it grips my heart each time he does it. The way he cuddles up to a perfect stranger like he’s so starved for affection—it makes my heart squeeze with emotion. Part of me wants to grab him up and run like the wind with him and give him all the love he deserves, but then I remember I don’t know anything, really. We only have our suspicions, which could be completely off, and pretending to be the heroes, we could actually be the villains in this little guy’s life. The police might not believe our story, and with the translation problems and differing laws, who knows what could happen to us?

  Looking at J.C., so sure in the way he fills out the form and spoke to the triage gal, gives me absolute confidence in him, and I hope it’s well founded. I have been known to trust the wrong sorts of people—especially when they’re boy-band good-looking, so I hope I don’t finish my travel journey in the pokey for international kidnapping.

  J.C. sits next to us and takes Pablo from my arms. Pablo is nearly asleep. “It’s going to be awhile. There’s a long procedure, and the police will have to be called.”

  “The police? They’re going to call Libby. Or worse, my parents.” I start to imagine the scenario. My years in an Argentine prison with scary women who threaten to cut me.

  He shakes his head. “No, they’re not going to call Libby. Listen to me, you’re going to take the car back to the mission. Tell Libby that my arm was killing me and you had to run me back to the clinic because I was going to drive myself, I was so in agony. Tell her the medications weren’t working at all, and I needed something. I’ll take care of this, and I’ll either find a ride back or I’ll call the mission when I’m done here. Classes should be finished by then, so you can come and get me after dinner.”

  “After dinner? That’s hours from now. I haven’t even served lunch! What if you need someone to back up your story? You don’t want them to think you kidnapped him.”

  “If I kidnapped him, I wouldn’t have brought him to a clinic, where the police would be called, would I? Go back and fix lunch so that Libby is none the wiser. That’s the most sensible thing you can do for all of us.”

  “Maybe your Spanish isn’t as good as you think it is. Maybe you told them something that gave rise to suspicion.”

  J.C. grins and grabs my knee, making me giggle instantly. “I’m sorry, I’m ticklish.”

  He squeezes my knee again, which gives rise to uncontrollable laughter. “Stop it.” I look at all the faces staring at me. “People are watching. Stop it.”

  He does it again, and Pablo pops up from his near-sleep and laughs.

  “Now look what you did!”

  “It was worth it. From the first moment I met you, the only time I’ve ever seen you let down your guard and not worry is when you wolfed down half my sandwich. Since then you’ve been a bundle of nerves. Quit worrying! God says we can’t add an hour to our life by worrying.”

  “I know, but it’s what I do best. I’m good at worrying.”

  He shakes his head. “No, what you do best is giggle. Well, you make a mean peanut butter celery stalk too.”

  “What about you? Your arm has to be hurting from being in that position for so long, and that’s not even mentioning your swollen foot.”

  “No bonita—pretty—when you nag,” he says.

  “I want to stay,” I tell him truthfully.

  “Only because you’re not thinking about Libby’s reaction at this very moment.”

  “No. I’m thinking I want to be here to support you.”

  “Libby will call your parents,” he says.

  I bound out of my chair. “Point taken. I’m going.”

  J.C. moves out from under Pablo and stands alongside me. He looks like he had to be very popular in high school, which immediately makes me want to forget every tingly feeling I’m having. If we were not thrust together under the eyes of Libby the scary missionary, he wouldn’t have given me a second’s notice.

  “I might never get another chance to do this, and I promised myself I was not going to let shyness stop me on this trip. I am going to be the new and improved J.C. Wiggs.”

  “Do what?” He’s so close to me that I can feel his soft breath against my lips. The room is filled with people, but it’s as if we’re time traveling and there’s no one in the space but J.C. and me.

  “I wanted to kiss you from the moment you stole my sandwich.” He presses his lips against mine and stares at me. I can’t think of anything to say, and he does it again. There are a few whistl
es and catcalls around us, but this doesn’t thwart him either. He kisses me a third time. “Go back and cover for me,” he whispers. He nods in satisfaction. “It was a good kiss.”

  I nod, unable to say anything.

  “I should have asked to kiss you,” he says in front of everyone, and I hope to high heaven no one understands English. “Is it all right that I kissed you?”

  I feel myself nod again like an overanimated bobble head, but I don’t even have the presence of mind to worry. I’m too busy floating.

  11

  My Life: Stop—July 8

  Factoid: A kiss is just a kiss. Except it’s not when it’s in a foreign country and with someone I actually want to kiss me. It takes on a romantic hue. Even in a sterile doctor’s environment.

  I sit here on Claire’s cot in utter amazement. I can’t believe we got away with our deceitful yet honorable plan. I never get away with anything! Not even when I’m innocent in the matter have I ever gotten away with something. I’m almost afraid I’m going to lead a life of crime after this because I feel giddy that I didn’t get caught and astonished that Libby knows nothing about it whatsoever. I came home expecting to find her waiting for me, tapping her toe, but nothing. The room was silent, the snacks were gone, and lunch was about to be served.

  Now, if you add in the fact that J.C. kissed me on this stealth mission, it’s almost like I’m invisible. In a good way, though. Like a superhero way. A kiss—the one thing that Libby warned us would get us thrown out of the mission and we wouldn’t get our scholarships and our lives would be virtually ruined. But that didn’t happen. Nothing happened. I just told Libby the story about J.C. going back to the medical clinic, and she believed it and that was the end of it. I served lunch. I served dinner. I cleaned up dinner, and . . . nothing happened!

  Pablo’s stepfather did come searching for him again, and this time the man was really frantic. No doubt Pablo’s mother was due home soon and he’d have some explaining to do. Libby was worried too and offered to call the police for him, but Pablo’s stepfather turned her down. She sent the guys out looking for the boy, and it really took all my willpower not to spill everything. Knowing the guys were out looking for someone they’d never find filled me with guilt, but the truth is, I worried about J.C. more, so I kept my mouth clamped shut.