by Lyn Cote
She cleared her throat. “Good. You must have learned the Vardon grip from watching others. It’s the most successful—”
“Can I hit the ball now?” Marco asked in a voice that announced he was clutching the frayed ends of his patience.
Spring suppressed a sigh. She hadn’t thought Marco would enjoy being taught by a woman. Marco was Latin, after all. Was this a token of his machismo?
“Go right ahead.”
He swung and connected with the ball, which flew across the driving range.
“Not bad. You’ll be ready for that golf fund-raiser before you know it.” She glanced up at him, a thought occurring to her. “There really is a tournament, isn’t there?”
He nodded. “I didn’t enter it the past two years, didn’t have time.” He grimaced. “I can’t believe we’re here really doing this.”
His complaint cut her. “What’s the big deal?” Was passing an hour or two with her such torture? “So you spend a couple of hours a week swinging a club and walking in the sunshine—all to prepare for a good cause. Is that an unhealthy way to spend your time, Doctor?”
“No, but I have—”
“Yes, I know you’re a very busy man.” She shook her head at him. “But even the busiest man needs regular relaxation and exercise. I’m sure you’ve said that to a patient or two, haven’t you?”
His expression told her that she’d “got” him. Without showing any visible satisfaction, she continued, “Now let’s try that again.”
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Marco reached for his cell phone. “Hello.”
For one moment, Spring glanced at the white, puffy clouds overhead. Had Marco prearranged a call just to get away? But she watched Marco’s face draw down into serious lines.
“Yes, I’ll come right away. Of course.” His tone was laced with concern.
She watched him close the phone.
“I’m sorry I have to leave.”
She took a step closer.
“Something’s come up. I have to go.”
She scanned his face. “You’re looking really upset.”
“It’s nothing.” He turned away to slide the shaft of his wood back into the golf bag.
She frowned. Should she press him? If he didn’t look so apprehensive, she might guess that he’d grab at any straw to shorten their lesson. But his anxiety felt real.
Her natural inclination was to accept his evasive explanation, but she was trying to break out of her shell and into this man’s life. She stood straighter.
“You’re not being frank with me. What is it?”
Chapter Six
Marco stared at Spring. The question didn’t sound like her at all. “I don’t have time—”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
Did she sound disappointed? Why? Then another thought hit him. “I forgot that I drove you here,” he apologized.
“No problem. I’ll call a cab.”
Her long tawny legs distracting him, he tried to figure out what she really meant. She’d told him she wanted to know why he was leaving, then said she’d just call a cab.
“I should take you home.”
“Taking a cab is not a problem.”
But it was to him—and though he didn’t understand why, he just couldn’t leave Spring here. This irritated him. He lifted the golf bag to his shoulder. Careful not to glance at her, he reached for Spring’s golf bag, a wheeled version, to push it to the car for her. “I need to stop at the high school first.”
“Did something happen to your sister?”
“Why would you ask that?” he asked in a sharper tone than he’d intended.
“I’m sorry, I just thought she might be ill…”
Why did this have to happen now? He’d been handling being close to Spring. He’d kept his mind on golf, ignoring her golden beauty. Pausing for a moment, he ran one hand, then the other, through his dark hair.
“It is about my sister.”
She gazed at him as though waiting for him to say more, but his concern made him mute.
“Maybe I could be of help?” She looked up at him.
He directed his gaze skyward, trying to achieve perspective. I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. It’s just a high school scrape. “Okay. The school called my stepfather, but he couldn’t leave work right now. He’s dealing with an emergency plumbing job and can’t get away. My mother can’t be reached.”
“Is Paloma ill?”
He frowned. I wish. “I have to go to school to talk to the vice-principal. She’s been suspended—”
“Paloma? I can’t believe it. She’s such a sweet girl. Would you like me to come along?”
Thrown by her offer, he started walking toward the parking lot. He couldn’t deny that what she’d suggested appealed to him. Paloma, in trouble at school? What could she possibly have done? “Would you…come along?”
“Of course, I will. Paloma must feel awful.”
He snorted. “She’s going to feel worse when my stepfather gets home.” Maybe that’s why he didn’t feel comfortable going to get his sister. Paloma, now a teenager, had become a puzzle to him.
“We’d better get going,” Spring urged. “Paloma needs us.”
After a quick drive across town, Marco pushed open the heavy school door for Spring. Inside, the voice of a teacher explaining an algebraic equation drifted from the open door of a classroom. Marco hadn’t been to the high school since he graduated. The dusty hallways lined with gray lockers brought back memories, feelings he’d totally forgotten. He hadn’t liked them then; he didn’t like remembering them now: uncertainty about himself, his ability to be good enough to achieve his goals and an edgy distance from those around him.
Each step gave him a bit more sympathy for his little sister. Did she have any of the same feelings? But she’d been born here. She’d never been a stranger in this country the way he had been.
A shrill bell stunned him, and a roar of voices and pounding of feet exploded in the hallway. The vice-principal’s office loomed at the end of the hall. The crush of students bustled around them. Marco drew closer to Spring. He didn’t like the way some of the teenage males were gawking at her. He ushered her to the door.
Inside the office, the secretary behind the counter sat at her desk, talking on the phone. A line of dejected students slouched on a row of rigid plastic chairs along the wall. Paloma looked out of place among them. She glanced up and froze.
Spring walked directly over to her and leaned down to murmur in her ear. Spring sparkled in the drab setting like a diamond on faded cloth. He’d had the same feeling when he’d taken her to dinner. His life didn’t seem to have the proper “settings” for someone like Spring.
Waiting for the secretary to get off the phone, Marco controlled his frustration while wondering what Spring was saying to his sister. What had Paloma done to get herself suspended?
The secretary hung up and looked to him. “You are?”
“I’m Paloma’s brother, Dr. Da Palma.”
The secretary glanced over to his sister. “Doctor, please come into the office. The vice-principal will talk to you now.”
Marco looked at Spring. She patted Paloma’s shoulder, then left her to accompany him. He let her precede him inside.
The gray-haired vice-principal jumped up and came around his desk to shake Marco’s and Spring’s hands, then seated her in a chair in front of his desk.
Marco didn’t like the way the other man’s eyes lingered on Spring, especially her legs. Marco made the introductions and sat down.
“What has my sister done?”
The man’s gaze still centered on Spring, he began, “She’s never been in trouble—”
“I know that,” Marco said. “What has she done?”
The vice-principal stared at him. “She talked back to a teacher rudely, but what earned her a suspension was refusing to come to my office when told to do so.”
“That doesn’t sound like Paloma.” Spring leaned toward the desk, her g
olden hair falling forward on one side. “I know she was upset about a test grade. Did this happen in math class?”
Distracted by the picture Spring presented, Marco forced himself to follow the exchange.
“Yes, yes.” The vice-principal nodded. “That sounds like it might be what motivated this incident, but—”
“Low test score or no, Paloma knows she’s supposed to obey her teachers.” Marco glared at him. The man was ogling Spring. One thing Marco did know about Spring: she didn’t like men drooling over her.
As though he realized what Marco was thinking, the man drew himself up and faced Marco. “That’s why she’s been suspended for one day. She won’t be allowed back in school until Friday.”
“Will she be allowed to make up work she’s missed?” Spring asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Anything else?” Marco stood, ending the meeting.
The vice-principal rose, too. “No. Thank you for coming down. Normally, I wouldn’t send a student home with anyone but a parent, but Paloma’s father has given permission for me to release Paloma to you.”
Relieved to get Spring away, Marco nodded and led her from the office. At the secretary’s motion, Paloma jumped up and joined Spring and him.
After the three of them had stopped at Paloma’s crowded locker to get her things, they walked out the school doors into the bright winter sunshine. Marco drew in fresh, chalk-free air.
“What a big deal,” Paloma grumbled.
“Your father better never hear you say that!” Marco snapped. “You’ll be grounded for the rest of your life.”
“I will, anyway!” Paloma yanked open Marco’s car door and heaved her heavy schoolbag into the back seat. “A one-day suspension! That teacher just has it in for me!”
Chagrined by his sister’s tantrum, Marco opened his mouth, but before he could speak—
Spring opened her arms. “Come here, Paloma.”
His sister hesitated, then let Spring enfold her. Paloma began to cry.
He observed Spring’s strategy with some surprise. But the contrasting picture of the two of them, one fair and one dark, caught his attention. The urge to put his arms around both of them tugged at his control. He’d always thought Paloma pretty, but seeing her standing next to Spring made him realize how close his sister was to becoming a young woman. It also made him grateful to Spring. She seemed to know exactly what to say.
Spring held his sister and murmured words close to Paloma’s ear that Marco couldn’t hear. After a few moments, Spring brushed back the dark brown waves around his sister’s face. “Now, no more angry words. You made a mistake. You’ll make it right and it won’t happen again.”
“But you don’t know my father—”
“Your father loves you and wants what is best for you.” Spring placed one of her hands on each side of Paloma’s face. “This too shall pass.” She smiled. “That’s my mother’s old saying and it’s a true one. Now slide into the back, and we’ll drive you home.”
Spring’s words indebted Marco to her.
Though tears glistened on her face, Paloma obeyed, and Marco opened Spring’s door so she could get into the passenger seat. He got in himself and drove away pondering the openhearted way Spring had reached out to Paloma. Evidently he’d made the right decision in bringing Spring along. Her gentle hug had certainly changed his sister’s attitude. Personally, he’d felt more like shaking Paloma than hugging her.
His sister’s suspension had caught him by surprise. He tried not to think how upset his stepfather would be. Santos wasn’t a harsh man, but he was a strict father and he expected a lot from his only daughter.
Marco glanced sideways at Spring. Now he could take Spring back to her world, where she belonged. “I’ll drop you at your aunt’s home first.”
“If that’s what you want. I’m fine either way.” She rested her slender arm along the open window. Fine freckles like gold dusted its length.
Why did he always have to notice things like that about her? He turned right, heading for Highway 19, which would take them to Mrs. Dorfman’s Gulf shore home. His cell phone rang.
He took it from his pocket, lifted it to his ear. “Hello.” His mother’s voice answered him. “Your car? Where are you, Mother?” With a sinking sensation, he listened to her tangled explanation. “The school—” Pause. “I’ll come right away. No, I insist. The corner of Bayshore and Main.”
“I’m sorry, Spring,” he apologized, frustration stinging him. “I’ve got to—”
Spring cut in. “Your mother is waiting at the corner of Bayshore and Main. Did she have car trouble?”
He nodded.
“That’s fine. I told you, I’m in no hurry.” She lifted her blond hair from her neck. “The day’s getting warm.”
Ignoring as best he could the lovely pose she presented, he turned left at a green light and headed toward the older section of Gulfview, the one he’d left behind at fourteen when his mother had married Santos.
“I don’t like her waiting alone down there—”
“Someone from the halfway house is probably with her,” Paloma said. “They take good care of her, or Dad wouldn’t let her go.”
Marco didn’t answer, but drove on. To have Spring beside him and not show his awareness of her was becoming an increasing trial. What a day! First his sister, now his mother’s car problems—all the while, Spring beside him, forcing him to deal with the attraction to her he’d thought he conquered.
As soon as he picked up his mother, he’d drop Spring off and head to the hospital. He was glad he didn’t have anything serious to deal with this afternoon. I just need to call and check on Mr. Gardner.
“Does your mother work at the halfway house?” With both hands, Spring pulled her abundant hair back into a ponytail.
Though aggravated with himself, Marco admired her slender, pale neck.
“Yeah, she volunteers there to teach the women how to sew their own clothes.” Paloma obviously had found some bubble gum. Marco smelled the distinctive sweet aroma. A bubble popped behind him.
“What kind of halfway house is it?” Spring dropped her hair and shook her head, letting her fine golden hair settle around her shoulders.
“It’s for recovering drug offenders,” Marco said, hoping that would put an end to this line of conversation. Why did women always want to know all the details?
Spring said, “I’ve never been able to accomplish more than just mending. My mother and my sister Doree, though, sew beautifully.”
He lifted an eyebrow. Her mother sews? Why? Spring always wore the very best—anyone could see that.
Paloma popped another bubble. “You’ve got a sister?”
“I have two sisters, Hannah and Doree,” Spring replied.
“Those are great names. Where’d they get them?” Paloma asked.
“We were all named for women in my father’s family.”
“Gee, that’s how I got stuck with my name.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your name,” Marco said in a low voice.
Paloma began, “Oh, yeah—”
Spring cut in smoothly. “It was my mother’s idea. She was fascinated by my father’s family Bible that listed all the deaths and births for five generations. She never liked her name—”
“What’s her name?” his sister interrupted.
“Ethel.”
“That’s worse than Paloma!”
Marco let out a slow breath. All this about a name.
Spring opened her purse and pulled out a tiny jar. “Paloma’s a lovely name. It means ‘dove,’ doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but what’s so great about being named for a bird?”
Spring dipped her little finger into the jar, then applied the finger to her soft-looking lips. “The dove is a special bird. When Christ was baptized by John, the Spirit of God came down from heaven in the form of a dove and it rested on Jesus. And when Noah wanted to know if the waters were receding, he sent out a dove to fly o
ver the land. The dove is a symbol of God’s presence. It’s a beautiful name.”
“Gee, nobody ever told me about it that way. My dad says there has been a Paloma in his family every generation since before America was a country.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Marco noticed that whatever Spring had applied to them, her lips looked dewy, thoroughly kissable….
“How wonderful.” Spring licked her lips, then pressed them together.
“What does Doree mean?” Paloma watched Spring as though memorizing her every move.
“It means ‘golden one.’” Spring capped the tiny jar and slipped it back into her bag. “My other sister is Hannah, ‘graceful one.’ Both were named for great-grandmothers.”
Marco had driven them to what people had twenty years ago called Spanish Town, before political correctness had come in vogue. It was the old downtown of the original city. In spite of urban renewal attempts, a few storefronts remained boarded up.
Spring pointed to a Mexican restaurant ahead. “That looks like a good place to eat.”
“That’s Mamacita’s,” Paloma enthused. “It’s great! They have the best tacos in town.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Spring grinned at the girl. “You sound hungry.”
“I am. I missed lunch.”
“Well, so did we.” Spring touched Marco’s arm.
He tightened his resistance to her, but she was sitting so near. She had been calm in the face of his sister’s ill temper and now her slender form was so at ease next to him. She casually lifted her hair off her nape with a flip of her wrist. All too aware of her movement, he made himself stare at the road ahead. He was melting inside, and it wasn’t because of the temperature.
Spring suggested, “After we pick up your mother, why don’t we stop at Mamacita’s for lunch?”
“Mamacita’s?” Marco echoed. Mamacita’s was a great restaurant, but he couldn’t imagine Spring enjoying a meal there. He’d been ashamed he’d made the blunder of taking her to the Greek restaurant the other night. He should have thought of someplace special to take her. But he hadn’t wanted her to think he assumed it was a date, and in the end, she’d probably concluded he didn’t know that she deserved better. Men didn’t take a beauty like Spring to just anyplace!
