Brooke Reardon was always the first to arrive in the offices on Monday mornings and she usually prepared a pot of coffee for everyone so that it was nice and hot by the time the others arrived. This Monday morning was no exception and she had even stopped at a local bakery and picked up warm bread for everyone. For over a week, she could not stop thinking about the postcard that her cousin Ted had sent her to translate and she couldn't put the image of an eleven-year-old girl out of her head. When Alicia arrived nearly a half hour after her, Brooke was nibbling on a piece of bread and sipping a cup of coffee, sitting almost trancelike in a rigid pose. She didn't even notice Alicia had arrived.
"Is everything OK?" Alicia asked her in Bengali and when Brooke did not respond, she hesitated a moment and then grabbed Brooke's arm.
"Is everything OK?" She asked her in English.
"I'm so sorry. I was just thinking about that postcard, I can't get it out of my head. And I had the oddest phone call yesterday. Someone called me from the States and wants us to help him look for this girl, the same girl who wrote the postcard."
"So is this the man?" Alicia asked.
"I don't know about this. What interest would someone have in this girl, whoever she is and how could he even know about her?"
"That's why I'm sitting here thinking about it all," Brooke told her. "He's supposed to be in Bangladesh this evening and tomorrow he'll be here to speak to us."
"Who is this man?" Alicia asked.
"He claims to be a photographer and he speaks Bengali," Brooke answered.
"How did he get your home phone number?" Alicia asked.
"Someone at the home office gave it to him."
"I guess we'll have to deal with that tomorrow. I'm sure George is not going to think this is a good idea," Alicia commented.
"I have some bread and coffee for you in the break room," Brooke told her.
"Sounds great!"
Alicia left her to go to their small break room to find the coffee. When George arrived Alicia was still getting her coffee and he seemed distracted as he put his backpack down on his desk on the other side of their modest office.
"Is everything OK, George?" Brooke asked him. "There's bread and coffee in the break room."
"I've been worried all weekend about this trip west. I heard on the radio this weekend that there's fighting in Pakistan again."
"You're still concerned we're going to get shot at again," Brooke answered.
"I'm always concerned we're going to get shot at. We have food and hungry desperate people will kill for food," he responded.
"A lot of well-fed would kill for food," she retorted. "You certainly don't have to be hungry to be violent and most hungry people wouldn't hurt anyone. You see how grateful these people are when we come with food for them."
"I love what we do, but I still worry every day," George asserted.
"Have faith, George," she told him.
George went to the break room to get a cup of coffee and he found Alicia sitting at a small table eating her bread.
"I don't know where Brooke finds this bread, but it's delicious," she told him.
"I wonder where the others are," George noted.
"Richard is taking a day off," Alicia answered, "and Marcus is at the Ministry of the Interior offices as I told you on Friday."
"I remember now," George told her as he fixed himself coffee.
"So what's on the agenda for the rest of the day?" Alicia asked.
"Nothing special today. After a few phone calls this afternoon, we make a delivery of rice to a school in a village fifteen kilometers north of the city. I'd also like to decorate the offices a little. It's Marcus' birthday tomorrow." George paused. "And last but not least, Brooke says tomorrow we're going to have a visitor who wants to help him find a little girl. The girl who wrote the postcard that Brooke translated."
"How would we find the little girl in a country that is as populous as Bangladesh and who is this person?" Alicia asked.
"He's supposed to be here tomorrow. I just wanted to put you on notice," he told her.
"This is something I'm going to have to talk to Brooke about," he asserted.
He left the break room and returned to the main office.
"Alicia told me about our visitor. How old did this man seem? You talked to him?" George confronted Brooke.
"He's not a young man," Brooke responded.
"What business would this man have in tracking down what you believe is an eleven-year-old girl?" George asked.
"Take off your police detective hat for a moment, George. I didn't make any promises. I said we'd talk to him. He sounded perfectly fine."
"You can't tell a predator by how he sounds," George noted.
"That's what we like about you, George. Always on guard, always diligent. I'm sure you'll give him the appropriate scrutiny. I trust your judgment," Brooke commented.
"What did he say he wanted with this girl?" he continued.
"He didn't say much. He said he couldn't talk, he was with a group of people and he'd come by the offices tomorrow. Just relax, George. We'll deal with whatever happens tomorrow. As Jesus said, 'Today has sufficient troubles of its own'."
George then returned to the break room to finish his cup of coffee and eat some bread.
Brooke then took the fax which Ted Bancroft had sent her and read it again.
"To the doctor taking care of the special boy at Columbia Hospital in New York. He asked me to write to this magazine to tell you to have courage. He has seen you struggle your whole life and he knows how it ends with honor. Be comforted in the peace that comes from being on the winning side. And for that beautiful mother to so many of us, who is given the special gift to be the first to read these words, May God bless you."
She sat stunned again, with two streams of tears running down each cheek.
"I'm still overwhelmed by something so simple," she repeated her initial remark.
She shook her head in bewilderment and set it aside on her desk.