Free The Sunflower: A Novel by Richard Paul Evans Page B

east of the rising foothills.
    Jim led the group off the bus and down a small path into the hacienda’s rectangular courtyard. On one end was a row of windows and on the other was a high wall with several openings for bells.
    A short Peruvian man wearing a dirty Puma-Condor T-shirt rushed out to meet them. “Hermano,” he said, embracing Jim.
    “Hola, Jaime,” Jim said, “¿Qué tal?”
    “Muy bien,” he replied enthusiastically. He looked around at the group and extended his hands in the air. “¡Bienvenidos!” he shouted.
    “He says ‘welcome,’ ” Jim said. “All right, everyone gather up.”
    The group congregated around the rock wall of a fountain.
    “Everything we do is to help the orphanage become more self-sufficient. We’ve been asked to help them build a greenhouse. We also need a couple volunteers to paint the schoolroom.”
    Jessica’s hand shot up. “We’ll do it.”
    Jim glanced about to see if there were any more takers. None offered. “Okay, Jessica and Christine, you’re hired. Jaime here will show you to the room. The rest of you follow me.”
    Jim led the group through the portico to the hacienda’s backyard, leaving Christine and Jessica in the center of the courtyard with Jaime.
    “What was that about?” Christine asked.
    “Building a greenhouse didn’t sound like too much fun.”
    Jaime looked them over then said, “Okay, vamos.”
    They followed him to a dim room at the end of a tiled corridor. The room was cavernous and high ceilinged, lit by a single open window. In the center of the room was a metal scaffolding surrounded by sealed cans of paint, an aluminum tray and several paint rollers.
    “We paint,” he announced, his words echoing in the room.
    “Certainly needs it,” Christine said.
    Jessica looked around. “Probably a century or two since it was painted last.” She walked to the center of the room, and stretched out her arms. “Show us thy bidding, Master Jaime.”
    Jaime looked at her quizzically, then stooped down and pried the lid off the can of paint with a screwdriver. The pale yellow paint was separated. He took the can and set it down next to Jessica and the scaffolding.
    “Do you have something to stir the paint?” Jessica asked.
    Jaime didn’t answer.
    “Stir…paint,” she said, moving her hand in a circular motion.
    “Ah,” Jaime nodded, “Mezclar.” He walked out of the room. He returned carrying a short crooked branch. He handed it to Jessica, then went to the opposite side of the room to repair a splintered doorjamb.
    Jessica brushed the dirt from the stick, then began to stir the yellow into a deeper gold tone.
    “Where are all the children?” Christine asked.
    Jaime blinked at her.
    “The children…” she said slowly. “Chill-dren.”
    “Ah,” he said. “Niños.”
    “Sí.”
    “Los niños están en la escuela. The school.”
    “I hope Jim comes back,” Jessica said. She tilted the paint can toward Christine. “You think that’s good enough?”
    “Probably.”
    “Ask him if they have a drop cloth.”
    “Yeah, right,” Christine said.
    They poured the paint into an aluminum tray, then dipped their rollers into it.
    “What do we do with the cracks in the wall?” Christine asked, “Maybe they have spackle.”
    Jessica looked around. “Just paint over them.”
    “Jaime,” Christine said.
    He turned. “Señorita?”
    She pointed to a small fracture in the wall. “Do we paint over the cracks?”
    He nodded demonstratively moving his hand back and forth. “Yes. Paint,” he said.
    “Told you,” Jessica said. She rested her hands on her hips. “As if he understood.”
    “Sure he did.”
    “Jaime.”
    He turned again. “Señorita?”
    She pointed to Jessica. “Should I paint Jessica?”
    He nodded. “Yes. Paint.”
    Jessica started laughing. “Touché.”
    They started on the south wall. Christine painted the lower section, stretching as high as she could reach with her roller, while Jessica stood on the