by Lyn Cote
Chapter Five
As Rosa ate the tamale lunch, she now understood something of how a person in a straitjacket must feel. Marc sitting beside her, she’d nearly pinned her arms to her sides to avoid bumping or touching him. With his elbows also tight against his sides, Marc obviously grappled with the same constraint in her tiny apartment.
Yes, her grandmother and Naomi had engineered the seating arrangement so that Marc and Rosa sat side by side at their short narrow table. As usual, his nearness made breathing normally difficult for Rosa.
She fired a pointed look at her grandmother. Your matchmaking hasn’t gone unnoticed, Abuela.
Consuela just smiled as she stepped to the nearby sink.
“Those were delicious,” Naomi said, rising to help Consuela clear the table. “I’d never had homemade tamales.”
“I love abuela’s tamales!” Johnny piped up.
“I must agree,” Marc said. He glanced at his wristwatch, no doubt anxious to leave.
Rosa didn’t blame him. She was weary from hours of trying not to show any reaction to Marc’s presence. Right now she wanted only to rest her head in her hands. Her one hope, the hope that was dwindling moment by moment, was that he and Naomi would leave before Trent’s weekly call came.
Earlier at church, Rosa had not failed to notice all the silent speculation about Marc and her. Inquiries about her “new” friend would crop up. Would anyone believe her that Marc was really Johnny’s friend?
Now that the meal had ended, Marc made as if to rise.
And was forestalled. “You cannot leave without dessert,” Consuela said, opening the freezer and taking out a tub of rainbow sherbet. “We always have sherbet after a good spicy meal.”
“Sherbet,” Johnny repeated with approval.
Rosa’s eyes went to the clock. Trent’s call would come soon. The thought chafed her. Why didn’t her grandmother understand that she didn’t want Marc to be here when the weekly call came?
Consuela dipped into the tub of sherbet, loading bowls with it. Naomi began passing them around the table.
Rosa forced a smile. “I guess I have time for dessert. But then I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself. I have studying to do.”
“Me, too,” Marc echoed. “But, Consuela, this has been a great meal.”
“Mr. Chambers, do you like soccer?” Johnny asked, spooning up a heaping teaspoon of the red raspberry stripe of sherbet.
Rosa tried to think why Johnny would ask this.
“I don’t know much about it, Johnny. I played football in high school.”
“You’d like soccer,” Johnny was saying. “It’s a neat game. The coach called and said he was going to start a team for both boys and girls. The first practice is this week. Will you come?”
Why hadn’t she heard about this before now? Rosa’s spoon stopped in midair. “Abuela, I didn’t know anything about this soccer team.”
Her grandmother shrugged.
“I want you to come, too, Mama,” Johnny assured her. “But I know that Mr. Chambers will like it. A lot.”
“Johnny, Mr. Chambers is a busy man,” Rosa intervened.
“I know but—”
The minute hand moved one more notch, bringing the dreaded call closer still. Her neck tightened. “Johnny,” she said sharper than she meant to, “don’t pester Mr. Chambers.”
Her son’s face fell and he put down his sherbet spoon. Then the phone shrilled. The weekly call had come. Johnny turned to the phone but didn’t move.
Rosa wished she knew whether these phone calls were good for her son or not. They never failed to prick her tender spot, caused by Trent’s betrayal. Her head began to pound. The phone continued ringing. Each one increased the pressure in her head. “Answer it, Johnny.”
With obvious reluctance, he got up and went to the phone on the kitchen wall and pulled the receiver down. The three adults listened as Johnny replied with a variety of unenthusiastic “yes, sir,” “uh-huh,” and “no, sir.”
Marc looked to her, asking her silently who had called Johnny.
She couldn’t bring herself to name who’d called. She rubbed her taut, painful forehead. Johnny hung up and came to the table. “That was my dad, Trent,” Johnny told Marc. “He calls me every Sunday.”
“Maybe he could come to your soccer practice,” Marc suggested.
Rosa realized she was clenching her teeth. Trent had spent only an hour with Johnny the last time he’d visited his parents here. Bitterness like acid sluiced through her.
“He can’t come. He lives in Florida with his wife. That’s too far to come here much.” Johnny stirred his sherbet, apparently no longer hungry. “He says I’m going to have a baby brother or sister next year.”
This announcement slammed into Rosa like a clenched fist. Not because she still had feelings for Johnny’s father. But because Trent and his wife were certain to be anticipating this baby. Something he had never felt for Johnny. Johnny had been an inconvenience, an embarrassment. And this new child would get Trent’s attention as her son never had. A monthly check and a weekly phone call did not a father make.
I did this to my son. The chain of guilt slipped around her neck, tightened, choking her. Father, help my son.
“I’ll come to your soccer practice, Johnny,” Marc said. “But just once.”
Her son’s face glowed with pleasure.
Still struggling to show no reaction to the new baby announcement, she grappled with this new dilemma—soccer, Johnny and Marc.
Her head throbbing now, Rosa wished then that Marc Chambers weren’t so good to others. That’s stupid, she told herself. He’d proved over and over that he was a man with a kind heart. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a mistake to let Johnny form a friendship with this man. But what if Marc fell in love with someone and started a family? Like Johnny’s natural father had?
At the thought of Marc falling in love and marrying some faceless, nameless woman, Rosa put down her spoon. The January accident may have sidelined Marc for most of the year. But it wouldn’t be long before pretty coeds would start pursuing Marc. She watched her rainbow sherbet melt. Marc’s future wife wouldn’t want him hanging around with another woman’s son. And Rosa couldn’t blame her.
A week later, outside his grandmother’s white frame house, Marc gripped the bottom of the new window he and Luke were installing. Opposite Mark and inside, Luke braced one hand at the top of the window and one near the sill below.
The whole farmhouse and yard were being spruced up for his grandmother’s eightieth birthday celebration on Labor Day. Marc tried to concentrate on the physical task at hand. However, Luke’s preoccupied expression kept intruding.
Marc knew his brother well enough to know that Luke was chewing on something. Was he just mooning over Jill? She was a nice enough girl but… Rosa’s face came to mind. And there was no comparison. Jill was just a girl. Rosa was a woman, a beautiful, caring woman.
Marc’s jaw tightened. He had enjoyed Rosa’s company too much that night at the bowling alley. And afterward that moment in the rain when he had nearly kissed her had come back to mind way too often.
A cicada screeched nearby, startling Marc out of his reverie. “Get the shims, Luke,” he said. As the mail car stopped at the box on the road, the three dogs as usual began barking at it. Amigo had joined Gram’s two golden retrievers who had readily accepted him as a new pal.
Marc watched Luke hold the level to the window frame to check it before they secured it in place. If Luke needed another favor—if he needed another date, then Marc would say no and stick to it.
At Luke’s word, Marc pulled the caulking gun off his tool belt and ran a line of caulk around the seam between the window and the house. After some more quick work, they’d firmly fixed the replacement window in place so the house was ready for the storms of winter.
Luke came out the back door and approached Marc. “I want you and Rosa to go on another date with Jill and me,” Luke finally blurted out.
“No, Luke.” Marc walked away from his brother toward the remaining three windows they were putting in today.
“Marc, hear me out.”
Marc propped his hands on his belt. “Luke, why? Didn’t we Chambers pass muster the last time?”
“Sure we did. Jill’s dad is cool with us spending time together now.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Marc asked, not keeping the irritation out of his tone.
“I’d just feel better about it. I mean, it’s so much easier if you and Rosa are along.” His brother ran out of words and stood facing him with a pleading look.
“Let’s start the next window,” Marc said.
Evidently willing to let Marc have time to ponder, Luke helped Marc take the wrapping, the shipping straps and the bubble wrap off the next new window. When the window was in, Luke sent Marc the question with his expression.
“No,” Marc said, “I can’t ask Rosa for another favor.”
“Why not?”
I nearly kissed Rosa—that’s why. His pulse sped up at the memory and this sharpened his tone. “Just no.” I can’t let that happen again.
Luke looked like he wanted to argue, then he just shrugged. The two of them worked in silence then. Marc wondered if he were being a jerk for not helping his brother. But someone had to put a stop to this recurring drift where he always ended up being in Rosa’s company.
Rosa Santos was a wonderful woman but whenever he thought of dating Rosa or anyone, his stomach clenched so tightly he couldn’t eat.
He knew this came from losing Caroline in the accident. Who could have predicted she would be driving home to Madison that awful day, caught in the same chain reaction? Her death had been a cruel twist. Didn’t people understand what this accident had cost him? His physical wounds had healed, but not his head. Or was it his heart? How long would it take to feel normal again? Would he ever?
Marc pulled up to the new soccer field at the edge of town. He’d hoped for a thin attendance but now he parked in the midst of a crowd of vehicles. Their little town of Hope, though growing, still behaved essentially as a small town. Coming to watch Johnny’s soccer practice would open him and Rosa for speculation and gossip. How could he prevent that?
I should have just said no. But so far he hadn’t been able to do that to Johnny Santos. The dejected look this boy had worn after speaking to his natural father had haunted Marc.
Marc opened his truck door.
Johnny, dressed in white shorts and T-shirt with blue vertical stripes greeted him there, “Hey, Mr. Chambers! Hi!”
Marc grinned at the boy. “Hey, neat uniform.”
Johnny radiated pleasure. “It’s cool, isn’t it? Mom bought it.”
“Your mom takes good care of you.”
“Yeah.” Johnny grabbed Marc’s hand. “Come on. You can watch from over here with my mom.”
Marc let Johnny drag him over to the bleachers set up on the sidelines where parents, primarily mothers, congregated. Rosa occupied the near end of one bleacher. Not faraway, Consuela sat beside his grandmother, both ladies comfortable in lawn chairs.
Marc lifted a hand in greeting to them all. Why hadn’t his grandmother told him she was coming, too? We could have driven together. And then he could have made it seem more like he’d just come as a friend of the family. Was that why Naomi hadn’t let him know? Was she matchmaking? “Hola!” the knitting grandmothers called and waved in unison.
Uncertain, he waved back as he mounted the bleachers. With every moment his misgivings deepened. He was fairly sure that the two grandmothers had plotted together about the Sunday tamale lunch. What else did they have up their matchmaking sleeves?
As Marc approached Rosa in the bleachers, she gave him a smile he believed was forced. “I hope this isn’t cutting into your study time, Marc.”
Marc grinned back in kind. “I was getting tired of studying. Needed some fresh air.” He sat down near her, yet on a different level bleacher. He wanted to be friendly but didn’t want to give the wrong impression to the watching mothers, many he recognized. He and Rosa were not a couple and he didn’t want to start gossip.
“I don’t know much about soccer,” Rosa said.
“Me neither,” he confessed.
“But Johnny is excited about it.” She shrugged as if to say, “So I am, too.”
The evening sun had lowered but still radiated summer-like warmth. He tried to relax, tried to tell himself just to enjoy the experience.
“Hey! Is that you, Chambers?”
Marc turned toward a deep voice that sounded familiar. He recognized an old high school friend. He rose, his hand outstretched. “Spence! What are you doing here?”
The blond athletic man scaled the bleachers. “I’m the coach.” Spence shook his hand. “See, those are my girls.” He motioned toward two little blond girls who were kicking a black-and-white ball back and forth between them.
“I noticed this is a coed team,” Marc commented. Spence has daughters?
“Yeah, at this age boys and girls can compete together. Which kid is yours?” Spence turned sideways to view the children on the green.
“I don’t have any,” Marc admitted reluctantly, aware of how many ears must be taking this all in. “I’m here to watch Johnny Santos.” He turned and motioned toward Rosa. “This is his mother Rosa, a friend of mine.”
“A friend?” Spence grinned knowingly. “You always did know how to pick out the prettiest girls.”
Marc didn’t know what to say. If he said that Rosa wasn’t his romantic interest, that might insult her. He struggled to think of something tactful to say.
Rosa spoke up. “Marc is helping to build my house over on New Friends Street.”
“Is that the Habitat house?” Spence asked.
“Yes, the first one,” Rosa replied. “There will be three. I’m on the corner lot.”
Spence nodded and then excused himself. “Gotta go. Time to start. Nice meeting you, Ms. Santos. Great seeing you again, Marc.”
Marc waved and then sat down again. He couldn’t help looking back at Rosa. But she had turned her gaze on Johnny. Marc followed suit. Spence lined the children up to practice dribbling. Marc watched each child try to move the ball back and forth, keeping it between their feet. The balls went every which way. And with their attention fixed on their own ball, the kids began colliding with each other. These mishaps gave Marc a few grins.
“It’s kind of like watching a human pinball game,” Rosa commented in an undertone.
Marc laughed out loud and then tried to disguise it as a cough. He watched Johnny working his ball, his whole concentration on the ball. To Marc, it looked as if Johnny definitely played better than the other kids. “He might be good at this,” Marc murmured for Rosa’s ears only.
“I hope so. He really wants to play.”
One of Spence’s girls ran over to the sidelines and handed something to a woman dressed in designer jeans who must be her mother. Spence had been two years ahead of him in school.
Spence was still ahead of Marc in life. Spence had a wife and two daughters old enough to play soccer. Envy stung Marc. He tried to oust it and failed. Except for some savings in the bank and a retirement fund, what did Marc have to show for the decade since high school?
He looked at Rosa out of the corner of his eye. And then forced himself to face forward. He found it harder and harder to resist staring at Rosa. For some reason, she could gain his attention by doing absolutely nothing but being near. And each time he studied her, he found something new and appealing. Now he was noticing her sandaled feet—so dainty, so feminine. He jerked his attention back to the practice.
When it ended, Johnny ran over to Marc, panting with exertion and probably excitement. “Did you see me kick the ball into the goal?”
Marc rose and ruffled Johnny’s bangs. “I sure did. I think you’re going to be a great soccer player. But you’ve got to stick to it.”
Johnny nodded vigorously, making his bangs flop up and
down. The sight tugged at Marc’s sense of humor. Before he thought it through, he said, “You need a haircut, Johnny.”
“Si,” Consuela agreed, appearing with Naomi at her elbow. “I will sit him down and trim it before Senora Naomi’s big party.”
“I’ve just invited Consuela and her family to come to my big birthday party this weekend,” Naomi said with an impish grin.
Marc stared at her. The artery at his right temple began to throb. So far, he’d put off having words with his grandmother about this overt matchmaking. Now however, he should speak up—even if he had to disclose his new round of nightmares to show her why she shouldn’t be trying to encourage a romance between Rosa and him. However, the thought of revealing this pressed heavily onto his lungs. No, I can’t. I don’t want to cause everyone worry all over again.
Spence came over. “Great to see you, Marc. Johnny is very enthusiastic.” Then Spence looked from Marc to Rosa with evident speculation. “I hope you’ll come and watch him again, Marc.”
Marc’s tongue was tied. How do I get out of this? There has to be a way that won’t hurt Johnny.
Between classes, Rosa sat in the campus library on the mezzanine overlooking the main floor where the circulation and reference desks were. She had come to read her composition textbook. Also while trying to come up with a topic for an essay, she fretted over Marc attending her son’s soccer practice.
She tried to shut out the clear-cut memory of Marc’s enthusiastic encouragement of her son. Johnny had blazed with sunny smiles all the way home, telling and retelling what he’d done at practice. He’d been glad he’d been able to kick a goal while Mr. Chambers had been watching. She might as well try to hold back the morning sun as try to blot Marc Chambers out of her son’s life.
Instead of silence, the library hummed pleasantly with low voices. Then she heard a very familiar voice and looked down. Marc stood at the reference desk.
For once, she had the opportunity to study him without his knowing and away from matchmaking grandmothers and her son. She let her eyes roam over his broad shoulders. His shoulders carried heavy burdens both physical and emotional and bore them without complaining. The overhead lights glinted on the reddish highlights in his short-cropped hair. Clean-cut described Marc to a tee.
