CHAPTER 18

Rosalita joined them for dinner again, and although she didn't say a 
word, Monica thought the girl seemed to be feeling more comfortable 
with them. Gibson occasionally spoke for her, but John and Monica 
made a point of not pressuring the girl to talk. Whenever sadness, 
fear, or shyness overtook the girl, John instinctively seemed to know 
how to soothe her with just a grin or an understanding nod.

As Mary started serving dessert and coffee, Catherine rose to read 
from her Bible. When she announced the reading would be from the 
Book of Job, Reyes listened intently, and Doggett watched the faces 
of his little family carefully as the passage turned ominous:

"A word was brought to me stealthily, my ear received the whisper of 
it.
Amid thoughts from visions of the night, when deep sleep falls on men,
Dread came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones shake.
A spirit glided past my face; the hair of my flesh stood up.
It stood still, but I could not discern its appearance.
A form was before my eyes; there was silence, then I heard a voice:"

John grabbed Reyes' and Gibson's arms, trying to take their attention 
away from the reading. "Whaddaya say we take a walk to that tienda? 
We got time before our..." Reyes silenced him with an annoyed look 
and turned her attention back to Catherine.

"...those who dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the 
dust,
who are crushed before the moth.
Between morning and evening they are destroyed;
They perish forever without anyone seeing it."
--Job 4:12-16, 19-20.

Catherine pulled on a ribbon that marked her next passage, and 
started turning the pages of the massive book. John took the 
opportunity to try again. "Okay, let's go. I've heard enough," he 
said with authority, and rose swiftly. "Coming with me?" he looked 
at all three in turn. Monica and Gibson stood and smiled, but 
Rosalita looked horrified by the thought. "C'mon, Lita," John 
said. "We could all use a stretch after that meal..." Her lips 
turned up in a semi-smile in response to his wide, beaming one, and 
she stood too. Gibson took her hand and looked into her eyes, 
obviously communicating with her telepathically. 

The four walked to the gate, John and Monica also hand-in-hand, and 
smiling at the first love blossoming before them. John pulled on the 
heavy iron gate and Monica and Gibson stepped through, but Rosalita 
stayed back, still holding Gibson's hand.

"What's wrong?" Monica asked soothingly. Rosalita's lower lip 
quivered and her eyes reddened with impending tears, but still she 
said nothing.

"Okay, Lita," John said gently. "The three of us can go without you. 
We'll bring something back for you, okay?"

Gibson and Rosalita looked to each other again, and Gibson gave her 
hand a squeeze. "She wants us to bring her a magazine," he said, his 
eyes still on Lita's.

"Okay, a magazine it is," John said, closing the gate behind 
Gibson. "We'll see you later."

***************
As the sun set behind the mountains, John took Monica's hand, and she 
put her arm over Gibson's shoulders. The three walked in silence for 
awhile, each engrossed in their own thoughts, until John 
said, "Gibson, we've received word from your parents."

Gibson stopped walking, as did Reyes. "What did they say?" Monica 
said, anxiously pulling Gibson closer to her.

"They were under investigation for your disappearance," John looked 
sternly into Gibson's eyes. "After you ran away from your foster 
home, and your foster parents have been indicted."

"You ran away?" Monica pulled Gibson around to face her. "Why?"

"I didn't feel safe there," Gibson said matter-of-factly. "I hid 
with..."

"People of the Via," Monica finished, nodding her head. She turned 
to John. "Now what?" she asked. "Do we have to turn him over?"

John watched as Monica pulled Gibson close to her again. "No," he 
said softly. "We don't. But we do need to provide proof that he's 
alive. His parents deserve that much."

"Their parental rights were terminated!" Gibson objected. "WE don't 
owe them anything! Whatever you have in mind, I won't do it!" He 
pulled free from Monica's grasp and started marching back to the 
monastery. 

John raced to catch up with him and grabbed his arm. "Gibson," he 
said. "You don't understand. They've been questioned..." He 
stopped when he saw that he wasn't getting through, then lowered his 
head slightly and looked into Gibson's eyes. Focus, he told 
himself. Focus on what it's like to lose a child... He picked one 
moment, the moment he first heard that Luke was missing, then brought 
it to the forefront of his mind. Concentrate, he commanded himself. 
Luke's eyes widened in surprise, then in fright, and finally in 
horror as he saw and felt that horrible memory with John. Gibson 
broke away from John's grasp and turned away from him. "You see, 
Gibson?" John said. "We can't let them go through that."

"Okay," Gibson conceded. "As long as I don't have to go back."

The tienda was nondescript, made from cinderblocks painted over with 
cigarette ads that had faded in the desert sun. Inside it was cool 
and dimly lit, yet somehow also warm and inviting. As soon as they 
entered, the clerk threw down his newspaper and stood to greet 
them. "Welcome," he said cheerfully. "Anything you need, just ask."

Gibson stepped up to the counter and said, "Magazines."

The attendant looked to John and Monica for approval, and after 
seeing their nods, escorted Gibson to the magazine rack. Monica 
sighed. "Gibson's so sweet," she said, taking John's hand.

John gave her hand a squeeze. "I know," he whispered. "We got 
lucky."

"What?" Monica asked.

John continued to whisper, "We promised to take care of him... But we 
didn't really know him. We could have gotten stuck with a real brat."

She smiled, remembered the afternoon's mischief. "He can be a brat 
when he wants to be," she whispered back. "But he's still sweet."

They strolled the aisles, commenting now and then on the dry goods 
stacked in tiny piles and crammed close together. The store seemed 
to have a little of everything. They stopped when John's eyes landed 
on the automotive section. For a small store, it seemed to have 
everything a do-it-yourselfer could want, and John started reviewing 
the state of the monastery's garage, and the condition of its 
vehicles. Hoses, he thought. They should have hoses on hand... He 
pulled a length of hose from a rack and set it aside. And air 
filters... What sizes do they have? He knelt to investigate the 
lowest shelves, letting go of Monica's hand. After a few minutes he 
came up with his prize and set it next to the hose. When he turned 
his attention to the upper racks, Monica grabbed his hand and rested 
her head against his shoulder, sighing loudly.

Her sigh attracted his attention, and he kissed the top of her 
head. "Bored?" he whispered.

"No, happy," she answered, nestling her head closer to his neck.

"I didn't know you had such a thing for automotive supplies," he said 
into her hair.

"I don't," she smiled. "I have a thing for being normal."

"Ahhh," he said with more understanding than he felt. Although he 
loved the feeling of her head on his shoulders and her body close to 
his, he never would have figured Monica as the clingy type.

"When we go back to D.C., will we be able to do this?" she asked, the 
pitch of her voice betraying her anxiety.

"Do what?" he asked, confused.

"Walk hand-in-hand down the street? Go shopping together?" she 
paused when he kissed the top of her hair again. "Kiss in public?" 
She raised her eyes to his, and saw he didn't quite understand her 
yet. "Bureau employees are everywhere, doing *their* shopping, 
driving down the street we might be on, watching 7-11 surveillance 
videos..." She sighed again. "When we go back..." her voice cracked, 
and she swallowed before continuing. "We'll have to go back to 
seeing each other secretly. Sneaking around with Brad was one 
thing... but with you..."

John suddenly understood. He turned her to face him and put both 
hands to the side of her head, stroking her hair gently as he studied 
her face. "I didn't like sneaking around, either," he offered. "But 
what choice did we have?"

Monica nodded, her lips clenched tightly as if they could control the 
tears that threatened to appear. "I know," she whispered. "But it's 
not you. You're honest, and decent, and you respect the FBI's 
rules... I don't want you to betray yourself to be with me..." A 
lone tear broke through the battlelines and marched down her cheek.

At the far end of the store Gibson looked up from his magazine.

"Monica," John said, still looking into her eyes and stroking her 
hair. "Will you marry me?"