The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(71)
As Raul turned away, he yelled over his shoulder, “Oh—meet us out on the front steps at noon.”
“I’ll be there,” said Heather.
As she turned back toward her next class, she bumped into Mark, who had his hands cupped over his mouth.
“I’ll be there. I’ll be there,” he pretended to yell after Raul.
Although his words were only loud enough for her to hear, Heather felt sudden anger redden her face. She stormed past him, sweeping into the classroom like an ancient pterodactyl swooping down on its prey.
By the time noon approached, Heather had recovered her composure, determined not to let Mark’s teasing get under her skin. Still, she carefully avoided running into him as she made her way down the hall and out onto the front steps of the school. Raul was already there, along with his parents.
“Hi, Heather,” Raul said, stepping forward to take her hand. “This is my mom and dad.”
Mr. Rodriguez was a slender man who looked every bit the scientist that Raul had described, the dark frames on his glasses making the skin on his face appear a lighter shade than Raul’s. Mrs. Rodriguez was a motherly looking woman wearing a floral-patterned dress and leather pumps. Her dark eyes shone with an intensity Heather found disconcerting.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez.”
There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence before Mr. Rodriguez extended his hand. “Very nice to meet you, Heather.”
Mrs. Rodriguez only nodded. “Well, shall we go?”
Heather wasn’t sure why she had the feeling she was less than welcome on this outing, but seeing Raul’s smile eased her discomfort.
As they followed Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez toward the aging green Suburban, Raul leaned in and whispered, “Please be patient. My parents were so protective while I was sick, they’re having trouble adjusting.”
Heather nodded and smiled. She could only imagine the trauma the little family had been through as Raul’s cancer had advanced. If that didn’t leave significant emotional scarring, then she didn’t know what would.
The café the Rodriguez family had picked out turned out to be McDonald’s, something that almost made Heather laugh out loud. She could not imagine her mother referring to Mickey D’s as a café, although, to be fair, it did serve burgers and sodas, pancakes and coffee, and many other things that fell within the realm of typical café fare. Still, it just didn’t seem right to utilize any word of French or even European origin to describe a fast-food joint.
As they settled down in a booth to eat, an awkward silence descended. For once, even Raul seemed reluctant to break the spell, which weighed more heavily upon Heather with each passing minute. Finally, in a desperate attempt to generate some pleasant conversation, her mouth opened of its own accord.
“So, Mrs. Rodriguez. It was so wonderful to hear the story of Raul’s recovery. I found it tremendously inspiring.”
Mrs. Rodriguez turned a stern gaze on Heather. “Really? It is not inspiring. Raul is a miracle from God.”
Heather gulped. Determined to keep Mrs. Rodriguez talking, in the hope that she could break through that icy reserve, she continued. “Yes, it is a miracle. And I think it’s inspiring because his example can give others hope that they can recover in the same miraculous way.”
“Raul did not receive a miracle. He is one. His recovery is not something that others can accomplish through Earthly means. God saw fit to bring Raul to us, immersing him in a second baptism of pain and suffering so that we could observe his recovery. So that we might see how this world’s healing is impotent and know that all true power lies in Him.”
Heather was confused by the intensity of the sudden verbal onslaught. For one thing, the odd manner in which Mrs. Rodriguez spoke almost made it sound as if she were confusing the terms God and Raul.
Heather struggled to recover. “I really didn’t mean to argue with you. I can’t even imagine the pain that you have endured. And I understand why you wouldn’t want to let any doctors study his recovery. At least until you’re ready.”
Mr. Rodriguez banged his fist down on the table with enough force to cause other customers to stare. “Until we are ready? How dare you question us. We will not let anyone poke and prod our son anymore. They had their chance and proved their impotence. We will do nothing to aid them in their quest for self-importance.”
Mrs. Rodriguez leaned forward, her eyes blazing with a zealous light that scared Heather. “It is so easy to be an unbeliever, to walk the path laid at your feet by Satan. But I always knew that God had a plan for my son. Soon everyone will be given a choice—to walk with glory or to burn in the depths of hellfire. Be thankful that He is giving you the chance to become worthy. I, for one, cannot see it within you. Be thankful that His mercy is beyond mine.”
If Heather’s hair could have curled on her head, it would have, as surely as if she had undergone a two-hour perm at the closest beauty salon. She was beyond speechless. She was stupefied.
She glanced at Raul, who stared at her as he lifted a golden French fry to his lips, 12 small grains of salt clinging to its greased, 61.6345-millimeter-long form. Heather felt like some insect, pressed between glass slides, as a giant peered down at her, twisting knobs to adjust the focus of his microscope so that he could determine exactly what made her tick.
When Heather got nervous, she lost focus, and whenever she lost concentration, numbers and equations swirled through her mind in a maddening storm. For 11.857 seconds, nobody said anything.