by Rossi, Carla
“Look, I can’t give you all the details, but Gia is in a rough spot and I’m praying about what to do.”
Max stood and pointed a stern finger toward him. “See? There it is. A rough spot. She’s in a rough spot and you want to help her out. That’s no reason to get married, my friend. That can’t be God’s best for you. And what possible rough spot could she be in to cause this crazy-talk? Is this about citizenship or something? I thought that didn’t work anymore.”
“It’s not about that.”
“What then? Did I wake up in nineteen-fifty-five this morning and she’s pregnant and ‘has’ to get married?”
Rocky dropped his gaze to the floor. He squirmed. Who knew Max would jump to that conclusion?
“No. Way. She’s pregnant?” Max clasped the sides of his head and nearly dropped to his knees.
“Keep your voice down. There could be someone here somewhere. And I did not say that, so keep your mouth shut. Gia would be devastated if she knew I was discussing her with you.”
Max returned to his seat. “You just met, Rock. What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything. We’ve been on one and a half dates, and in case you’ve forgotten, it’s highly unlikely I can father a child. That’s beside the point. I have a woman back at my house that I care a lot about and who needs me, so I’m not ruling anything out. I would appreciate your prayerful support and your confidence until we figure this out.”
“You moved her into your house?”
“Don’t judge us, Max. It’s not what you think.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. But what I do think is that my levelheaded friend has gotten himself tied in knots over a woman he just met, and who, by the way could be taking advantage of your kind nature. And what I think is that you’re considering a holy bond with someone you barely know. What I think is you’re not thinking!”
Rocky patted the pouch on his chair to make sure he had his music. “This is pointless. I have to go.”
“No, you need to wait. You only think it’s pointless because I’m not saying what you want to hear.”
“No, it’s pointless because you don’t know Gia and you don’t know the circumstances.”
“Fine, but hear me out. This isn’t eighteen-sixty-five where strangers marry for convenience and to keep from living in sin—or the appearance of living in sin—or to cover an unplanned pregnancy. Don’t get me wrong, this is a bad situation, but God can make all things right. Even if something has happened to Gia outside of God’s perfect timing, He can work with it. You can’t pile on to the dilemma by entering a sacred union with someone God didn’t pick out for you.”
“Maybe He did pick her out for me. Maybe it’s happening faster than either of us would have liked.”
“Fine. So she’s the right one. And she’s carrying another man’s baby. Can you honestly say you’re OK with that given you don’t know her well enough to know where her heart was when all that happened?”
“I do know.”
“What about the financial responsibility? You’re getting a new truck—which you need in the worst way. Not to mention the fallout of a sudden marriage and baby. How are you going to explain this? It’s the age of instant information. You have neighbors so close they check on you by nightfall if you haven’t pulled your cans back in on trash day. How are you going to explain that yesterday you weren’t even dating and tomorrow you’re married with a kid on the way? Are you going to update your Facebook status and not expect anyone to have questions?”
“I don’t care what people think. In five years no one will remember how this started.”
“What about what your parents think? Your mother’s going to kill you when she comes to. And what about Gia’s parents?”
“I told you, that’s what I’m trying to think through.”
“Let me give you one more thing to think about. You’re always harping about me getting to seminary, well, I’ve been taking some online courses to warm up to that. One of them is about pastoral care. We did a whole thing on pre-marital counseling. I had to find an article about modern marriage, and I ran across something that talked about how some young women today approach marriage. And you know what it said? It said they don’t approach marriage. They approach a wedding. They want the dress, the bridesmaids and the jewelry, but they don’t want the husband. They want a party, they want gifts, they want magic but they don’t want the work. It’s become a throwaway deal. If they don’t have everything they want in a year they simply walk away. If someone else turns their head in six months, it’s over.”
“You’re way off base, Max. If you think this is anything easy or magical or anything like a fairytale for Gia you’re sorely mistaken.”
“I wouldn’t know, Rocky. I’m your best friend who sees you at least three times a week and I haven’t met the woman.”
“I appreciate your concern. I’m asking for your prayers.”
“Oh, I’ll be praying. I’ll be praying you don’t marry a woman you don’t love out of some warped sense of responsibility.”
Rocky felt tiny tentacles of anger begin to rise against his friend. Max didn’t know his heart. He didn’t know Gia. He didn’t know the story. He couldn’t tell him. “Maybe I do love her. Maybe I loved her the first minute I saw her. Maybe I want to marry her.”
“Maybe,” Max agreed. “But even if you do, I have to wonder if she loves you back yet. And you deserve to be loved, one hundred percent. You deserve God’s best for you in a mate.”
“You’ve been heard, Max. I’m considering everything. Keep it to yourself, all right?”
Max stepped out of his way and retrieved his stick bag. “Sure, Rock. Anything, you know that. But can I ask one more question?”
“Only one?”
“Seems to me you’ve already made up your mind about this. Are you really seeking God for an answer, or are you going to do it and hope He said yes?”
That one hit a little close to home. He had to admit his thoughts throughout the evening leaned more toward how to make it work rather than if he should make it work.
He met Max’s questioning gaze. “Point taken.”
Max grinned. “Good enough for me, buddy. As long as you’re still grinding on it.”
They headed for the door. Max dimmed the lights and made sure the A/C had reverted to its nighttime temperature.
Rocky set the alarm. “Now I have a question for you.”
“Shoot,” Max said and held the door.
“If given the chance, what would you not do to protect a child?”
8
Gia turned her music down and listened. She crept closer to the bedroom door and listened again. If Rocky was home, he sure was being quiet. She’d seen nothing of him since he deposited her in his guest room, warned her about the falling computer parts in the closet, and explained the tricky faucet in her own private bathroom. He’d supplied peanut butter crackers and a nectarine in case she got hungry, and then left for practice. She’d tweaked her resume and fell into the best sleep she’d had in years and never heard him come back home—or leave again this morning.
She stepped onto the cool, bare tile. “Rocky?”
There was no answer, just the low hum of his central air working overtime on another stifling day.
She made her way to the living area and knelt on the country-blue couch to peek through the blinds. No car in the drive. No kids or pets in the quiet cul-de-sac. She pitied the lone squirrel she saw as it dragged its fluffy tail across the dried-up grass to reach the shade at the base of a Pin Oak.
She turned and settled in on the well-worn cushion to survey Rocky’s bachelor pad. Four matching stone coasters with a Lone Star design sat on the small coffee table. Countless white condensation rings were ingrained in the wood right beside them. So much for using the fancy coasters. There were technology magazines, church bulletins, and copies of music. She counted five remote controls, all lying outside of the wicker basket she was sure was for, well, re
mote controls. She resisted the urge to tidy up.
The recliner didn’t match the couch, but he’d compromised by tossing a blue crocheted blanket over it. The lamp on the end table with the bare, non-environmentally conscious bulb and no shade topped off the look. As with any respectable man cave, the large television took up most of the far wall. There were tiny state-of-the-art speakers hidden somewhere, she knew, but she couldn’t see them.
The other creamy white walls screamed for artwork. “Be careful what you wish for,” she mumbled as she moved on, “there could be poker-playing dogs in the dining room.”
No. No dogs. But how would she know? This had evidently become his home office and it was buried in ancient monitors and desktop towers. There were shelves covered with discs, cables, laptops, and manuals. If that was a dining room table beneath the crooked chandelier, she wouldn’t know it from the piles of paper and assorted electronics stacked high and covering one whole side. There were no chairs, only a spot he’d carved out for himself to pull up to the table and work on what appeared to be a high-end system.
The kitchen smelled like lemons. It hadn’t last night. The trash can had a fresh bag and a broom was propped by the door to the concrete patio. Two homey blue and yellow dishtowels hung in sync on the oven door handle, and assorted plates and clean take-out containers air-dried near the sink.
Something deep and overwhelming struck her as she found a clean glass and dispensed water from the refrigerator door.
This is for me... He’s been cleaning for me.
“I can’t let him do this.” She emptied the glass in a hurry and put it back. “I need to move on and take care of my own problems.”
In her haste to return to her room, she almost missed the note on the kitchen table.
Gia—
Gone to drop off some computers and run errands. Text me if you need anything while I’m out. I’ll be back in a bit. We’ll pick up your car after lunch.
Rocky
Shame swept across her. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be letting Rocky pick up the pieces of her shattered life, and she shouldn’t be burdening him with her problems.
Stupid impulsive personality. Always getting her in trouble, always hard to control. She’d fought it for years and rarely came out on top. From the retail jobs at the mall she’d stomped out of as an angsty teenager, to the classes she’d dropped in a heartbeat when something didn’t go her way. Not to mention the sinful things she dabbled in at the mere suggestion of one of her so-called friends. Act now, think later. Dive in without looking, suffer the consequences. Burn bridges, no hope of repair. If even one of her idiotic non-thinking decisions had been different, how totally different her life might be.
And now, on impulse, she’d come home with Rocky. She should have resisted, though the man didn’t look much like he was going to take no for an answer. She shouldn’t have accepted that first date when, deep down, she knew something was wrong, and she sure shouldn’t have kissed him and stirred all those feelings... Nice feelings... But still, feelings she had no right to pursue with so much else going haywire in her mind and body.
She rushed from the lemon-scented kitchen to gather her things from her cozy borrowed bedroom. The worn-out copy paper box that served as a piece of luggage ripped further down the side when she moved it. She headed back to the kitchen and found the pantry and washer/dryer alcove before hitting on the garage. Perhaps there was a box or a handle bag...
It was best she leave and deal with her own mess as soon as she had her car.
Before she could hurt Rocky more.
****
Rocky popped in the house to the sound of opening and closing doors.
“Gia?”
There was a tiny gasp and then she skidded into the foyer from the kitchen. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you.”
“You OK? I heard banging.”
“Sorry. I was looking for the garage. I’ve been to your pantry and your laundry nook and found the—”
“Please don’t go in the garage.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to overstep. I was looking to borrow a box.”
“It’s not that. Mi casa es su casa. But that garage is dangerous.”
She took some of the plastic shopping bags off his lap and headed for the kitchen table. “Yeah, I’ve seen your dining room.”
“Hey, that’s my office. That’s where the magic happens.” He followed her and started to unload bags. “The garage is a different story. Too many things out there you could trip over.”
“Message loud and clear. Is there anything else in the car?”
“No, that’s it. I have lunch from the grocery store deli.”
“You didn’t have to do that—”
“You need to eat.” He opened a box of fried chicken and a container of macaroni and cheese. “Grab us some paper plates, will you?”
She went straight for the cabinets above the counter and flung open two doors. They were empty, of course, but she stood there a second anyway looking adorably embarrassed in her animal print pajama bottoms and long-sleeved college tee.
“Well, duh. I guess everything’s on the bottom where you can reach.”
“Yep. But now you know what to do if you ever want to keep a private stash of cookies from me.”
He’d never seen her blush quite like that.
She took a deep breath as she found the plates and picked through the silverware drawer for a couple forks. She dropped them on the table and reached for the long-handled grabber he had hooked on the inside of the pantry door. “I’ve been seeing these things all over the place,” she said and clacked the holders together. “I doubt anyone could hide anything from you.”
“My mom’s responsible for those. They do come in handy if I drop something. Trouble is the grabber is never where I need it despite my mother’s attempt to leave them all over the house.”
He scooped mac and cheese onto her plate until she raised her hand to stop him. She seemed tired and more distant than yesterday. Had she slept? Called anyone? He was trying to give her space and it was harder than waiting for Christmas morning.
A mass of messy hair tumbled off her shoulder as she scooted her chair to the table and tucked one leg under her. She remained quiet.
“Are you feeling better?”
She took a napkin from the square container on the table and swiped cheese sauce from her lips. “I think so. The trauma is wearing off, but that means reality is setting in. On the bright side, there’s no more dizziness.”
“Good.”
“My appetite is coming back. It must be. This mac and cheese tastes great.”
“Also good. Have some chicken. And I’ll get you a cold bottle of water from the fridge.”
She touched his arm. “Rocky, stop. I’m fine. You don’t need to cater to me.”
“What can I say? My mother raised a well-mannered Texas boy and a southern gentleman. I am merely operating under the basic rules of chivalry and southern hospitality.”
“Well, you need to stop. Do what you normally do. I can take care of myself, and hopefully I’ll be out of your way soon.”
Rocky paused with his hand over a chicken leg. He didn’t want her to be out of his way. “What’s wrong, Gia? Has something else happened?”
“No, uh, do you mind if I get my laptop? There’s a job opening in Houston, and I’m not familiar with the area. Maybe you know where it is.”
“Sure. I’m usually working on two or three laptops at the table while I eat.”
“Two or three? The only thing I see more of than laptops around here are foam footballs. No wonder you need all the grabbers. There are probably lost balls behind every piece of furniture you own.”
“That’s me. Combination dumb jock and computer nerd.”
She touched his shoulder as she brushed past. “I don’t know about that. I’ve not seen you work on one computer, but I do have a giant bear at camp that proves you can hit something with some kind of bal
l.”
She returned with the computer and grabbed a chicken wing as she powered it up. “I updated my resume and registered on several job sites.” She tapped impatiently and fidgeted in her chair as her programs opened. “This thing is so slow. And it shouldn’t be because it’s not that old.”
“Let me see something.” Rocky nudged the corner until he could see the screen. “When was the last time you ran a virus scan or cleaned up your hard drive?”
She put down her chicken. “It’s been a while.” She flicked a piece of lint off her top. “Plus I think my virus protection may have expired.”
“Look here at the bottom,” he said and pointed. “Those icons and message bubbles are there for a reason. You have updates and maintenance you need to do.”
“Yes, I know. I haven’t had time.”
“Just sayin’. Ignoring those messages is like ignoring the ‘check engine’ light in your car. It’s not good.”
She shot him an icy glare. “This is because of my subtle ‘dumb jock’ comment earlier, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s because I don’t want you to fry your computer. I’ll clean it up for you later.”
“That would be great. If there’s time.” She went back to wildly striking keys.
Fear coiled like a snake in his gut. What did she mean if there’s time?
“Here it is,” she said and tilted the screen. “Where is this?”
“I think that’s way out in west Houston.” He pulled out his phone and punched in the address. “Yep. Far west Houston. It’s a nice area,” he choked. “Pretty far from here.”
“There’s this one in Travis County, too.”
“Travis County. That’s Austin, right?”
“Yes. It’s with the state. With Child Protective Services.”
He knew she needed work and fast. She’d have to take what she could get and restore some sort of order to her life. Somehow he’d hoped that would be in his neighborhood. “Austin is nice.” And a bazillion miles away.
She pushed the lid closed. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have enough education or experience for what I really want to do, and no one’s going to give me benefits anyway, so I may as well suit up for the Burger Buster and wait for my ankles to swell. Do you have a box or don’t you?”
