Angels Everywhere

by Debbie Macomber

  “It’s for you,” Michelle stated, and handed her the receiver. Then she mouthed, “It’s a man.”

  Jenny pointed her finger at her heart, wondering if she’d misunderstood. “For me?”

  Michelle nodded.

  She took the phone and said in a friendly but professional-sounding voice, “This is Jenny Lancaster.”

  “Hello, Jenny.”

  Trey.

  Jenny couldn’t have been more shocked if it’d been Andrew Lloyd Webber himself, wanting her to star in his next musical.

  “Trey!” she said, barely managing to hide her shock.

  “I got your note,” he announced.

  “It was a surprise to get your Thanksgiving card,” she said, holding the receiver with both hands. She felt lightheaded and wasn’t sure if it was the shock of Trey’s call or the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day.

  “You aren’t coming home for the holidays.”

  Trey, her family. Everyone seemed to be pressuring her. It felt as if the walls were closing in around her. “I can’t come,” she told him, unable to disguise her own bitter disappointment. “I want to be there. More than anything, but I can’t.”

  “That’s what your note said. So the bright lights of the city have blinded you?”

  “No.” She longed to tell him how she hungered for the peace and solitude of Montana. New York City held its own excitement, its own energy. So often she’d walked down the crowded avenues and felt a rhythm, a cadence, that all but sang up from the asphalt. For three years she’d marched to that beat and hummed its special brand of music.

  Yet the lone cry in the barren hills of home played longingly to her soul, its melody haunting her.

  “Your family misses you,” Trey said, tightening the screws of her regrets.

  Jenny bit into her lower lip.

  “I miss you,” Trey added.

  Jenny’s eyes flew open. Trey, the man who’d invaded her dreams for weeks, admitted to missing her. He’d as much as said he wanted her home.

  Regrets clamored against her chest, their fists sharp and pain-filled. “I can’t come,” she whispered miserably.

  Her words were met with silence.

  “Can’t or won’t?” he asked starkly.

  Brynn Cassidy crossed the street in front of Manhattan High and St. Philip’s Cathedral. She found Father Grady, the gray-haired priest who’d become her friend, in the vestibule.

  “Hello, Father,” she said.

  “Brynn, it’s good to see you, my girl.” His green Irish eyes lit up with warm delight.

  “I got your message. You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes. Come over to the rectory and I’ll have Mrs. Houghton brew us a pot of tea.”

  Brynn glanced at her watch. She enjoyed visiting with Father Grady, but the older priest liked to talk and she didn’t have time that afternoon.

  Father Grady’s eyes followed hers. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I have to stop off at Roberto Alcantara’s this afternoon and pick up my car.”

  “I know Roberto well,” Father Grady said, and motioned for her to precede him out of the church. “He’s a fine young man.” He paused to glance her way, and it seemed to Brynn that the priest was looking for her to elaborate. She didn’t.

  “Emilio’s in my class.”

  “Ah, yes, Emilio. Roberto’s done his best to keep his brother out of trouble. There haven’t been problems with Emilio, have there?”

  “No, no,” Brynn was quick to tell him.

  Father Grady’s face relaxed.

  Brynn lowered her gaze. It wasn’t Emilio she’d clashed with, but Roberto. “I’m afraid Roberto doesn’t think much of me.”

  Father Grady opened the door to the rectory. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  Brynn followed him inside. She preferred not to tell him about their brief confrontation. It rankled still. Roberto Alcantara had been both rude and unreasonable. But more than that, he’d been wrong.

  “I’m not sure I have time for tea,” she reiterated when she realized that Father Grady fully intended for her to stay and chat anyway.

  “Nonsense.” He escorted Brynn into the parlor and left her while he went in search of Mrs. Houghton, the elderly housekeeper who cared for Father Grady and the bishop when he was in residence.

  Father Grady returned shortly with a tray and two cups. “I was hoping you’d be able to stop over this afternoon,” he said as he set the tray on the coffee table. He handed Brynn a delicate china cup and took one himself before sitting across from her on the velvet settee. “The church is sponsoring a dance this Friday evening for the youth group.”

  Brynn had seen the posters. “I’ve heard several of the kids mention it.”

  “We generally have a good turnout.”

  Brynn was sure that was true.

  “I was wondering,” Father Grady said, studying her above the china cup, “if you’d agree to be one of the chaperones.”

  The request took Brynn by surprise, although in retrospect she supposed it shouldn’t.

  “The children are quite fond of you,” he added as if he felt flattering her would be necessary. “Modesto Diaz mentioned your name the other day. He said . . .” Father Grady paused, and his eyes sparkled with humor.

  “Yes?” Brynn prodded.

  “Well, Modesto did say you were a little weird, but that he liked you anyway.”

  Brynn was sure her students didn’t quite know what to make of her teaching methods.

  “I realize it’s an imposition asking you at this late date,” Father Grady continued. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you could come.”

  “I’ll be happy to chaperone the dance,” Brynn murmured.

  “Now,” Father Grady said, and set down his teacup. “Tell me what happened between you and Roberto Alcantara.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, preferring to make light of their differences. “Actually Roberto’s been most helpful. My car broke down and he’s fixing it for me.”

  Father Grady said nothing.

  “I was on my way to pick it up now.”

  “Roberto’s been through some difficult times,” the priest told her. “I’m not at liberty to tell you all the circumstances, but . . .”

  “Oh, please, no. I wouldn’t want you to break a confidence. It’s nothing, really.”

  “If Roberto offended you . . .”

  “He didn’t. We had a difference of opinion.”

  Father Grady seemed relieved. “I’m glad to hear that. If you do find him disagreeable, all I ask is that you give him a bit of slack. He’s a good man. I’d vouch for him any day.”

  “I’m sure what you say is true.” Brynn stood and set the teacup back on the tray. “Now I really must be going.”

  Father Grady escorted her to the front door. “I’ll see you Friday evening, then, around seven?”

  Brynn nodded. “I’ll be here.”

  The priest’s eyes brightened with a smile. “Thank you, Brynn, I promise you won’t regret this.”

  Brynn briskly walked the few blocks to Roberto Alcantara’s garage. Earlier that afternoon, Emilio had personally delivered the message that her car was ready for her. The youth made sure the entire class heard him, as though the two of them had a personal business arrangement. Brynn had been forced to conceal her irritation.

  As the afternoon progressed, she discovered she wasn’t looking forward to another encounter with Emilio’s older brother. The man was way off base. It was impossible to reason with anyone who regarded education as a waste of time. The fact that he’d actually urged his younger brother to drop out of school was nothing short of criminal.

  “Yo, Miss Cassidy.” Emilio, Modesto, and a few more of the boys from her class drove past her slowly and waved.

  Brynn returned the gesture automatically. It wasn’t until they’d turned the corner that she realized the boys were joyriding in her car.

  Brynn bristled and hurried the last block to Roberto’s
. When she reached the garage, she stormed in the door. “Emilio’s driving around in my car.”

  Roberto, who was working on another car, straightened. “Yes, I know.”

  She blinked. “You know.”

  “Yes, I gave him the keys myself.”

  The man had a way of flustering her unlike anyone she’d ever encountered. “Well, I want it back.”

  “You’ll get it.” He returned to the truck he was working on, disappearing behind the hood.

  “Do you generally allow Emilio to ride around in your customers’ cars?”

  “No.” His answer was clipped and didn’t invite further inquiries.

  His attitude—in fact, everything about Roberto—irritated Brynn. “I want my car returned,” she insisted, her voice raised and tight. No matter what Father Grady claimed, it was plain to her that this man didn’t have one shred of responsibility.

  “And you’ll have it.”

  Brynn crossed her arms and started to pace. Twice she made a show of looking at her watch.

  “Emilio will be back any moment,” Roberto said, continuing to work on another vehicle.

  Bent over the engine as he was, Brynn couldn’t see his face, but she had the distinct impression the mechanic was smiling. Her irritation amused him. That infuriated Brynn all the more.

  “I want you to know that I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”

  Roberto straightened and reached for an oil rag; his dark, intense eyes meshed with hers. “I’m not one of your students, Miss Cassidy, so there’s no need to yell.”

  “I was not yelling.” She realized she was and lowered her voice immediately.

  Roberto grinned broadly. “I suppose you’d like to send me to the principal.”

  “Aha!” Her arm flew out and she pointed at him with her index finger, wagging it while she gathered her thoughts. “I thought as much. You blame me because your brother was suspended.”

  “On the contrary. Emilio knows not to fight on school grounds. What is it the law enforcement people are so fond of quoting? Do the crime, pay the time. My brother deserved what he got.”

  “But you blame me?”

  “No, I just wish you’d quit filling my brother’s head with garbage.”

  Brynn clenched her jaw in an effort not to argue. This was the same mine-riddled ground they’d covered earlier. Brynn had no desire to do battle with Roberto a second time.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw her car pull into an empty parking slot in front of the garage.

  “Yo, Miss Cassidy,” Emilio called out. “Your car’s running like a dream.”

  Despite her misgivings, Brynn managed a smile. “If I could please have my bill,” she said with stiff politeness.

  Roberto gestured toward his brother. “Emilio will take care of that.”

  Brynn hesitated before leaving the garage for the small outer office where Emilio stood. Although Roberto had been deliberately rude, she felt obligated to him. “I want you to know I appreciate your help.”

  Involved once again with another vehicle, Roberto didn’t bother to answer. It was almost as if he were ignoring her. His lack of a response to her peace offering offended her pride. Swallowing the small hurt, Brynn brushed the hair from her face.

  “Your car runs like new,” Emilio told her as he stepped behind the cash register. “Roberto asked me to test-drive it around the block. I hope you don’t mind that I let a couple of my posse join me.”

  “Four is more than a couple,” she informed him primly.

  “I know,” the youth said with a flash of pearly white teeth. “But it isn’t every day that we can say we rode in a teacher’s car.”

  Brynn decided it was best to not comment.

  Emilio located the work order for her vehicle and scanned its contents. Brynn had been waiting for this moment, praying that the expense wouldn’t wipe out the meager remainder of her budget for the month. The Escort had well over two hundred thousand miles on it and thus far had been relatively problem free. With the dread building up inside her, she opened her purse and took out her checkbook.

  Something didn’t appear to be right, because Emilio looked up from the bill. “I need to ask Roberto something,” he said, and walked around from behind the counter. In the other room, the two brothers talked in hushed tones.

  Emilio returned, wearing a wide grin. “It’s on the house,” he announced.

  Brynn wasn’t sure she understood. “What do you mean?”

  Pride gleamed in the youth’s dark eyes. “You don’t owe us anything.”

  “But I can’t let you do that. . . .”

  “Roberto insists.”

  Still Brynn argued. “That wouldn’t be right.”

  “It’s a gift, Miss Cassidy,” Emilio said with a deep sigh of frustration. “Didn’t you ever learn you’re not supposed to question someone when they give you a gift? Some lady with manners wrote it up in a book. You read all the time . . . you must have read that.”

  Brynn was uncertain. “Let me at least pay for any parts.”

  “No way.” The teenager held up both hands as though she were holding him up.

  “But carburetors can be expensive.” She didn’t want Roberto absorbing the cost of this.

  “Roberto says he found another carburetor at the junkyard and got it for next to nothing. Besides, he let me do most of the work myself.” His dark eyes pleaded with her to accept this small gift.

  “Emilio, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  His face erupted in a wide smile. “I’ll think of something.”

  Roberto shouted from the other room, and Emilio’s smart smile disappeared. “Think nothing of it, Miss Cassidy.”

  “Thank you both again.” Brynn felt like a fool for having made such an issue of Emilio driving her vehicle. She glanced toward the garage, but Roberto was bent over the side of the truck, busy at work. “Tell your brother that I’m grateful.”

  “I will.” Emilio followed her outside and held open her car door for her.

  When she couldn’t find her car keys, she eyed the youth. A desperate look came over him, and he slapped his hands over his shirt and pants pockets, then laughed and withdrew them from his hip pocket. “I had you worried there, didn’t I?”

  Brynn rolled her eyes, then started the engine. As Emilio had said earlier, it purred like new. Her car sounded better than it had in years. She backed out of the driveway. It was as she started down the street that she noticed Roberto Alcantara watching her from inside the building.

  * * *

  He owed her an apology, Roberto reasoned. He’d been angry and frustrated the day they’d met, and he’d taken his irritation out on her. True, he believed the things he’d said, but generally he kept his opinions to himself. It had helped relieve his irritation to sound off at Emilio’s teacher; but it hadn’t been fair.

  An hour before he’d met Brynn, Roberto had learned his offer to lease a building in another neighborhood had been rejected. It hadn’t been the first time a landlord had refused to rent to him. Naturally he’d been given some flimsy excuse, but Roberto had learned long ago the real reason. No one wanted a Hispanic taking up residence nearby.

  Brynn Cassidy was everything Emilio had said. Bright. Intelligent. Pretty. Roberto feared his younger brother was half in love with her himself. But this spunky teacher was off-limits to the both of them, and Roberto knew it. It would be best if he never saw her again.

  Funny how a woman could be so dangerous; but Roberto had recognized it from the first moment they’d met. Brynn Cassidy just might teach him to dream, too.

  Friday evening Brynn arrived at the gymnasium behind St. Philip’s. She walked into the gaily decorated room and stopped to admire the decorations. Red and green streamers were looped across the ceiling from one end of the room to the other. A refreshment table was set up alongside the folded bleachers.

  “Hello, Miss Cassidy.” The first one to greet her was Suzie Chang, who looked exceptionally pretty in a dark bl
ue silk pants suit.

  “Oh, Suzie, you look so nice.”

  The Chinese girl lowered her head and blushed. “So do you.”

  Brynn hadn’t been exactly sure what to wear and had opted for a blouse and skirt and patent-leather flats. Although she’d attended a number of school dances at St. Mary’s, she’d never actually served as a chaperone. Generally the girls’ school relied on parents and members of the PTA.

  “Miss Cassidy,” Emilio called. He helped himself to a handful of cookies. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a chaperone.”

  “Hey, that’s cool. So’s my brother.”

  Brynn hadn’t recognized Roberto without his coveralls. She hadn’t given Roberto much notice before, but now . . . caught by his piercing dark eyes, Brynn found it difficult to look away.

  “Hello, Roberto.”

  “Miss Cassidy.” He nodded politely in her direction.

  The music started. It came from a sound system with large speakers that blared from the front of the stage. No one seemed to want to be the first one on the dance floor.

  “Hey, you two,” Emilio said. “Shouldn’t you start the dancing or something?”

  Hannah needed to talk to Joshua. It was important that she return the gloves as soon as possible. It was wrong of her to have kept them this long. Then to walk past him on the street and pretend that she didn’t know him was a terrible insult. She’d witnessed for herself the surprise and confusion in his gaze. Yet she was forever grateful that he’d read her silent message and hadn’t greeted her. Hannah didn’t know how she would explain knowing him to her mother.

  For herself, Hannah was both bewildered and guilty, and she felt like a coward. It was unfair to Joshua to lead him to believe that she was free to care for him. Unfair to Carl, who’d courted her faithfully these many months. She’d juggled with her conscience until she couldn’t think straight any longer.

  “I do wish we weren’t doing this,” Hannah said to her mother.

  “Doing what?” Ruth questioned. “Buying my daughter a trousseau? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “We haven’t set the wedding date yet.”

  “You will soon enough.” In the eyes of her parents she was all but married to Carl Rabinsky.