piling his arms full of some sort of yams and huge bunches of overripe bananas. He stood there feeling like a beast of burden while she paid the woman. When she'd secured her fanny pack around her waist, she whipped a large plastic bag out of her market tote, held it open and motioned for him to empty the produce into it.
He did so, then brushed his hands off before taking the bag from her. What he wouldn't give for his corner sink and a strong dose of Betadine scrub about now. But he slung the heavy bag over his shoulder and took the bucket from Samantha. "Okay, what's next?"
Before she could reply, they both turned at the sound of loud voices across the street. Max watched as two young men, their arms and necks draped with strings of colorful beads, tried to persuade a blond woman to buy some of their wares. She was accompanied by a young native girl, who was tugging on her arm, obviously trying to get her away from the pushy salesmen.
The blonde spoke American English and Max thought something about her seemed familiar. "No," the woman insisted. "I'm not interested."
She turned in his direction and he saw genuine fear on her face. Recognition struck him. It was the woman who'd sat across the aisle from him on the flight from Miami. The one whose luggage had been lost at the airport.
An unfamiliar sensation washed over him. Guilt? He really should have stayed and made sure she was okay. Well, perhaps this was his chance to make amends for leaving her stranded that day.
He touched Samantha's arm. "I'll be right back." He took off at a jog across the street. He walked up behind the American and put what he hoped would appear to be a possessive hand on her shoulder. He glared at the aggressive salesmen. "The lady told you she's not interested in what you're selling. Now go on."
The two vendors looked at each other before they shrugged and wandered off in search of their next victim.
"Thank you." Her words poured out in a sigh of relief, then recognition lit her eyes. "Oh! It's you. Hi."
"Yes. Max Jordan." He stepped back and extended a hand.
"Dr. Max Jordan. We were on the same flight into Port-au-Prince last week."
"Yes, of course, I remember." Her grip was firm, her hand soft. "I'm Valerie Austin. Nice to meet you. Officially, that is."
"You, too."
The Haitian girl spotted Samantha and waved. They must know each other. The girl stood on tiptoe and whispered something in Valerie's ear.
She nodded. "Okay. Just be sure and wait for me. I'll be right there."
The girl agreed and darted across the street.
Max hoisted the bag of vegetables higher on his shoulder. "Did you ever get your luggage? At the airport?" He tried to look sheepish. Unfortunately, it wasn't an expression he'd had much practice at.
She rolled her eyes. "Actually, no."
"Really? It still hasn't shown up?" Now he truly felt like a heel.
She shook her head. "It's probably at the airport. We're hoping to go check on it later today."
"Oh. Well...I hope it's there. I'm sorry I didn't stick around and help you out that day."
She brushed off his apology with a wave of her hand. "Oh, my, no. I wouldn't have expected you to stay. There probably wasn't much you could have done anyway. Things don't seem to work quite the same here as we're used to." She gave him a crooked smile.
"You can say that again." His first impression of her had been miles off base. He'd guessed her to be rather dour and unfriendly. Now she seemed quite the opposite. She looked rested and tanned and, in spite of being a bit shaken after her encounter with the pushy vendors, she appeared quite at home here.
"So you're...just visiting?" he asked. Haiti wasn't exactly a vacation paradise.
"I'm here on a short-term mission trip. My church back home in Kansas sent me."
Her answer didn't surprise him. Was every American here a missionary of some kind? He felt a little disappointed at her response. As though she were the enemy. After all, Joshua had essentially been here as a
He did so, then brushed his hands off before taking the bag from her. What he wouldn't give for his corner sink and a strong dose of Betadine scrub about now. But he slung the heavy bag over his shoulder and took the bucket from Samantha. "Okay, what's next?"
Before she could reply, they both turned at the sound of loud voices across the street. Max watched as two young men, their arms and necks draped with strings of colorful beads, tried to persuade a blond woman to buy some of their wares. She was accompanied by a young native girl, who was tugging on her arm, obviously trying to get her away from the pushy salesmen.
The blonde spoke American English and Max thought something about her seemed familiar. "No," the woman insisted. "I'm not interested."
She turned in his direction and he saw genuine fear on her face. Recognition struck him. It was the woman who'd sat across the aisle from him on the flight from Miami. The one whose luggage had been lost at the airport.
An unfamiliar sensation washed over him. Guilt? He really should have stayed and made sure she was okay. Well, perhaps this was his chance to make amends for leaving her stranded that day.
He touched Samantha's arm. "I'll be right back." He took off at a jog across the street. He walked up behind the American and put what he hoped would appear to be a possessive hand on her shoulder. He glared at the aggressive salesmen. "The lady told you she's not interested in what you're selling. Now go on."
The two vendors looked at each other before they shrugged and wandered off in search of their next victim.
"Thank you." Her words poured out in a sigh of relief, then recognition lit her eyes. "Oh! It's you. Hi."
"Yes. Max Jordan." He stepped back and extended a hand.
"Dr. Max Jordan. We were on the same flight into Port-au-Prince last week."
"Yes, of course, I remember." Her grip was firm, her hand soft. "I'm Valerie Austin. Nice to meet you. Officially, that is."
"You, too."
The Haitian girl spotted Samantha and waved. They must know each other. The girl stood on tiptoe and whispered something in Valerie's ear.
She nodded. "Okay. Just be sure and wait for me. I'll be right there."
The girl agreed and darted across the street.
Max hoisted the bag of vegetables higher on his shoulder. "Did you ever get your luggage? At the airport?" He tried to look sheepish. Unfortunately, it wasn't an expression he'd had much practice at.
She rolled her eyes. "Actually, no."
"Really? It still hasn't shown up?" Now he truly felt like a heel.
She shook her head. "It's probably at the airport. We're hoping to go check on it later today."
"Oh. Well...I hope it's there. I'm sorry I didn't stick around and help you out that day."
She brushed off his apology with a wave of her hand. "Oh, my, no. I wouldn't have expected you to stay. There probably wasn't much you could have done anyway. Things don't seem to work quite the same here as we're used to." She gave him a crooked smile.
"You can say that again." His first impression of her had been miles off base. He'd guessed her to be rather dour and unfriendly. Now she seemed quite the opposite. She looked rested and tanned and, in spite of being a bit shaken after her encounter with the pushy vendors, she appeared quite at home here.
"So you're...just visiting?" he asked. Haiti wasn't exactly a vacation paradise.
"I'm here on a short-term mission trip. My church back home in Kansas sent me."
Her answer didn't surprise him. Was every American here a missionary of some kind? He felt a little disappointed at her response. As though she were the enemy. After all, Joshua had essentially been here as a
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