I'm not even that surprised when my hunch turns out to be right. We celebrate with a drink in the office as the pilot describes in detail the stunned faces of the DEA and border patrol when they couldn't find even a trace of cocaine on the plane. They still arrested the crew but had to let them go after Hector called one of his college friends, who threatened them with a lawsuit.

"Well, I'm off." Hector grabs his duffel bag from behind the desk and tosses it over his shoulder. "I'll see you guys the day after Bajada De Los Reyes."

I smile. "Safe travels home. And Merry Christmas to you and your family."

"After this week, my father is eager to meet you. Let's plan a trip to Colombia soon." Whistle-humming under his breath, he closes the door behind him.

My shoulders sag. He's so lucky that he can spend the holidays with his family.

"What's the matter?"

I look up at Tomás through my eyelashes, controlling my tears as my heart weeps. "I haven't spoken to my parents in almost a year. They probably think I'm dead."

He lifts up his phone. "Smile."

Confused, I give him a fake toothpaste smile. He lowers the phone and types a message. "What's your dad's phone number?"

As I call out the digits, I peek over his shoulder. Under my picture, he wrote Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I love you.

"Thanks, Tomás. That really means a lot."

Pressing send, he looks up. "You're welcome. Now get your coat. I want to show you something."

"What?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

Impeccable logic. As he ushers me outside to the Jeep, a buzz of excitement runs through my veins. I toss my backpack onto the backseat while he relieves Fabricio from today's chauffeur duties. Then we take off. He turns left at the first crossroads, taking us farther into the mountains. I've never driven this way before. The road becomes steeper and narrower until it's just wide enough for one car. A tall rock wall lines the path on one side, a steep ravine on the other. If we encounter any oncoming traffic, he'll have to back up for at least a mile.

"Tomás, where are we going?"

Instead of a response, he chuckles. Since his face is relaxed, I'm not worried. He is in a rare good mood and I'm sure not going to complain.

The road ends in a clearing. He leads me along a path that snakes through the mountains. A few white clouds hang like feathers under a bright powder-blue sky. They are almost close enough to touch. Two days ago was Malaguay's first day of summer, the longest day of the year. I inhale deeply the fresh, crisp air, indulging in the warm sunshine and the peacefulness of nature.

"Look at the condor." Tomás points at a bird of prey circling silently above. "It's our national bird."

"He is so majestic." My next breath is liberating. Nothing is more relaxing than a hike in the mountains. This raw and untouched part of the country is one of the things I love about Malaguay. Even in the most remote parts of the US, I doubt I would find such beauty and solitude.

With the turn of the next corner, we reach a huge plateau covered with red flowers. They grow so close together that they are like a field. Two younger soldiers stand guard and I frown. They lower their rifles as soon as they recognize Tomás. Squinting, I make out three more clusters of soldiers on each corner of the plateau. Without exception, they are heavily armed.

"What is this, Tomás?"

He smiles, a zealous spark reflecting off his eyes. "Our future. It's one of our new poppy fields. Cocaine use in the US has been steadily declining with opiate consumption on the rise. These little suckers will make us millions. Growth turnaround is only four months and the profit margin is huge. Now we just need to find a way to bring the heroin into the country."

I pluck one of the red petals off a plant. On the surface, the flowers are so precious and innocent, something I might even put in a vase. Who would have thought they hold a deadly secret?

"How many of these fields are there?"

"A dozen. They are higher up in the mountains and more easily guarded from the rebels. Approaching planes that could dust and destroy them are no longer a significant threat since they are easier to shoot down in the wide open. Like I said, this is our future. The money we'll make will feed the people, maybe even bring a certain prosperity to Malaguay. It's the break we've been looking for."

For a second, his gaze clouds over, his teeth tugging on his bottom lip as if he were an excited little boy. "Imagine stores filled with food and a decent hospital that doesn't make you even sicker than you are. Hell, if we're lucky, kids might even get a mandatory education."

I stare at the plants. They're like a goldmine.

He chuckles. "But do you know what's the best part? The Americans will be the ones who will pay for all this—though not the way they usually do through foreign aid that will make us indebted to them. They won't know what hit them until it's too late."

Selling the heroin will contribute to the drug epidemic that has been destroying the US. And I'll be a part of it, though it will be indirectly sanctioned by the government since the CIA is involved. An odd concept I will never understand. How does Devon even get funding for these types of missions?

"We should go. I just wanted to show you this before we break for the holidays."

"Thanks, Tomás."

That he trusted me with this new branch of the drug trade is a big breakthrough. Although he said we should go, he makes no inclination to move. I soak in the happiness of his smile, the blue eyes that are a few shades lighter than when he is angry. His good mood makes my heart brighter, the constant tension I've been under with every drilling question evaporating with the warm breeze that plays with my hair. If the soldiers weren't staring, the moment would be perfect for a kiss.

He bends forward and pecks me on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Stacy."

~~~~

When I wake up the next morning, my mood has turned for the worse, even if I try to fight it. The thought that I'll miss my family's Christmas celebration for the second year in a row drives tears to my eyes. Allowing them to fall, I hide under the blanket. It's stupid; no one can see me. It doesn't matter if I cry. I'm alone and no one cares.

In an attempt to pull myself together, the bitter reminder that my situation was a good deal worse last year helps a little. Miguel had just beaten me to a pulp a few days prior to the holidays and my whole body was so sore that I could barely move. More tears roll down my cheeks. He had forced himself on me without even the slightest consideration about the pain I was in. It had been one of the days I wished him dead.

With a shaky breath, I dry my face on the blanket and get out of bed. I need to stop. No more tears or other nonsense. It's Christmas Eve and I'll try to make the best of it. Sulking won't get me anywhere.

After taking a shower, I feel refreshed and opt for some soft sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt with big flowers that Tomás talked me into buying during the trip we took to Colombia. Although the pattern is a little busy, it suits me. I pull the final cardboard box from under my bed. It's the last of my stuff that I have yet to unpack. It holds mostly personal items that Miguel had given me as apology gifts for his beatings. Maybe I should toss everything. Otherwise, they will just be constant reminders of my nightmare.

Before I can make up my mind, a glint of silver catches my eye. Almost fully hidden by one of the wedding pictures is the horoscope-sign bracelet I bought with Tomás at the market. With a smile, I slide it on. It still fits perfectly. This one I want to keep. The rest of the stuff will be nice presents for the help and people in town. With some luck, they'll be able to trade it for food once the economy improves a little.

Trudging down the stairs, I halt on the threshold of the living room. My jaw unhinges as I look at the huge tree and the presents that are stacked in front of it. Where did all this stuff come from? The countless lights in between intricate ornaments don't only make the room festive but must have cost a fortune. Hardly appropriate when people in the streets are starving.

"The help did a good job, don't you think?"

Turning around, I stare at Santino. "It's a little much."

"It's Luca's first Christmas, and I know Naiara would have wanted it to be special. She collected these ornaments for years in the hopes of seeing the joy on her child's face one day. It's the least I can do in her memory."

His words make me feel like crap. "I'm sure she would've loved it."

"Juana brought a few toys from the States. Tradition dictates that we don't open them until Bajada De Los Reyes, but maybe a couple . . ." His gaze is stuck on the big pile of presents in front of the tree.

"Speaking of Bajada De Los Reyes, are we doing something special for the kids in town this year?"

"I ordered extra food rations, including fresh fruit and nuts. There are no public funds for anything else."

My focus returns to the pile of presents. The same apparently doesn't apply to his personal funds.

"I was planning on a family dinner tonight." He smiles at me. "I hope you can join us."

The thought that it won't be my own family I'll be celebrating with is stifling. The hitch in my throat also warns that I'm not ready for new family bonding. "I'll try, but I usually go to church on Christmas Eve."

"There will be mass in town. Fabricio is off for a few days, but I can arrange for a soldier escort."

"I'd really appreciate that."

After that, I hide in my room for most of the day and catch up on my reading. The longing for my family is like a constant throb. Just as the last red streaks of the sun color the sky, I venture downstairs to go to the capital. Santino is in the kitchen with Luca and a maid feeding the baby. Luca stretches out his arms and coos, his signal that he wants to be picked up. When he pulls one of his Miguel faces, I choose to ignore him. This was also supposed to be my baby's first Christmas. Though Luca is innocent in all this, the pain I feel with every giggle is just too hard to stomach.

"I'm leaving now."

The young soldier who drives me doesn't utter a single word. When he pulls up in front of the church, I tell him to wait and he just nods. By now, it's dark and the streets are deserted, but the church is filled with flickering light and laughter. As I step inside, the mumbles fall quiet. Hostility oozes from most of the faces. This was a bad idea.

I'm about to turn around and leave when a voice stops me. "Bienvenido, Señora Rizo. Please, come in."

The priest who's walking toward me with outstretched arms is not the one who took my confession. He is much younger and has an open smile. Grabbing my hand, he shakes it with enthusiasm. "I'm Father Gael. It's an honor that you've come to share the bread with us."

"Thank you."

After a few more moments of pressing silence, the mumbles and laughter resume as if I never intruded. My shoulders relax. I gaze around the church. It has totally transformed. The pews have been cleared out, cots and makeshift beds in their stead on one side. The other side is taken up by about half a dozen tables. It's where most of the villagers have gathered. A large group of children and a few women huddle in a corner and play some kind of dice game. Elena is among them.

I lower myself on the floor next to her and one of the women offers me the cup with the dice. Even though I have no clue what the game is about, I roll. My dice show one to five eyes in a row and a big hoot explodes. Apparently, that's good. I get to roll again. Three threes, a one, and a five. My score is recorded by one of the women on a piece of paper before she gives me a thumbs-up. I try to hand Elena the cup, but she only snickers, pointing at a little boy across from me who's practically prying the cup out of my hand. When he gets two threes and three fours, another hoot explodes.

Time flies as we continue the game. I relax with every roll of the dice. The laughter of the children is catching and an odd sense of belonging settles in my heart. These people have so little, but the joy on their faces beats that of many of my countrymen tonight. They don't whine about their lives despite the daily challenges they face. It's a strength I envy.

At some point, the church doors open, and a group of men and women haul in big pots and platters with steaming food. Farmers who share the little bit they have with the rest. The scent of the freshly baked bread makes my stomach growl and the simple dishes look divine. I watch as the children are served first and even get second helpings before the adults dig in.

Since everyone probably figures that I have plenty of food at the mansion, I'm about to leave, but Father Gael steers toward me with a bowl of steaming soup.

"Here. Sit down and enjoy."

Gazing at the happy faces, a new sense of intrusion settles in. These are families who share their Christmas meal together. I don't belong. "I should go."

"We all share. It's the Malaguian way." He points at a small table. "Come. Let's break the bread together."

I follow him with slight reluctance but relax as I settle at the table. Most smiles are open and the hostility has vanished. If they don't consider me one of them, they don't show it. I take a small spoonful of the soup in my bowl. It's a simple broth that tastes delicious.

I smile at Father Gael. "Your English is very good."

"I'm a member of the leading families and had private tutors."

"But you became a priest?"

"Beats a military career since I'd rather help people than kill them." With fondness, his gaze travels over the tables of his congregation. "It came with a steep price. My parents disowned me and haven't spoken to me since I left their home."

My brows quirk. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"Sometimes, you have to do what your heart tells you to do. It's just the way it is. After the old priest was killed during the last unrest, there was no one to take his place. That's when I found my calling. I couldn't turn my back on my country."

Admirable. "Father, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you believe that God will forgive you if your sins actually help someone?"

He puckers his lips. "Sure. There are many examples of that. Like when you lie to someone about their weight because you would otherwise hurt their feelings."

It's not really what I was getting at. "My mom calls it a fib."

"It's still a lie."

"What about bigger sins?"

"Like if someone steals from the rich to help the poor?"

"Yes, or if someone chooses to violate a law because it could benefit many."

He chuckles. "Keep in mind that most laws are human creations. They are not truly God's will."

Interesting. I've never thought about it like that. "I think the law I'm talking about would fall under the Ten Commandments."

He accepts a platter of bread and takes a slice, passing it to me. I take a piece. It smells so good.

"What type of law are we talking about, Stacy?"

I decide not to beat around the bush. "Selling drugs that could kill someone so others have enough to eat."

"Ah, the fundamental problem of Malaguay's economy. Yes, I can see how this could be an issue for a God-fearing person."

That doesn't exactly answer my question. "Do you think God could forgive a sin like this?"

"The waters of righteousness have been muddied, Stacy. What was clearly a sin in the past has become accepted as a necessity of survival."

My puddle of gray dilemma in a nutshell.

He takes a bite of his bread and chews with thoughtful eyes. "Ultimately, you have to decide how far you are willing to go. We all will face God on judgment day. You need to be able to stand tall, convinced that you lived your life the best you could. I think that's all that can be expected. No one is free of fault, but it's the good we do that makes us stand out."

How far am I willing to go? Not something I'm able to answer on the spot. I finish the rest of the soup by dipping the bread into the broth. Most bowls are empty by now, the content visible on the smiling faces. For once, no one will go to bed hungry.

Father Gael pulls out a Bible from under his robe. "I will read the verses of Christ's birth to the children. After all, that's what tonight is truly about. Feel free to stay as long as you like."

"Thank you, Father."

He gathers the little ones around him and the older children either sit in the back or stay at the tables with their parents. For a while, I just listen until the feeling of intrusion sneaks up on me again. I can barely understand a word and it'll take years to master the language, but I'm more determined than ever to try. It's a good skill to have, even if I'll never settle down in Malaguay.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2016

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