Quick Fix

Two weeks ago my boss told me to take a vacation. Well, he did not say it like that. He sent me an email saying he didn't want to pressure me into taking a vacation but it was very very very important that I took one, or his project would run out of budget.
How then did I end up in the middle of the desert, lying on a highway road underneath a car?
Let me back up.
I love my work. There's nothing stressful about my job… except when my experiments don't work, when I have to write a research article but only manage to stare at the blank page for hours and that stupid twitch on my eye-the same one I had while writing my dissertation, and I freak out because by next summer I must find another job and sell the house and the real estate market only keeps on going down, and oh, I hate moving…!
Other than that I have no reason to stress. I was saving my vacation time for an elusive trip to Europe, but after my boss sent that email I basically had no choice. I first considered going ahead and taking that trip to Europe. A quick search on www.travel.yahoo.com assured me my budget would not allow it, so I opted for something better: I emailed IntASU (for reference, please look at the picture at the bottom of this page).
Within minutes I had two invitations. One was from N who assured me I could stay with her in Phoenix and the other one from E who invited me over to L.A. with lots of exclamation points, since she recently moved there and was feeling lonely. Other IntASU members, who now live in CA, replied saying they would join us in L.A. Others would drive from Phoenix for a total of 11 people. I was very excited about this and immediately took their offer.
N told me she had another friend staying with her from Chicago. Her name is B, and we would share the cost of the trip. The plan was simple: I would fly to Phoenix (Southwest $49 each way), stay with N, then we would rent a car and drive to L.A.
Yet, things have a way of not working out exactly the way you plan. We were driving on I-10 from Phoenix to CA and talking about going from zero income to being successful career women, and happy we had rented a hybrid, when we heard a noise. We turned the radio down and there it was again. It sounded as if something got caught under the car and was being dragged.
I was volunteered to go out into the 112 degree climate to take a look because I was the only engineer in the group (bioengineer, to be exact). I was expecting to see a poor little squirrel or what remained of one, caught in the wheel, but instead I noticed the noise came from a panel beneath the car which covered the engine. The panel had fallen off on one side and was scraping the road. I went half-way under the car and since the panel was made of plastic and somewhat flexible I was able to tug it back where it belonged and we went on our way. No, it wouldn't take an engineer to figure it out but my friends were happy I fixed the problem and we drove on singing and laughing until ten minutes later we heard the noise again. A gas station was not too far ahead and we stopped there. This time I stayed in the car calling the rental company while N and B went looking for a mechanic or at least someone with minor knowledge of auto parts but they came back saying the only attendants were teenage girls and handed me a roll of duct tape.
B was wearing a white mini skirt, so N and I got under the car and taped the hell out of that plastic panel. The rental company would not meet us out in the middle of the desert because the car was still drivable and said we had to drive to LAX to exchange it.
By the next gas station the tape had fallen off and the panel barely resembled one. I was running out of ideas but I had to pee really bad so I went to the Ladies and when I went back out B had fixed the problem with her cute miniskirt. A guy was now under the car tying the panel with a rope. This more imaginative fix allowed us to drive the car to LAX without any more trouble.

We negotiated and got the cost of gasoline waved. At the end because they didn't have any hybrids available and we had to go back to the airport the next day in order to get a hybrid to drive back to Phoenix and meanwhile drive around L.A. in a PT Cruiser, we also got the cost down to about a third of what we expected to pay. Good thing to have an accountant and a marketing executive in the trip as well!
The trips to the airport cut down our vacation time, still we were able to enjoy excellent Asian restaurants, watch the sunset at the beach, walking over the surf with the waves splashing against my legs... oh, I miss living near the ocean... and spend some quality time with IntASU.

Seeing IntASU members was like visiting an ex-boyfriend with whom you still share a good relationship. It brings back memories of times past. It makes you laugh until your stomach hurts... The dinners, the happy hours, the tripos, the campingos, the joking around in bed... and the dancing...

We went to a Salsa club in Colorado Avenue. A is still my favorite merengue dancer, even if E has full rights now (they are now married). My time with IntASU was awesome, but too short. I miss them dearly. The good thing is, no matter where I vacation in the world, I can meet up with a few of them. I know I will eventually take that trip to Europe and see IntASU members who now live there (the Spanish Mafia, the Italian Mafia, the Germans and some of the Frenchies as well). Hopefully some of them will also come visit me in Albuquerque soon (some already have), since one of the reasons I wanted a house was to have enough room for them.
Shopping at the Cabazon Outlet Mall was also great and too short. One thing became very evident, though: unless I lose the 20 extra pounds I have allowed myself to gain in Albuquerque, I will not be able to fit into Bebe shirts or Guess jeans!
While in Phoenix my friends took me to Salty Señoritas to enjoy my favorite drink and celebrate my birthday for the second week in a row. It's incredible to realize I'm into my thirties but it's even more incredible to look back and be able to say "I did all that?!" with a big grin on my face.
Coming home was also nice. The desert heat in Albuquerque goes all the way up to the 90's... haha...! My house looks beautiful even with all the junk my dog KY keeps on destroying and scattering over the floors. I go back to work tomorrow and although work is work, this trip reminded me there's nothing else I'd rather do. Hopefully I'll be able to take vacations more often because they are what makes work truly worthwhile (vacations AND friends!).
Oh, and the twitch in my eye is completely gone.

Love you all from here to there,

L

ELEGIA PARA TI Y PARA MI - Jose Angel Buesa

mi poema favorito (translation below)

Yo seguiré soñando mientras pasa la vida, y tú te irás borrando lentamente en mi sueño.
Un año y otro año caerán como hojas secas de las ramas del árbol milenario del tiempo,
y tu sonrisa, llena de claridad de aurora, se alejará en la sombra creciente del recuerdo.
Yo seguiré soñando mientras pasa la vida, y quizás, poco a poco, dejaré de hacer versos,
bajo el vulgar agobio de la rutina diaria, de las desilusiones y los aburrimientos.
Tú, que nunca soñaste mas que cosas posibles, dejarás, poco a poco, de mirarte al espejo.

Acaso nos veremos un día, casualmente, al cruzar una calle, y nos saludaremos.
Yo pensaré quizás: "Qué linda es todavía." Tú quizás pensarás: "Se está poniendo viejo"
Tú irás sola, o con otro. Yo iré solo o con otra, o tú irás con un hijo que debiera ser nuestro.

Y seguirá muriendo la vida, año tras año, igual que un río oscuro que corre hacia el silencio.
Un amigo, algún día, me dirá que te ha visto, o una canción de entonces me traerá tu recuerdo.
Y en esas noches tristes de quietud y de estrellas, pensaré en ti un instante, pero cada vez menos....

Y pasará la vida. Yo seguiré soñando; pero ya no habrá un nombre de mujer en mi sueño.
Yo ya te habré olvidado definitivamentey sobre mis rodillas retozarán mis nietos.
(Y quizás, para entonces, al cruzar una calle, nos vimos frente a frente, ya sin reconocernos.)

Y una tarde de sol me cubrirán de tierra, las manos para siempre cruzadas sobre el pecho.
Tú, con los ojos tristes y los cabellos blancos, te pasarás las horas bostezando y tejiendo.
Y cada primavera renacerán las rosa, aunque ya tú estés vieja, y aunque yo me haya muerto.

* * *
my favorite poem

I will go on dreaming as life goes by and you will start fading slowly from my dream
A year and another will fall like dry leafs from the millenary tree of time
And your smile, full of the light of dawn, will vanish in the growing shadow of memory
I will go on dreaming as life goes by and perhaps slowly I will stop writing verses
Under the vulgar tiredness of daily routine, under disillusions and boredom
You, who never dreamed but possible dreams, will slowly stop looking at your reflection in the mirror

Peraphs, we will casually meet one day when crossing a street and we will great each other
I might think "How pretty she is still," you might think, "He's getting old."
You will be alone, or with another; I will be alone, or with another
or you'll be with a child that should have been ours

And life will continue dying, year after year, like a dark river that runs toward silence.
A friend one day will tell me he has seen you, or a song from back then will bring back your memory.
And during those sad nights of stillness and stars I will think of you briefly, but every time less…
And life will go on; I will keep on dreaming but there will no longer be a woman's name in my dream.
I will have forgotten you definitively and over my knees my grandchildren will rest.
(And perhaps by then when crossing a street we come face to face without recognition)

And on a sunny day they will cover me with soil, my hands forever crossed over my chest.
You, with your sad eyes and your white hair will spend the hours knitting and yawning.
And every Spring roses will be reborn, even if you are old and even if I am dead.

Panorama de Cerca (Poema)

Tu siempre serás el contraste entre un lindo recuerdo y una amarga agonía.
Eras el amigo preferido, eras el enemigo cruel, y el que pudo ser algo más…
pero nunca lo fue.

Hay personas que siempre conservan en sus mentes el recuerdo
de un amor de escuela a quien como a un panorama
se admira de lejos, pero nunca se le acercan,
por miedo a que pierda la perfección que le da la lejanía.

Nosotros fuimos eso y un poquito más.
Nosotros nos retamos y nos atrevimos
a cruzara la barrera entre lo que se admira de lejos
y lo que se tiene de cerca.

Empezó porque te reté a que te atrevieras
a hacer lo que siempre insinuabas.
Luego cambiaste la baraja, y pusiste el reto en mí.
Siempre conté con tu amistad, y tú con la mía,
para pequeños detalles o para grandes consuelos.
Eras celoso conmigo, y yo siempre lo fui contigo.
Peleábamos día y noche para no aburrirnos nunca.
Y hasta la playa fue testigo de una simple travesura.

Nunca admitimos a nadie que sus sospechas eran ciertas.
Así era más interesante, era el panorama de cerca.

¿Que fue entonces lo que salió mal?
¿Fue orgullo o fue cobardía lo que nos mantuvo aparte,
aún cuando hubiéramos preferido seguir juntos?
¿O fue acaso que el destino eligió por nosotros, como a veces pasa?

Tal vez los dos siempre supimos que lo nuestro nunca habría de ser.
Nosotros fuimos simplemente eso, el típico amor de panorama.
Solo que nos atrevimos a intentar
lo que siempre supimos que nunca íbamos a tener.

Portico (Essay- using the senses)

Finally, my last year of College! This year the new student ID's are made of thermo plastic PVC with the picture printed on them. Mine is laminated and torn down the center, with my picture fading. When I show my ID younger students laugh, and most of them are younger at this point. Not many survive an intensive 5-year program in engineering at the "Harvard of the Caribbean". If I stay one more year I will inevitably become what here is refered to as a dinosaur.
I find myself in the middle of a class, sitting under the Portico, the concrete doorway which serves as the symbol of my university, and thinking very soon I’ll be coming back for the class picture. I wonder if the picture will show everything I’m seeing right now. I wonder if it will bring back the memories I want to remember.
It’s close to one o’clock in the afternoon. The assignment for this Advanced Composition class is to use our senses to describe the scenery and write a descriptive essay. The professor-a young, good looking gringo surfer with a PhD in English-tells us to begin with sight.
I look up and see the sky as an infinite light-blue color, already filling with dark clouds and the promise of rain for mid-afternoon. Green is the most predominant color. It makes the short-cut grass look like a golf field, and gives the stereotypical-tropical-island look to the million palm trees surrounding us.
Students walk by on their way to class. Most of them by themselves, some in groups of two or three. The guys wear their mandatory uniform: T-shirt, baggy jeans and Reef sandals. The girl’s outfits vary more, except for the short spaghetti-strap tops which expose two or three inches of skin at the waist. The clothes are of bright colors which don’t always match. Some girls wear long hippie skirts, some jeans or shorts, some summer dresses. Most wear flip-flops or metal colored sandals, fewer wear tennis shoes.
It is surprisingly quiet for this time of day on campus. The only noise is the far away sound of a construction machine working on a road that will never be finished.
The students around me complain about the heat. The sun is bright and hot at this hour. It burns the skin and gives it an itchy feeling. A soft breeze can be felt from time to time, but it isn’t enough to take away the awful sticky feeling of heat and humidity.
I can not help notice the language the students use when complaining. It’s funny how we can begin a sentence in Spanish, end it in English, and still understand each other. The accent each one uses is as different as the person using it: the campesino, the Newyorikan, the effeminate.
We begin to get desperate for more sounds when the bells suddenly begin their usual Alleluia and Alma Mater. I wonder if everyone is singing in their minds the popular version of the song, like I am.
Alma Mater Colegial. Epopeya del saber donde se aprende a beber…
The professor tells us to describe the smell.
“The brewery,” one of the students says.
I’m so used to the smell from the brewery I didn’t notice it. I don’t think this particular smell will remind me of my college days in the future. Whenever I feel the thick warm smell of beer coming from the brewery, it still reminds me of boiling panas in Abuela's kitchen. Maybe that's their secret ingredient!
One smell which will definitely remind me of college is the smell of tuna fish from the nearby Star Fish atunera. In my dorm (or Lady's hostel) we blame the sharp stinky odor on whomever hasn't showered yet.
We finish taking notes. It’s time to go on with the rest of my classes. Soon it will be time to go on with the rest of my life, leaving behind the great five years I’ve spent here. I wonder how it will be if I come back one day. Maybe if the class picture doesn’t describe everything I want to remember, at least this essay will.

Mara (Portrait Story)

She walks among the dead. They don’t scare her, she takes them for granted. She’s been surrounded by dead people since the day she was born. She is still very young, not twenty yet. Her petite figure and her blond-curly hair are in contrast to her somewhat hyperactive personality. She is not aware of how unusual and interesting her life seems to those who were not raised in the same environment she was raised in. What is even more surprising about her is the ability and confidence with which she handles both life and death.
Amararis González, better known as Mara, works in a funeral parlor. She reminds me of Vada, the girl from the movie My Girl. Vada’s family owned a funeral parlor. She was raised and lived in it, but she was scared of the dead people who were brought into her home. The most tragic episode in the movie is when Vada’s best friend dies and the service takes place in Vada’s own home. Mara was also raised in a funeral parlor. She loves it to such extent that she’d rather be working there than staying on Campus with her friends. Although the family has their home at another part of town, they spend most of their time at the funerary.
“We even eat and do laundry here, in the apartment we have upstairs,” Mara says.
Mara’s family has owned the funeral parlor for the last twenty five years. Moca Memorial is the most prominent funeral parlor in the town of Moca. The owners, Mara’s parents, have made it a way of life for the whole family. Everyone shares the work and the responsibility. Even Mara’s six-year-old nephew helps by answering the phone. “Good morning, Moca Memorial.”
The two-story building is located on a hill. It has a big sign in black letters, which reads Moca Memorial, and a cross at each end of the sign. The concrete structure has a modern architectural style. The exterior is painted in light pastel colors. It is a rather nice looking building, and doesn’t look much like a funeral parlor from outside. Every time there is a wake it is very common to see people all the way up the hill, and standing on the stairs that lead to the building. Usually, the people talking outside seem to be sharing pleasant conversations, like old friends who have not seen each other in years and suddenly meet inside a shopping mall.
From inside the view is different. A warm feeling is felt walking into the lobby. A peculiar smell can also be felt. Not everybody seems sensitive to this smell, and imagination probably enhances it. It is the smell of different perfumes mingled with the far away aromas of hot cocoa and coffee, flowers and chemicals used for conserving the corpse such as formaldehyde. The parlor consists of a wide lobby, a small pantry, a flower shop, an office, and three chapels. The lighted and cheerful lobby contrasts with the dark chapels filled with sorrow, sobs and tears.
Mara is frequently seen inside the office, doing the paper work, or bringing flower arrangements to the chapels. She talks to the people and helps to organize lines so everybody gets an equal chance to pay their respects to their loved ones.
“The most difficult part of the job is not dealing with the corpses, they are already dead and won’t question you. The hard work is dealing with the family and friends who come here ordering things to be done their way. Every one of them has a different view of how things should be done, and they frequently fight. The most common fights are over money. At one time it was the ex-wife and the lover of the deceased who argued about who had the right to decide over the funeral. It is a lot easier to deal with the corpses. The only bad habit they have is burping when they still have gases inside them. When that happens, the only thing we can do is laugh, because after all, it is a bit funny.”
Mara works as a receptionist at the parlor. She has had that job since she was twelve. She loves her job, mostly because it gives her the chance to work with people. She is a very active person, and has to be working on something all the time. “The only disadvantage is that it is a 24-hour-a-day job. If a person comes in the middle of the night, you have to get up and help him. You can’t just tell him to come back in the morning. Sometimes my friends come to invite me to the beach, but I can’t leave whatever I’m doing to go with them. The responsibility is too much; I can’t leave it all to my parents.” Sometimes her friends are scared to visit her at the funerary. Unlike Vada, she takes her job very seriously, and doesn’t try to frighten people with scary stories about the dead.
Mara is a regular student at the University of Puerto Rico at Arecibo. She doesn’t like to stay in Campus during the week. She’d rather go back to the funerary to work. She’d like to continue working in the funeral business once she finishes her studies, or even take over the family business. She loves the business, and nothing about it scares her or gives her the creeps. It has been part of her life since the day she was born. She says that it is common to see a crib in the parlor and toys scattered all over the floor, because there’s always a baby in the family being raised in the same atmosphere she was raised in. Death has never been a taboo in her family. She was taught, at an early age, death is part of life. “It is something that sooner or later happens to everybody. Some people think that we feel happy when people die, because that's how we make money, but it’s not like that. Death is inevitable. It brings unhappiness, and it makes us sad, but it all goes away.”
When Mara was ten, her Grandmother died, and the service took place at her family’s funerary. Her Grandmother’s service was grand. Her father bought an elaborate casket for her. Mara explained about a tradition in the Funeral Business.
“When a member of the family in the funeral business dies, every funerary in Puerto Rico sends a carriage filled with flowers to follow the procession.” Mara remembers her grandmother’s funeral from a child’s point of view. “I remember that my cousin paid me a dollar so I would stop talking and keep quiet.” She remembers her aunts crying and how hard it was for her father to try to stay calm. She cried too, but like children often do, she overcame it soon.
Only one death caused her sleepless nights. “Do you remember the accident where the girl from Ponce died?”
That had been a terrible accident, less than two years before. A student from el Colegio went to Moca to visit her boyfriend. On her way back, a truck driver did not stop at a red light and impacted the girl's car. She died instantly.
“Our funerary is the only one in the area with the permission to pick up corpses. I was the one to receive the call, so I rushed there with my brother. It was terrible. I remember the girl, still in the car, with her green eyes open, looking at me. She was beautiful, even with blood all over her. I could not forget the look in her eyes. When we took her away from the car I realized her leg was missing, and we found it in the backside of the car. The memory kept me awake at nights. I couldn’t get over it.”
Even with all the experience she has, she says that she is not ready to face the death of someone close to her. “The other night I dreamed that my boyfriend died. It was horrible. I couldn’t stop crying. Nothing could prepare me to deal with something like that.”
Mara loved the movie My Girl. “I did not realize until now how similar my life is to the character of Vada. It is a very realistic movie, except the girl should have seen death as natural, and not being scared of it. She was old enough to understand death, because at her age, I was. It is very traumatic to face the death of someone we love, but life goes on, and we have to get over it.”

Dreaded Words (Short Story-in progress)

Nandi knew eventually he had to get married. It wasn’t that he was opposed to the idea… it was more that he preferred to delay the decision as much as possible. He always had the perfect excuse for his parents. "But I'm going to school in a country far away from India. I have no money, and any girl I marry will require some level of stability, which I completely lack.”
But the day finally came when his father pronounced the dreadful words, “You are over thirty, son. Soon no woman will want you.”
So he reluctantly agreed to let his parents arrange a marriage for him. His father posted the picture on the internet marriage site and wrote his biography, which he showed at work to his American colleagues.
“There’s no way you will find a wife with a picture like that!” said Johanna, his best friend at work, who seemed more like his worst enemy at times. Johanna always found something in him to criticize--his hair, his clothes, the way he walked, the way he smelled... but in this case she was trying to be helpful. Johanna was a professional or artistic photographer, depending on her mood. She promised to help him in his search for a wife by taking a decent picture of him. First, she had to convince him he needed a new wardrobe.
“What’s wrong with what I wear?” he kept asking.
To which an exasperated Johanna finally replied, “Where should I begin?" She looked at him from head to toe. "Hawaiian shirts and Bermudas were the look of the 80's, but in case you haven't noticed, we are in a new millennium. We have been, for the last five years. And by the way, you should do something about your hair."
"What you mean, girl? My hair is already too short."
"That it is," she replied, "but it's also too grey."

Johanna took him to the mall that weekend and on Monday picture number one-pouty face, unevenly cut graying hair, baggy clothes and sandals, was replaced by pictures number two- trimmed dark hair, black crewneck shirt, khaki pants, black Italian shoes and a soft smile. And so the dating process began.

Our Lady of Sorrows (Short Story)

She sat on the leather chair, alone in the dark living room, holding a pearl rosary in her hand; a glass of water untouched on the side table. Her eyes were closed as she silently said the same prayer over and over again.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb…
Waiting.
Hours passed before the front door opened and she heard steps. His steps sounded different, but she knew him. She'd guided his first steps. Now it was hopeless to even try.
"Where were you?" she asked, knowing the answer already. She stood and faced him, searching his eyes in the dark. He also searched and tried to focus on hers. Hers were swollen. His were wild.
"Where…" she tried again.
"I went out with friends," he answered.
"The same friends?" she asked, maintaining her stare to prevent him from lying.
"The same friends," he answered.
"How many times have I tried to get you away from those people? But no matter what I do, you always go back. Do you realize the heartache it gives me to see you like this?”
He didn’t answer.
“What else can I do?" She searched his face. "Tell me what to do!"
He looked down. "I've tried..."
She allowed herself to collapse on the chair; no more energy to cry. Placing her hand over her chest, she tried to ease the pain of her heart. "Where did I go wrong? If only I'd seen the early signs. If I could make you feel the way I feel, you would never try it again."
He went to her and leaning over the back of the chair, embraced her. "I love you the most, and I hurt you the most," he said.
At that moment, she recognized the scared boy. She felt the softness of his fair skin, smelled the sweetness of his baby-fine hair. She allowed her hand to reach his face, to caress his cheek. "Go to sleep," she said. "I have a doctor's appointment in the morning. After that, I'll come home to check on you."
He kissed her cheek and embraced her one last time. Then obediently, he went to sleep.

In the morning she went to check on Dani before going to her appointment. He still slept. She left breakfast ready on the kitchen counter in case he woke up before she came home.
“Wake him up,” her husband said coming down the stairs. “Irresponsible! I work hard to provide for him, and all he does is throw his life away. What time did he get home last night?”
She went to tighten the knot on his tie and straighten the lapels of his jacket. “I didn’t look at the time.”
“You waited up for him again, didn’t you? Because I know you didn’t come back to bed until after four in the morning. He got himself into this mess, he better get himself out.”
“Let him sleep, Oscar. I’ll wake him up later.”
She knew her husband was at the end of his rope also. Rehab had been their last hope. It had been torture to watch Dani go through it, but three months out of rehab and he was back with his friends again.
“Do you want me to talk to him? Try to reason with him?” Oscar asked.
“No, you’ll just get into another fight. Let me handle it this time. There’s no reason left in him. The drugs have taken over.”
He placed his hands on the sides of her face and looked sadly into her eyes. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said with a sigh and kissed her. “Call me if you need anything.”

She arrived early to her appointment; still the waiting room was already crowded with patients. The nurse greeted her and asked her to print her name and time of arrival. She wrote down the information with shaky hands. She hated doctors’ offices, even if the doctor was her friend.
“How’s your son?” Betsy, the nurse asked her.
She looked up from the paper directly into the nurse’s eyes. “Fine. He is fine,” she answered, trying to sound polite. She grabbed her purse from the nurse’s station and turned to find a chair. If someone, anyone, had given her even the smallest warning.
Don Emilio, the elderly school custodian whose daughter now lived in her neighborhood, rose from his chair to greet her. She had planned to grab a magazine and pretend to read until her name was called, but Don Emilio was a sweet man, so instead she sat next to him and made an effort at nice conversation.
When it was her turn, Dr. Martinez came out personally into the waiting area to greet her. “How have you been, Nadia?” he asked her.
“Hi, Junior,” she greeted him and as soon as the door to his office was closed they exchanged a warm hug.
He sat down behind his desk and studied her chart. He shook his head before looking up at her. “So? Are you ready?” he asked.
She avoided his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Why? What’s the matter? Everything’s set up for the surgery.”
“I’m not ready to tell my family I’m having open heart surgery.”
“I thought you were not going to tell them.”
"They'll find out," she thought to herself.
“I have spoken to the best cardio surgeons. You need this surgery. Everything’s ready.”
“I know. But it might not be the right time for me to leave home.”
“Nadia, what’s going on? Is it Dani again?”
“No!” She had to look away so he would not see the tears forming in her eyes.
“Nadia, Dani chose his own life, you must take care of...”
“That’s not Dani’s life. That’s no way to live a life. What kind of mother would I be if I let him go?”
“Nadia..."
“You men! You all want to be fathers, but you wear it as a title. Dani was born from me. I feel his pain, his struggle, and it’s all so... hopeless. I can’t. I just can’t.”
Instead of pressing her, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. He waited a few seconds, letting her dry her tears, before speaking again. “How’s Suzanne? I heard she got a good internship and she hopes to graduate next year.”
She smiled and slowly was able to look at him again.
“You know,” he continued, “my boy had his heart set on Suzanne when they went to school together, but she never paid any attention to him.”
She had known about that. “Suzanne has a boyfriend now.”
“From out of town, I hear. Just like her mother. All the town beauties want their boyfriends to come from out of town,” he said looking intently at her with a sarcastic smile.
This time she laughed. She had known about that too.
He was right. Suzanne was too much like her. She had turned out pretty and tall, with golden skin, a delicate face and a curvy body. All the boys had their eyes on her.
There was a time when she had worried about Suzanne. Her daughter had started dating and she had wanted to be there for her. She took her daughter shopping and drove her to her friend’s parties, always taking advantage of their time alone to warn her about boys. It had been easy and fun to talk to her daughter.
Why hadn’t she done the same with Dani? Dani was a boy, and he was younger. She had thought she still had time to talk to Dani. It’d seemed she had less to worry about where he was concerned. But she had missed something. She had looked away for a second. She had blinked her eyes and before she realized, Dani was out of her reach.
They were her life-her children were her life and she would do anything for them. “I’ll be at the hospital next week.”

After her doctor's appointment she came home and opened the windows and the back door to let the cool autumn air into her home. She went into the kitchen and noticed the breakfast she'd left on the counter remained intact.
She ran out of breath as she climbed the stairs, but she used her last bit of energy to slam open his bedroom door. "Daniel, wake up. I don't care how high you got last night. I didn't raise you to be a slob."
She left his room door open, and went back down to the kitchen to start the noon meal. She placed the steak in the oven and chopped onions, tomatoes and green chile for the salsa. Still, no grand appearance from her son.
"Daniel Oscar Hernandez! Come down here. Now!" she yelled from the base of the stairs. "If you’re going to miss classes again you better start looking for a job. Or your father is going to kick you out of this house. He warned you about it!"
No answer. No sounds.
"Dani, you're going to kill me one of these days with all this worry." She yanked off her apron and stood at the foot of the stairs looking up. She silently cursed her son for making her walk upstairs again.
He was still in bed, in the same position she'd left him that morning, but this time, she noticed something different. She didn't have to turn the lights on or open his windows to know there was something wrong. Fear overshadowed fatigue. "Dani, wake up."
She slowly walked around his bed. His right arm was outstretched. “Dani..." She removed the blanket that covered his face. His eyes were half-open, and white foam dribbled from his mouth.
Her screams brought the neighbors running. They found her kneeling next to her son, her arms embracing his body.
"Call an ambulance!" someone shouted.
“Call Dr. Martinez. He’s her doctor,” another voice said from the bedroom door. “I saw her in his office this morning,”
The noises inside the house grew louder as more people walked in and out. Some softly tried to calm her. Some forcefully tried to get her away from her son. She would only scream hysterically.
Dr. Martinez arrived and with obvious sadness, he pronounced Dani dead. “I knew your blood pressure was higher for a reason,” he said looking down at her. “This is going to destroy your weak heart.”
“He was so sweet last night. I was angry, I didn’t tell him I loved him,” she said, talking for the first time. “Oscar told me to wake him up this morning. I should’ve...” She cried and cried.
Dr. Martinez had pity on her and sedated her. Two neighbors carried her to her bedroom.
In her semi-comatose state she could still hear people's voices.
“The boy died from a drug overdose,” a woman said far away.
“My daughter says Dani had been using drugs since he was thirteen.”
“That boy is burning in hell. No way he could’ve repented before dying.”
My Dani in hell? How could this happen?

Her life had been perfect. The perfect home, the perfect husband, and for a long time, the perfect children. Dani had always grabbed his sister's hand when crossing a street, he looked up to her, but a few years later they seemed to be going through a phase.
She should’ve paid closer attention to the changes. Dani’s grades had dropped, but he hadn't suddenly become a monster. He had always remained her sweet boy, her baby.
“They’re teenagers,” Oscar would say, dismissing the subject.
It surprised her one day, when she came home and found her children fighting. As she walked upstairs, she heard Suzanne accuse Dani of cutting classes and hanging out with the wrong crowd. When she opened the door to Dani’s room, Suzanne paled and hid a plastic bag behind her back.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Dani looked at his sister with pleading eyes, but Suzanne handed her the bag. Dani's betrayed face brought tears to Suzanne's eyes.
“He’s been using drugs for over a year. It was just pot at the beginning,” Suzanne said, looking guilty.
She didn’t know if there was a right way for a mother to react to such news. She stared at the needles and bottles inside the bag. Before she knew it, she slapped Dani with an anger her children had never seen before.
"Mama!" Suzanne cried out.
Nadia looked at her son's hurt face and knew she would regret that moment until her dying day.

Dani in hell? Time passed. Minutes when she closed her eyes. Hours when she kept them open. Her husband was on his way, someone came in to tell her. He was going to pick up Suzanne from her dorm and bring her home.
My poor Suzanne. How will she take the news?
A lady she barely recognized woke her up to change her clothes. As the lady put a black dress over her head, a veil also seemed to drape over her body, over her entire being. Everything she experienced from then on she experienced through the black veil.
Suzanne, sobbing, put her arms around her, as if embracing her in slow motion. Her husband talked to her with tears in his eyes. He asked her questions. Was she supposed to know the answers?
They took her somewhere, she didn’t know where, she didn’t know what was expected of her.
“Can you walk?” someone asked her. “One step at a time,” she thought he said. “Here, I’ll hold on to you.”
They sat her on a chair. Suzanne sobbed on her right shoulder. Oscar held her left hand and looked forward, tears streamed down his face. She followed the direction of her husband’s stare. There he was. Dani, lying peacefully inside a dark coffin, his hands crossed over his chest. Her screams echoed inside the veil, and she was taken away.

Time. Time again. It kept moving, although the hands on the clock didn’t make sense to her anymore. Sometimes she lay in bed, sometimes she walked around. Sometimes there was light in the room and sometimes everything was dark. Only Dani’s image became clear when she closed her eyes. Dani in flames. Dani screaming her name. She had to help him. She had to get him out of there.
My rosary, where is it? Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners...
The pain inside her chest was also real, but the veil had become too heavy. Sometimes, the veil would cover her soul so entirely she could almost reach out her hand and touch Dani’s. He seemed so close those times, but no matter how close she could never completely grab his hand to pull him out.
Mama...
“Mama,” she heard Suzanne say. “The doctor is here to see you.”
She recognized the doctor. He’d been visiting often.
“Have you thought about what I said last time?” he asked.
“I don’t remember,” she heard herself answer.
“Your blood pressure won’t go down. You need surgery. We talked about it before Dani died.”
“I couldn’t leave Dani.”
“It’s time now. If you wait any longer, it’s going to be too late.”
“Will I die?”
“Yes. There’s something clogging your arteries, and it’s weighing down on your heart. If you leave it unattended, you will die.”
If I recover, I will have a chance at a normal life again. I will attend Suzanne’s graduation. I will have to convince her to go back to school. I will be there when she gets married and has children. Oscar will retire and we will travel together, or stay home and help take care of our grandchildren. But will my life ever be the same? Could I recover from losing Dani?
“Nadia?”
Oh, Dani, why? “What did you give me?”
“What do you mean?” Dr. Martinez asked.
“The day Dani… when you came in, the day Dani…”
“Valium. I gave you a shot of valium.”
“Give me a prescription.”
“Nadia, the surgery.”
“No.”
“Nadia!”
“Please, tell my daughter I love her. Take care of her for me. Oscar won't be strong enough.”

Time flew by. Days? Weeks? They went fast. She was again lying down. Suzanne sobbed on a chair, close to her. Oscar held Suzanne’s hand and stared into space.
“You hurt so much for him. You loved him more than anyone,” Suzanne said between sobs.
“It’s not that I loved him more,” she whispered in her daughter’s ear, wishing she could stroke her hair and ease her pain. “But right now, he needs me the most.”
The veil lifted from her soul. She arose from her coffin, and went in search of her son.
Now and at the hour of our death.

The Aimee Doll (Prologue and Chapter 1)

Chicago Times
April 27, 1917

In Danger of Closing
Judy’s Home, an orphanage in the outskirts of Chicago, which has provided shelter to hundreds of children in the 30 years since it opened, might close if a debt of $3,500 is not met before the end of the fiscal year. Miss Aimee Allensworth, caretaker of the orphanage, is making a call to society to assist in keeping the orphanage open.
“We are hosting a fundraiser at Judy’s Home, and I am inviting the public in general, but especially those who have adopted from the orphanage, or anyone who has it in their hearts, to come participate of our fundraising event.”
Aimee also grew up at Judy’s Home. Twenty five years ago, she was found inside a basket, out in the white snow in front of the orphanage. The only connection between the baby girl and her previous life was a doll with the name Aimee stitched on her dress.
Aimee grew up under the care and supervision of Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen,
previous caretakers of the orphanage, and among the many children whom otherwise, did not have a proper family or home.
“I lived a happy life here at Judy’s Home,” states Aimee. “I felt protected and well taken care of. My desire is to be able to do the same for the children who still live at the orphanage and many other children who might come to be part of our home.”
The fundraiser includes a play by the children of the orphanage. The event will close with a formal ball. The night promises to be highly entertaining and will be attended by Chicago’s finest. For more information please contact the Chicago Times main office.

“Here’s an article about the fundraiser for Judy’s Home,” says the husband to the lady, handing her that morning’s newspaper, while he sits at the dinning table with a large cup of coffee in front of him, a pipe between his lips, which he ignores, preferring to use his free hand to tug at the corner of his mustache.
The lady grabs the newspaper with an almost dismissive gesture. She first finishes giving instructions to the maid regarding the evening meal, then still holding the newspaper, hands her husband his briefcase. “You do not want to be late for work, dear. You have a meeting this morning with the bank’s president.”
After her husband leaves, she remembers the newspaper and goes into her sitting room to read it at her own leisure. She begins reading the society column with a smile on her face at the mention of the fundraising event she has often given advice on. Halfway through, she stops reading, since her mind refuses to accept the words she has read. She starts reading again from the beginning. Once she gets to the same part, she holds her breath and brings her small hand to rest on her chest in a futile attempt to stop her racing heart.
She looks around making sure there is no one within earshot, and reads the words a third time. This time she reads them aloud, to make sure she is not imagining them.
“Twenty five years ago, she was found inside a basket, out in the white snow in front of the orphanage. The only connection between the baby girl and her previous life was a doll with the name Aimee stitched on her dress.”
She walks to her secretary desk, retrieves a tiny pair of scissors and cuts out the article from the newspaper. She looks at the article one last time before putting it away, not reading it this time, just looking over it as if searching for more clues. She finally folds the piece of paper, walks over to her armoire, puts the clipped article inside the pocket of her folded white cloak, and rests her hand over the lump it forms.
“How can this be?” is the last thing she says before she closes the armoire doors and leaves the room, hopefully unseen. As an afterthought, she walks into the room again and throws the rest of the newspaper into the fire.


Chapter 1 Dreams

The first rays of the sun, coming into the room through the small crack in the wooden wall, hit Aimee’s eyes and wake her up on this cold January morning. She covers her face with her pillow, trying to fall back into the blissful oblivion that was so hard to reach the previous night. She had another restless night, full of worries that had never plagued her before. Life seems to be getting more and more complicated with each passing day. Not that her life has always been easy, but she likes to find the bright side of things, she smiles and laughs and enjoys life.
“Enjoy everything you have, while you still have it,” was Sister Mary Helen’s advice to her when she was growing up.
And she had. As a child, she enjoyed her home, and Sister Mary Helen, and Miss Judy, and the food served on the table, and the friends to share it with. She knew she hadn’t been the best behaved child at the home. Every day she would wake up with the promise of a new fresh day, the promise to behave and be good, but sometimes there seemed to be an idea lingering on the back of her mind, and for some reason, bringing her idea into reality usually got her into trouble. Like the time she brought the baby skunk into the dormitory and hid it under the bed. The skunk had been well the first night, but he got scared the next morning when the other children started waking up and making noise. The smell could be felt for weeks afterwards, but she didn’t have to wait that long before Miss Judy called her into her office.
“Aimee, what were you thinking?” Miss Judy asked from behind her desk, with an expression that sometimes seemed to Aimee more a mix of amusement and bewilderment than real anger.
“I thought his mother had abandoned him in the forest, so I brought him to live with us,” she had explained. “Isn’t this the place for babies without mothers?”
For some reason, Miss Judy hadn’t said anything more, and she got out of that one easy.
If it wasn’t one of her ideas, then it was picking a fight with Nick. Nick liked to torment Nely, and poor Nely didn’t know how to defend herself, so it was up to Aimee to stand up to Nick. After all, she was faster and stronger than any other kid at the orphanage, and she could climb up on a tree and quickly escape if Nick or the other boys came after her.

The memories make her smile and relax her enough to help her fall back into the blissful oblivion, until she feels a warm liquid fall on the side of the bed, wetting her blanket. The wet spot quickly turns cold, and a shiver makes her jump out of bed.
She is annoyed for a brief second, but she quickly laughs it off. “Josh must have peed his bed again.” She looks at the boy sleeping on the top bed.
“Oh, I’m too old to be sleeping in a bunker bed and getting peed on by a different kid every morning."
She looks down at her wet pajamas. "Now I will have to heat water to take a bath this early in the morning. Oh, well. A nice bath will cheer me up. It looks like it might be a beautiful day,” she murmurs, peaking through the window. She tiptoes out of the room, the old wooden floor screeching as she walks.
After her bath, she decides to take a walk. The cold morning air slaps her face when she opens the door, but she welcomes the feeling. As she walks on the snow, her steps take her on a path she knows only too well, her favorite place in the world, Judy’s Hill. On that hill she has laughed and cried, and climbed trees and lived life to the fullest, but on this morning, the path up the hill is making her melancholic. "What will I do now I no longer have a job?" she wonders.
The wind blows back her long black hair and intensifies the color of her rosy cheeks as she continues her walk up the hill. Will my dreams ever come true? She picks up a dry leaf from under a small tree, and with her finger traces its border. First, of course, I need to figure out what those dreams are.
Working in the hospital had been fun. Not many women were willing to struggle with a career, let alone medicine, but she had been lucky to get a fellowship from the Woman’s Medical Society. With additional income from Miss Judy and the pressure both funding sources created, she finished medical school in record time and with excellent grades. But a year later she was fired from the hospital during her first year of residency and had her license taken away.
She had meant well. Her friend Alex had come into the hospital unconscious after he had fallen from his horse. She recognized him immediately from his long blond hair, his ragged clothes and his scraggly beard. When the paramedics laid his bloodied figure onto the metal gurney she quietly made a promise to care for him until he got better, no matter the cost.
How could she not help him? He had been kind to her. He had saved her from driving down a cliff when she had decided to learn to use her adoptive family’s automobile, after her cousins had challenged her to do so. Alex had saved her life. The car… well, there wasn’t much to save after it fell down the cliff. Alex had miraculously appeared in her life every time she needed him. He was her guardian angel.
The hospital cared for him while he was unconscious, but once they realized Alex was a homeless person who could not pay his hospital charges, they discharged him. Aimee could not allow that to happen to her friend. She could not abandon him, because she knew he would never abandon her. While she was a doctor, she had to make sure he had the best medical care available. Aimee knew Alex was in no condition to return to the streets, so instead of signing his discharge papers she falsified an identity for him which allowed him to stay almost a week longer. When the hospital staff found out, they accused Aimee of violating every medical principle on the books.
“What about basic human principle?” she had protested. “He can’t take care of himself.”
The hospital replied they could not respond to every pro-bono case that came in. She was told in ridiculous ethical terms, her obligation as a doctor preceded human need. She was also reminded that, being a woman, she was lucky to be part of the hospital staff as it was. When she refused to accept their outrageous ways, she was fired.
Being fired from the hospital left her with no income to support herself, and loosing her license left her with no profession with which to find another job, so she returned to her childhood home-Judy’s Home.
As if the shame wasn’t enough, she had to tell Miss Judy she had failed once again. She failed at being adopted, failed at every relationship she had been involved in, and now she failed in her career.
Two days after returning to Judy’s Home, Miss Judy had called her into her office. She stood in front of the desk, with Miss Judy sitting behind it and Sister Mary Helen standing next to Miss Judy’s chair, but instead of lecturing her, Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen had been worried and sad, which was worse than the reprimand she was expecting.
“You were fired from the hospital for helping a homeless man?” Miss Judy asked her.
“He’s a friend,” she had explained.
“Where did you meet him?” Miss Judy wanted to know.
“He lived in a shack, in the woods close to Allensworth Manor.”
“Your adoptive family?”
“Yes. Them,” Aimee replied.
“Aimee, you must have been only a child back then. Why did you befriend a stranger? Didn’t you know better?” Miss Judy asked.
“He is the nicest person I know. You taught me not to judge by appearances, and apart from his living conditions he is a decent human being. He became my friend when I felt lonely and sad at Allensworth Manor. He was friendlier and easier to get along with than any of the society people I met during that time. And he didn’t deserve to be treated like he was at the hospital.”
“My child, you did well by helping another human being,” Miss Judy said with a very sad expression on her face. “But what will you do now?”
“I’m so sorry,” Aimee began to say with her eyes cast down. “I know you counted on me having a career of my own, and after all you’ve done for me I let you down…” She stopped talking when she realized neither woman was paying attention to her. Instead they were talking softly among themselves.
“She put her career at risk to help another human being,” Sister Mary Helen repeated.
“We must have done something right when raising this child,” Miss Judy agreed, “but what will become of her?”
“Miss Judy, this child is accumulating her fortune in heaven. She is on the right path, and I'm sure God will guide her.”

"A reprimand from Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen would have been better than the sad look on their faces," she thinks to herself, reaching the top of the hill and sitting under the tall maple tree. "A good reprimand would have left me angry and I would’ve been able to fume it out eventually. Anger is easier to deal with, but having their sympathy hurts more, because I'm now left with the certainty I have disappointed the two people who care about me the most."
She brings her knees close to her and wraps her arms around them. From the top of the hill, she can see the valley covered in snow. To her right she can see smoke rising from the chimney of Judy’s Home. To her left, down on the lower part of the hill, she can see the river, now mostly frozen. Across the river pine trees agglomerate into a forest. Beyond the forest, but completely out of her sight, lays the Allensworth manor. Judy’s Home and the Allensworth manor are two places that, to Aimee, are as different as heaven and Earth.
Legally she is still part of the Allensworths, but she might as well not be. She hasn’t been back to the mansion since she was expelled from St. Francis Academy, some six years ago. The Allensworth matriarch, Aunt Evangeline made it clear in a letter to Aimee the scandal she created after her expulsion from the finishing school was unacceptable. If Aunt Evangeline found out about her expulsion from the hospital she would completely be disowned by the family. Aimee wonders what would scandalize Aunt Evangeline more, the fact that she was fired from the hospital, or the fact that she took the patient home with her to care for him herself after he'd been discharged from the hospital.
Hopefully no one will find out about that.
Not that it matters. She is not planning to return to the Allensworth manor any time soon. The only person in that family who seemed to care about her at all was the head of the family, her benefactor, but she had never met him in person. He had often communicated with her through letters, but he was a very busy man, and didn’t have time to deal with the details and misfortunes of her life.
Her life is up to her now. And the truth is that she has a world of possibilities open to her. Granted, she can no longer practice medicine, but she still has the knowledge she gained during medical school.
It would be wonderful to be able to put that knowledge to good use, she thinks. Certainly Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen would approve of that.
She thinks of her possibilities. One of them is to join the army. Maybe they will let her be a nurse. She thinks about this idea for a while and ends up discarding it. She hates the reality of war.
So, if not the army, maybe I can use my knowledge of medicine to help cure the poor and needy. That sounds more worthwhile. She could become a missionary. Missionaries help take care of the poor and sick, they build hospitals and schools. Or even a nun.
I could ask Sister Mary Helen about becoming a nun! Miss Judy will also be happy when I tell her I am considering this possibility. This will make it up to them.
She stands up, brushes the snow from her coat with her hands and walks down the hill back to Judy’s Home. Judging by the position of the sun, she realizes she is late for breakfast. She debates whether to go into the kitchen to find some leftovers, or go directly into the chapel, where she knows Sister Mary Helen will be at this hour. She touches her stomach, which makes a growling noise and finally decides her new career can wait until after she’s had something to eat.

“It’s a very demanding job, Aimee,” Sister Mary Helen tells her.
Aimee had sought her after a large bowl of oatmeal. She had gone into the tiny chapel and waited until Sister Mary Helen finished saying the rosary to talk to her.
Now both women sit in one of the few benches and Aimee has Sister Mary Helen’s full attention.
“But do you think I can do it?” Aimee asks.
“Oh, child, I don’t mean to discourage you, but is that really the path you want? I mean, if you are getting a call from the Lord to join the convent I would be more than pleased to help you, but are you sure about this?”
“How do I know if I’ve had a calling?” Aimee asks, wondering if thinking about it on the hill counted as one.
Sister Mary Helen laughs at her question. “It’s something you feel deep down in your heart. It’s what you want to do more than anything else in the whole wide world. Is that what it feels like for you, Aimee?”
Aimee turns her head to the side. “I’m not sure if I want to do it more than anything in the world, but it would be a good thing to do, wouldn’t it?”
“Of course it would, but the Lord calls each one of us to do different things in life, and you must follow your heart to know which one is the one for you.”
Aimee must have looked more confused than ever, because Sister Mary Helen continues talking to her in a very gentle tone.
“If you consecrate your life to the convent, there are things you will have to give up.”
“Like what?”
“You give up your will in favor of the will of the church. You have to learn to submit yourself to the orders of others.” Sister Mary Helen pauses, looking intently at her.
“I hadn’t thought of that. I’m not very good at following orders.”
Sister Mary Helen laughs again, nodding slightly. “Also, you might be required to move far away from here.”
“But wouldn’t I be able to come back?”
“Only if you get an approval.”
“I wouldn’t like that at all,” Aimee admits. “My life in the hands of others.”
“It’s not the only thing to consider, Aimee. You have learned what it’s like to fall in love. Are you willing to give that up completely?”
“I would willingly give up the heartaches.”
“Of course, child, but what I am talking about is, are you willing to give up being loved by a man? Are you willing to give up the gift of being a mother and having a family of your own?”
“I hadn’t thought about that. I guess I always took for granted the idea I would eventually get married and have a family of my own.”
“Then, my dear, think about it. You don’t have to make a decision such as this one right away. It would be better for you to wait this one out.”
Sister Mary Helen leaves the chapel to go tend to the children when they call her, and Aimee remains sitting on the bench, feeling even more miserable. If not the convent, then what will I do with my life? The missions are still an option, but just like in the convent, it would probably require her to go far away from here. When was the last time I knew for certain what I wanted to do with my life?
She thinks back to the times she was in love. Even then, she wasn’t certain if a life with them is what she wanted. With her first love, they were still too young. He died in a terrible accident, and she mourned his death for a long time. Her second love broke her heart when he married another girl.
She could definitely live without any more heartaches, but Sister Mary Helen brought up a very important point. Aimee is not willing to give up love. She wants to get married and raise a family of her own. She dreams of having the family she wished she had grown up with. Deep down in her heart she knows this is what she wants to do more than anything else in the world.
When she hears her name called, she stands up from the bench and goes out into the main area of the house. A few steps out of the chapel, she comes to an abrupt halt when she sees the children gathered in front of her, with Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen standing in front of them. Miss Judy holds a cake in her hands, with lit candles on top.
“Surprise!” they yell in unison.
“Happy birthday, Aimee!” Sister Mary Helen cheerfully says.
“Happy birthday, Aimee!” The children yell at the top of their voices.
Miss Judy looks at her with an endearing smile. “Happy birthday, my dear child.”
Aimee is taken aback by the surprise. She has lost track of her days since she came back to Judy’s Home. But she should have been aware, at least, that it was late January, and that at Judy’s Home her birthday is celebrated on the day she was found out in the snow, in front of the orphanage.
“Miss Judy! Sister Mary Helen! You remembered.”
“My child, how could we forget your birthday? You have been an essential part of this home since the first day you came to live with us,” Miss Judy says.
“Yes, Aimee,” Josh adds, “you have been with us forever.”
Aimee looks down at the boy and tries to convince herself that he means it in a nice way. She has to admit she comes back to Judy’s Home quite frequently.
Soon, the children start hurrying her by singing, “We want cake! We want cake!”
Aimee laughs and accepts the cake from Miss Judy’s hands. She puts the cake on the table and proceeds to cut it and hand it out to the children. Josh playfully sticks his finger into the cake and uses the icing to decorate Aimee’s nose. The children laugh at his mischievousness, and Aimee laughs with them.
She looks around herself, at the cute expectant faces of the children. I do want a family of my own. I want my life full of moments like this one. The children’s faces convince her she doesn’t want to go into the convent. Still, that certainty doesn’t help her in her search for a new career, but maybe there’s no reason to hurry that decision either. Maybe she can stay at Judy’s Home longer than she planned, and help out around the home. There’s more than enough work to do, and that way she will be able to enjoy the company of the children and Miss Judy and Sister Mary Helen for a while longer.
Someone knocks at the door and Miss Judy goes to answer it. She comes back into the room with a gentleman walking next to her. “Aimee, you have a visitor,” she announces.
Aimee looks up from the cake and the children. At first she has some trouble recognizing the visitor. He is dressed in formal business attire, with his long blond hair styled back, clean shaven face and a bouquet of red roses in his hands.
“Happy birthday, Aimee.”
It isn’t until she hears his voice that she realizes the man in front of her is Alex.

Best of Two Worlds (Prologue)

Rancy Salas inserted his credit card into the ticket machine at the Newark airport and stared at the monitor as two different itineraries appeared under his name. One was a first class ticket to London, the other a coach class ticket to Aguadilla, Puerto Rico. Both flights left at approximately the same time.
"Good morning, Mr. Salas," a ticket attendant greeted after checking his driver's license. She looked at her own monitor on the other side of the counter. "Oh, it seems you're booked for two different flights," she chanted, and looking up at Rancy, "Which one would you prefer, sir?"
Rancy understood every other word she said. An improvement over the last few weeks. Twelve years of English classes had not prepared him for fast conversations. Either that or he should've paid more attention in class instead of skipping English at least two days a week to play sports with his friends. He wondered how long it would be before he could have a fluent conversation. Enough to convince a pretty girl-like the one in front of him-to go out for drinks, without sounding like an idiot. He forced a smile before returning his stare to the monitor one more time and nodding, more to himself than to her. "Puerto Rico," he said feeling defeated. He would have to go home feeling like a loser. On the up side, it was so much easier to talk to girls there. Besides, New Jersey was cold and gray. London, well, he had no idea.
The attendant looked at him as if urging him to confirm his decision. He noticed her curly dark hair and looked at her name tag. It read Mariely Perez. There was hope after all. "Si, por favor. Puerto Rico."
"Porto-Ricou it is, then," she said and proceeded to complete his check-in process.
She's been here too long, he concluded. Newyorican, I bet.
"Would you like me to check-in that bag for you, sir?" she asked.
He stared at her until she pointed to the round leather case under his left arm. "No, no. Yo…," he patted his chest with his free hand, "with me." The leather case had been a gift from his family when they had last gathered to throw him a good luck party. He opened the bag to show her its content--his basketball.
The flight attendant opened her eyes in recognition. "Oh my gosh, you're that rookie! Great game the other night! I was watching with my father. He was so proud of the team, but then he got so pis… I mean, so angry, and'a…
Rancy smiled, brow furrowed as he tried to follow, until her large brown eyes grew even larger and she suddenly stopped rambling.
"Oh, oh, I see. So you've decided not to go to the Olympics? You're not going to London? Your name's all over the news."
Olympics was a word he easily recognized. It had been in his vocabulary from the time he was three-years-old. He scratched the back of his head and looking down at his shoes he shook his head. "Not for different country," he said. He hadn't been able to sleep the last couple of nights. Not since the offer was given to him. He was tired. He wanted to go home.
Her expression saddened. "But you have to…" It seemed she wanted to say more, but a person who apparently was her supervisor came to see if she needed help. The line behind Rancy was getting longer. The flight attendant reluctantly handed him his ticket and after thanking her, he walked in the direction she pointed, towards gate C-114A.