The Sunflower: A Novel (26 page)

I shudder to think of how close I came to losing Roxana or what her fate might have been. Far too many children know that their world is not a safe place.

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

Within twenty minutes of Paul’s call, Richard was picked up by the police. The comandante had come himself and, with the information Richard provided, they planned a raid.

Paul and Jaime sat up all night in the kitchen drinking coffee, anxiously awaiting news. The call came at six-forty in the morning. Roxana, along with three other little girls, had been found chained in a garage just two kilometers from the Cuzco airport. The police also seized cash and a flight plan. By ten o’clock that morning none of the girls would have been seen again.

When Paul arrived at the Cuzco police headquarters, Roxana was curled up on a couch, her head hidden between her knees. He gently touched her and she jerked, then cautiously looked up. When she saw Paul, she jumped into his arms. He held her tighter than anyone he’d ever held before. He began to cry. “I’ll never fail you again,” he said. “I promise.”

At the comandante’s request Paul took all four girls back to El Girasol. The boys met them in the courtyard, cheering. Pablo signed to Roxana that he missed her. She signed back that she had missed him too.

That night Paul, on his knees, thanked God for sparing the little girl’s life, reiterating the promise he had made to Roxana:
He would never fail her again.
Paul climbed into his bed. He looked up into the darkness, and the panic and madness of the last thirty hours dissipated, leaving his mind open to reflection. Only then did he allow his heart the misery of thinking of Christine.

Another Christmas has come. What brings joy to so many only brings me pain. Still, I hide my feelings from the children. No one has the right to rob children of childhood.

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

CHRISTMAS DAY

Paul sat in his chair sipping cocoa and gazing at the flashing strand of colored lights on their small, potted Christmas palm. The
Christmas Classics Collection
was playing for its third time through, and Roxana sat next to the CD player, her hands spread out over its speakers. She especially liked Burl Ives’s
Holly Jolly Christmas
—something about the way it felt.

The December group had been generous and all the children had received new clothing and toys. Paul had gone to Cuzco and purchased dolls for the three new girls who were up in their room playing. Roxana preferred to play alone. The boys were outside breaking in their new soccer ball, their shouts echoing from the courtyard. He didn’t know where Jaime was and assumed he had gone off for a siesta.

Paul couldn’t wait for the day to be over. He put down his cup. “Oh by golly, have a holly jolly Christmas,” he said, shaking his head. He walked over and tapped Roxana’s shoulder and signed to her that he was going to his room. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Merry Christmas, little one.”

He walked the perimeter of the courtyard so as not to disturb the boys’ game.

“Hey, Paul,” Pablo shouted, “Want to play?”

“No thanks, I’m tired of losing.”

Pablo held out his hands. “Hey, it’s Christmas. We’ll let you win.”

Paul smiled. “Maybe later.”

He went to his room and shut the door. He sat on his bed; glancing at the picture of his parents. It added to his melancholy. He had called home earlier this morning as he always did on Christmas. It was no surprise, but his mother’s condition had deteriorated. And though his father wouldn’t say it, they needed him home.

Next to their picture was the snapshot of Christine he’d taken that afternoon when she’d first left him—the sunflower he’d given her lifted close to her cheek, the perfect smile on her perfect lips. It made him ache and he wondered what had possessed him to put it up. Something between nostalgia and masochism, and he considered that maybe there wasn’t much difference between the two.

Jaime had given him a book for Christmas—a political thriller in English—and he lay down on his bed and began to read, glad for the escape. He was just getting into the story when there was a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said making no effort to mask his annoyance.

The door opened and Pablo peered inside. “Hey.”

“I don’t want to play,” Paul said.

“That’s not what I came for. I have a surprise for you.”

He looked up at him, vaguely curious. “Yes?”

“Wait. I’ll get it.”

The door shut. Paul shook his head, then looked back down at his book. The door opened again and he slowly looked back up.

Christine stood in the doorway. “Merry Christmas.”

He sat up, looking at her in disbelief.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She wore a light cotton sundress and her hair fell onto her bare shoulders, softly framing her face. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

She stepped inside and walked to him. She glanced at the picture of herself and smiled. She looked back into his eyes.

“I heard about Roxana. How frightening that must have been. You saved her life. But you make a habit of saving lives.”

Paul just stared at her. His mind reeled with a hundred questions but settled on none of them.

“I expect you’re wondering what I’m doing here?”

“It—crossed my mind.”

“I should be with my fiancé on Christmas, shouldn’t I?” She held up her hand. She wore his ring.

“What about Martin?”

“Martin.” She breathed in deeply. “The thing is, on the surface Martin seemed like a pretty safe bet. Good job. Good family. Everything I thought was important. But the truth is, every relationship is a journey. And no journey is safe. The best you can do is find a companion you care to make the trip with.”

“Even if that journey takes you through Peru?”

“Even that,” she said.

“Can you do it?”

“I now know I can.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because a wise man taught me something.”

Paul just stared at her, his eyes glistening with emotion. “And what’s that?”

“Love is stronger than pain.”

Paul stepped forward and she fell into him, their lips pressed together, their joy as full as the emptiness he had felt over the last two weeks. And both were happier than either believed possible.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Christine said.

“Merry Christmas,” he said. And for the first time in more than half a decade, he meant it.

In life, as in literature, all comes full circle.

PAUL COOK’S DIARY

Jessica finally got to wear her maid-of-honor dress. Paul and Christine were married the following March in Paul’s parents’ home. Within six months they had legally adopted Pablo and Roxana and brought them back to live with them in their home in Oakwood, a small suburb just outside Dayton. Paul’s mother died that following June. Paul was at her side when she passed.

I called Christine the day after I returned from Peru. Christine was happy to hear from me and said that Paul had mentioned that I might be calling. She spoke confidently, charmingly, and I witnessed how love and faith can blossom a soul.

I had already started writing their story, and it was a little odd speaking to her—like talking to a character drawn from a novel. I reached her on a Saturday on her cell phone. She was at a Dayton park watching Pablo play soccer. I couldn’t help but smile: Christine a soccer mom and Pablo worrying more about his next game than his next meal. This was how it should be: every child deserves a childhood.

Roxana was spending the day with Christine’s mother, who I learned was overjoyed to be a grandmother.

Jessica was also at the game. I spoke with her briefly and found her every bit as ebullient as Paul described her. More so.

I quickly surmised that things hadn’t worked out with Jim, for she asked if I was married. When I told her that I was, and happily at that, she asked if I knew of any authors looking for a trophy wife. We both laughed at this, though I suspect she was at least partially in earnest. She ended our conversation with the suggestion that if my book were to be made into a movie her part should be played by Kate Hudson. I told her I’d be sure to pass her suggestion along.

Over the next six months I had many conversations with Christine. During one of those I asked her if she had made the right choice.

“Oh, yes,” she said. I swear I could hear her smiling over the phone. I guess Jim was right—
when love is right, things work out.

Jaime was made director of the Sunflower. Paul travels to Peru every other month, guiding expeditions and leading other doctors on humanitarian missions into the jungle. But most of his time is spent in the States, where he has started a foundation to help these children. Several Ohio hospitals have joined his cause, and to date they’ve provided medical service, clothing and hope to more than five thousand children. With Jessica’s father’s help, he has also successfully lobbied Congress to crack down on American pedophiles traveling abroad.

In all our conversations Paul downplayed his accomplishments. I suppose that if you look at the big picture you could argue that he’s draining the sea with a pail. Perhaps. There are more than 100 million street children in the world—what’s a few thousand here and there? But I ask myself,
Is that any reason not to try?
I know some boys and girls who think otherwise—the children who found life and hope in a rundown hacienda called the Sunflower.

Richard Paul Evans is the author of nine
New York Times
bestselling novels and five children’s books. He has won the American Mothers’ Book Award and two first-place Storytelling World Awards for his children’s books. His books have been translated into more than eighteen languages. More than thirteen million copies of his books are in print worldwide. Evans is also the founder of The Christmas Box House International, an organization dedicated to helping abused and neglected children. More than 13,000 children have been housed in Christmas Box Houses. He is the recipient of
The Washington Times
Humanitarian of the Century Award and the Volunteers of America National Empathy Award. He is currently building a second orphanage in Peru. He lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, with his wife and five children.