The Sunflower: A Novel by Richard Paul Evans

to the terminal. Not far from their entry they found Jim, alone, surrounded by a small mountain of secondhand suitcases, backpacks and large canvas duffel bags. In one hand he held a clipboard, which he lifted as they approached.
    Jessica lit up in his presence. “Hey, gorgeous.”
    He smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if you two had changed your minds.”
    “No chance of that,” Jessica said.
    Christine didn’t look as excited. Jim said to her, “You’re going to be glad you came.”
    “It’s for the children,” Christine said. “I keep telling myself that.”
    “What’s all this luggage?” Jessica asked.
    “Supplies. We’ve got hygiene kits, eyeglasses, books, blankets, medicine, everything we’ll need.”
    “Can we help you?” Christine asked.
    “No, I’m just waiting for a porter. You need to check in at the counter, then go on down to Terminal B. Be sure to be at gate 42 no later than ten-thirty. We’ll board together.”
    “See ya,” Jessica said.
    “Hasta luego,” Jim replied.
    “Hasta what?” Jessica said.
    “It means ‘see you later,’ ” Christine said.

    Christine had never left the country, and standing in the airport’s international terminal amid a Babel of foreign languages, she felt the rising discomfort of culture shock.
    They perused the airport stores as they waited. Christine bought a paperback romance and some Dramamine, which she took immediately while Jessica filled her purse with magazines and candy. A half hour later Jim arrived at the gate, and the group congregated around him. He quickly went down the roll.
    “We’re missing Bryan Davis and Kent Wood. Does anyone know where they went?”
    A young woman raised her hand. “They went to get Chinese food in the other terminal.”
    Jim shook his head and sighed. “¡Aye! caramba. Listen up, everyone. It’s very important that we stay together— especially when we arrive in Peru. Everyone please board, do not wait for me. I’ll go look for them.”
    Christine and Jessica boarded with the rest of the group. Their seats were in the rear compartment of the 737, Jessica in the window seat with Christine in the middle. In the aisle seat was a tiny gray-haired Peruvian woman.
    Christine looked down at her watch. “What do we do if Jim doesn’t make it?”
    “We’ll cross that bridge when it collapses,” she said. “Wait to worry.”
    Just a few minutes after the plane’s scheduled departure, Jim came walking down the aisle trailing two young men with sheepish looks.
    As soon as the plane left the ground, Jessica pulled out her iPod, put in her ear buds, propped a pillow against the window, then lay back with her eyes closed. Christine leafed through one of Jessica’s magazines until the Dramamine finally kicked in and she fell asleep against Jessica’s shoulder. An hour later she was awoken by the Peruvian woman, who was shaking her shoulder and speaking to her in Spanish. It took a minute for Christine to figure out what she wanted. The flight attendants were serving a meal and the woman thought Christine should know about it. Christine thanked her, then closed her eyes. It took her nearly an hour to fall back asleep.
    Three and a half hours later the pilot came on the speaker announcing their descent into Lima’s Jorge Chávez airport. The announcement was repeated in Spanish and the Peruvian passengers applauded. Twenty minutes later they clapped again when the plane touched down. The passengers disembarked and were herded to the Immigration counters. From the jetway Christine could feel the warmth and humidity of the Peruvian air.
    Inside Immigration, Jim corralled the group, his clipboard in hand. The stress of shepherding such a large group was already evident on his face. “Each of you must pick up two of our bags of supplies and carry them through customs. They are clearly marked with one of these bright orange stickers with our Puma-Condor logo. It doesn’t matter which bags you grab, as long as you