18 

In the morning, I wake up in the luxury golden bed under a mound of a down feather comforter. It dawns on me that I feel no better waking up in the suite than I did in the cement cabin. My mind still worries about the day’s events and I’m without peace. Will I need my scholarship? Won’t I? Will Max explain his betrayal to me? Or won’t he?

I feel guilty for enjoying this plush life in six-hundred-thread-count sheets while Claire lives my own life in the coldhearted mission of misery.

I’m enjoying the Argentine sunshine streaming through the windows, and since the sun hasn’t been shining too much since I arrived in the southern hemisphere, I can only assume this is a good sign. My parents are in the suite’s attached bedroom, and apparently J.C. is sleeping on the sofa. I’m sure the hotel management thinks the Simpsons have come to life and are currently staying in a luxury suite overlooking the infamous cemetery.

Sleeping in was a delight, but then there’s a knock on the door. I wonder if my parents have ordered breakfast at some ungodly hour, but I hear someone speaking in English and I realize I’d better get dressed quickly. I climb into the only pair of clean jeans I have left, don a bright pink sweater, and twirl a scarf around my neck so I appear cosmopolitan and not simply an American teenager. I slather my face in tinted sunscreen (i.e., makeup that’s mother-approved) and enter the main salon of the suite.

Max is there, dressed in black jeans, a silky, red-collared shirt, and black dress shoes. Let’s just say it’s not an outfit one could pull off in America, but here he looks as natural as if he were the lead in Dancing with the Stars.

“Max, what are you doing here?”

“Come sit down,” my father tells me.

“Where’s J.C.?”

“He’s still sleeping,” my mother answers.

My father holds the manila envelope with my instructions for the day.

“Dad, what are you doing with that?” I reach for the envelope, and he lifts it above his head like I’m five years old.

“Did Max tell you not to sign up for this ministry?”

“He did, but he had ulterior motives, so I didn’t listen. It’s his fiancée who gave me the packet. Did he tell you that?”

“He did,” my father says.

I scowl at Max, but he stares out the window rather than man up and face me. Tattletale.

“Didn’t your mother talk to you yesterday about being still in the Lord?” Dad asks.

“Yes, but—”

“Did you pray about this ministry?”

“No, but I didn’t really have time. Rosalina had the envelope and I didn’t want to let the opportunity get away from me, so I grabbed it.”

“Even after Max told you he had reservations about it.”

“Dad, he—”

“Part of being independent is knowing who to trust when you’re in an uncertain situation. Since you’re in a foreign country and know little about the customs or the rules here, I would think you would automatically defer to your friend Max, who knows the lay of the land.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“You need to call this Rosalina person and tell her you will not be there as promised.”

“But Dad, let your yes be yes and your no be no.”

“Be as wise as serpents and gentle as doves,” he says back to me. “Abortion is illegal in Argentina, did you know that?”

“No,” I answer.

“Only with a lot of paperwork and distinct rules is it available here, and these questions are to mine information and tell young women there is an easier way for them than going through labor and parenting.”

“I didn’t know.”

“But Max did, and next time when you’re in Buenos Aires, I expect you to listen to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are always so headstrong, Daisy, but sometimes you need to know when to ask for help and find a way other than brute force.”

“Can I go now?”

“No, Max is here for a reason. Max?”

“I feel bad that you didn’t get your prom in the States, so my church is putting on a formal tonight,” Max tells me. “Claire will be back, and if J.C. is up to it, he can come too. But I want you and Claire to wear the gowns your mother bought and come with me so Buenos Aires can show you a proper good time.”

“Gowns?” I look toward my mom and she nods. “What about Rosalina? Isn’t that the real reason I didn’t get my proper date?”

“I’ve told my mother, Rosalina’s mother, and Rosalina that enough is enough. We’d be unequally yoked, and I still plan a life in ministry. She wants to marry a foreign head of state. I want to work for the Lord. Over dinner last night, that was the final straw—the fact that I had no aspiration for a ‘real’ job. She freed me from my bond, and she’s off to find love in a wealthier, more stable place, I’m certain.”

I look at my parents, and they’re both grinning and nodding their heads.

“I knew I was right about you, Max, but you do try a girl’s soul,” I say.

“I believe I’ve heard those words before.” Dad smiles.

“And for once you’re not in complete control,” my mother says. “Think you can handle that? Just having fun for a night?”

“I do.”