The Sunflower: A Novel by Richard Paul Evans

was gone. “I better get out there. Are you helping us on the greenhouse today?”
    “Yes.”
    “Want to help me?”
    She hid her pleasure at the assignment. “Sure.”
    “Good.” He looked down at the truck. “I’ll put these away. I’ll be right back.”
    Paul disappeared through one of the doors and was back almost as quickly. They walked together to the back of the hacienda. From the patio the valley was laid out before them in a lush quilt of green and amber vegetation. The back property was mostly fields, and the tender green bayonets of corn and indigo peered above the stone and adobe walls that surrounded the property.
    On the southern half of the yard the group was congregated around the wooden frame of a large greenhouse nearly seventy-five feet in length and half that wide. Two large rolls of plastic and several bales of wire lay on the ground. They were already at work with wire cutters and hammers, standing on ladders or planks as they stretched the wire across the frame. Christine thought there was something pleasing about seeing the Peruvians and Americans working side by side.
    “What are they doing?”
    “They’re making a metal net. It’s like the spring web beneath a mattress. First we stretch the wire from one end to the other, then we tie it side to side. When we’re done, we’ll put the plastic on it and then repeat the process on the outside.”
    “All the greenhouses I’ve seen were made with glass.”
    “The plastic sheeting works just as well. And it costs a lot less.”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “Tying the net is a two-person job. One of us carries the wire, the other ties.”
    He hefted a large spool of wire onto his shoulder and carried it over to one end of the framework, where a vacant ladder tilted against a supporting beam. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
    “No.”
    “All right, then climb on up.”
    Christine climbed the ladder and Paul handed her a hammer and nail. “First pound a nail in the cross beam, then wrap the wire around it.” She obeyed. “Now come down.” She climbed down and Paul took the hammer from her, then moved the ladder a few feet. She climbed back up. “Now what?”
    “We start wrapping the wire around itself.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I’ll show you.” He climbed the ladder behind her, his body sliding up against hers. The warmth and feel of his body filled her with happiness, and only then did she realize how much she missed being held and touched. She wondered if it felt good to him as well, as he seemed perfectly comfortable; he put his arms around her and tied the wire in a loop and pulled it back toward the next pole. “I’ll show you a little trick. If you twist it like this, you don’t have to pull so hard. Got it?”
    Her thoughts were more on him than the task, and she suddenly realized that he was awaiting her response.
    “Sure, I can do that,” she said. It took her a few tries to get it right. “Like this?”
    “Perfect. Now on to the next one.”
    They climbed back down, and Paul moved the ladder. As he did, the pendant he wore fell out of his shirt. It was a small toy soldier. He quickly pushed it back inside. Christine climbed back up the ladder. “I’m getting the hang of this.”
    “Good,” he said with a grin. “You only have a thousand more to do.”
    She laughed. “I wanted to tell you yesterday how great I thought you were with the children.”
    He looked pleased with her comment. “Thanks.”
    “They really love you. You can see it in their eyes. It’s almost like they’re your own.”
    “They are mine.”
    Christine smiled. “Tell me about them.”
    He wound wire as he spoke. “René is eleven. Both of his parents were killed when he was small, probably by the Shining Path guerrillas. He lived with some adults who put him into a child labor camp to make bricks. He escaped and three years ago was found sleeping in the street.
    “Carlos is also eleven. He doesn’t know