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Eventually the sounds of kitchen workers and early-rising children drew the others from their slumber. Unable to maintain the pretense of reading any longer, he abandoned the magazine and decided to take a walk around the grounds, running into Oscar by the dining hall.
“Buenos días, Noah!” Oscar greeted him with a hearty handshake. “You are awake with the birds this morning.”
Noah forced a chuckle. “Just, uh, can’t wait to get to work,” he said.
“Julio won’t be back with materials for another hour,” Oscar said, “but can you help with the breakfast? I usually get the flour for Sister Francisca, but my back...”
Noah readily agreed, happy to have any kind of physical outlet. Besides, he was as likely to find Grace in the kitchen as anywhere else. She had to eat.
Oscar showed him to a storage room where they kept the nonperishable food. Hefting a bag of flour over his shoulder, Noah carried it to the kitchen and dumped it into a giant mixing bowl as instructed by Sister Francisca. She poured in the rest of the ingredients and turned on the machine, then enlisted Noah to make the dough into balls. Once that was done, they ran each ball through a ringer to flatten it before tossing the raw tortilla onto an enormous grill to cook. The tortillas were flipped once, then piled onto a serving tray when they were done.
While he tended the tortillas and kept watch for Grace, Sister Francisca scrambled a quantity of eggs the size of a small child and set some beans to heat. His stomach growled at the smell of hot breakfast, his mouth watering at the sight of fresh salsa and guacamole, but he wasn’t sure he would be able to eat anything until he could get the weight of his apology off his chest.
The children lined up, washed, and filed through the line. The volunteers followed. Noah kept flipping tortillas but saw no sign of Grace. The steaming mountain of tortillas dwindled, and Sister Francisca finally shooed him out of the kitchen to get his own breakfast. He lined up at the sinks behind the other volunteers, responded to their greetings as briefly as possible, and kinked his neck looking for Grace.
She didn’t show.
He sat down at a table and took a few bites but mostly toyed with his food while he watched the door. Just as everyone else started clearing out, she finally entered the dining hall. He lingered, taking tiny bites and chewing longer than necessary. Soon only he, Jane, and Chad were left in the cafeteria. Grace filled her plate and came their way, hesitating when she saw Noah. Jane smiled and motioned for her to join them.
“Good morning,” Grace said as she sat down by Jane, across the table from him.
Jane and Chad both greeted her; Noah’s good-morning caught in his throat, but he managed a wobbly smile and a head bob.
How am I going to get an apology out if I can’t even manage good morning?
“What’s on tap today?” Grace asked.
Jane collected her dishes, looking around the hall. “I need to ask Oscar, but I’m sure they want us to wrap up the exterior painting and get the roof on the bathroom today. I’ll go see if I can track him down,” she said, standing. “Chad, will you go tell everyone we’re meeting back here in ten minutes?”
That left Noah alone with Grace. His heart pounded in his throat. This was his chance. His metal fork became slippery in his hand as the awkward factor multiplied in the near-empty, near-silent room.
Now or never.
“Grace?” Her name caught in his constricted throat. He coughed, trying to clear his throat, and reached for his water. When he looked up she was waiting for him, amusement on her face.
“You okay?” she asked.
He let out an uneasy chuckle, taking courage. Some of his anxiety calmed, leaving a different sort of anticipation in its wake. He cleared his throat again. “I wanted to tell you I really appreciated what you said the other night. Your devotional with Marcus.”
Surprise smothered her amusement. “You did?”
“You made some really good points.”
“Thanks.” Her voice was soft. She studied him. Her eyes were light-brown this morning, milk chocolate.
He swallowed. “I realized I have some things I need to... make peace with. Accept.”
“We all do.”
“My dad.”
She nodded.
Sheknew. All those months ago, she had understood. Why hadn’t he recognized it at the time?
Or had he?
Regardless, he needed to finish what he had to say. Time to eat crow. Strangely, it wasn’t unappetizing. “I want to apologize for the things I said when you—”
