Hidden Under Her Heart

by Rachelle Ayala

  Maryanne blew her nose and scrolled through the pictures from the weekend. It wasn’t fair. If he’d seen a man dancing half-naked in her apartment, he would have jumped to the same conclusion. Once again, she’d ruined everything. She’d never hear Lucas crack another joke or tell another funny story.

  Her cell rang. It was Vera.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Not really,” Maryanne said. “Did Lucas get his shot today?”

  “Yes, Priya gave it to him. You can’t call in sick every time he has an appointment.”

  “What did he talk to Priya about?”

  “He talked about the beaches along the coast.”

  “You mean he told her about the weekend?” Maryanne’s pulse quickened. “Did he mention me?”

  “No, he said he loved going there because the air was so clean and he could get away and meditate.”

  “Meditate?” An itch nagged at the base of her neck. He never told her about meditation.

  “Yes, and Priya was telling him about yoga exercises.”

  “So he seemed okay? Happy?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Maryanne’s heart crumbled. “Did he talk to you?”

  “Nope.”

  She had hoped he’d be just as miserable as she was, that he’d pump information from Vera and inquire after her.

  Vera broke the silence. “Look, he’s not that great anyway. A part-time special-ed swim coach.”

  “He was to me. I was a jerk to assume he was playing me.”

  “No you weren’t. You saw another woman at his apartment. He can’t blame you for being upset.”

  “I wish he’d give me another chance.”

  “Maryanne, you’re pathetic.” Vera sighed. “Ryan talked to me during my break. He feels bad leaving you in a lurch, but figured you and Lucas had some grievances to air out. He’s worried sick about you and wants to call you. I suggest you pull yourself together and act friendly. Who knows? Maybe you’ll make Lucas crazy with jealousy.”

  “Lucas hates drama.” Maryanne almost moaned. “He wants a peaceful, calm existence where he can work out and go for his medals.”

  “Bo-oring.” Vera faked a loud yawn.

  The phone notified Maryanne of another call pending. “Vera, I gotta go. Someone’s calling.”

  She flicked Vera off and answered quickly, hoping to hear Lucas’ voice.

  “Maryanne, this is Ryan.”

  “Oh, hi.” She tried to sound normal.

  “Are you feeling better? Vera said you were ill.”

  “I’m fine, really. Just overexerted myself this weekend.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you visited your parents?”

  “Mmmmm…” Maryanne didn’t want to lie. “I’m okay.”

  “Who was that weird guy?”

  “An old friend. Listen, Ryan. Thanks for checking up on me. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

  “Great, I didn’t really get to talk to you the other night. We can go out Friday evening, if you’re free.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She wanted to curl up in bed with a bowl of double fudge chocolate ice cream and stream romantic comedies for the rest of her miserable existence.

  “We can double with Vera and Frank. I’m really a nice guy, for a pastor’s son.” He chuckled.

  Maryanne could picture his perfect smile and the charming twinkle in his eye. What should she do? Vera was a pro at handling men. And they never wanted the one who hung around waiting for their call.

  “Maryanne?” Ryan’s voice popped her despondent thoughts. “You still there?”

  “Yes.” She suppressed a lingering sob. No man wanted a sponge. She’d show Lucas she could move on too. She pasted a smile and hoped it translated to her voice. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m having a party at my parents’ place. We have a swimming pool and a game room. It’ll be fun.” He sounded like a small boy. “Say you’ll come?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Maryanne put on the charm. Pining after a man never brought him back. She hefted the glass heart in her palm. Solid and heavy, it would make a great paperweight.

  Chapter 9

  Lucas held off from calling Maryanne all week. He’d gone to the clinic and heard she’d been ill. More like avoiding him. But then, she could be sick and all alone. His finger hovered over the keypad. He really shouldn’t check on her. She was too high maintenance, needy, off-balanced. Not what he needed if he wanted to make the 2016 Olympic team.

  His cell jingled. It was Zach.

  “Hey, mate, heard you’re free tonight.” Zach’s jocular voice boomed through the line. “I’m at a party at Pastor Edwards’ house.”

  “Not interested.” Lucas popped two slices of bread into the toaster. Maryanne’s glass pumpkin sat on the counter next to the napkin holder. Its transparent green flecked with golden highlights sparkled so poignantly.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that nurse. Get over it.”

  “I’m not even thinking about her. Just tired from the workout. You try swimming Santa Cruz Bay from Lighthouse Point Park to the wharf.”

  “No excuse, mate. Besides, she’s at the party with Ryan, the pastor’s son.”

  Lucas clenched the pumpkin, visualizing it shattering and cutting his hand. “Doesn’t bother me.”

  “Great. You’re coming then. I’ll text you the address.” Zach hung up.

  Lucas bent into a pitcher’s stance and peered toward the front door. He swung his arms up, winding up to bean the glass pumpkin at the imaginary batter. Maryanne’s large coffee brown eyes had seemed so sad. Pfft! Didn’t take her long to recover. He balked and punched his chest with the pumpkin, and then placed it on the coffee table. He turned on the TV and connected his laptop. He’d stream a movie, the latest Bond or Jack Reacher. Those guys were tough. They didn’t let women turn them into jelly pits.

  The movie ended several hours later. Lucas glanced at his cell. Zach had texted him, “Hey, where are you? She’s still here. You scared of her or what?”

  He deleted the message. What would Bond have done? Walk in and blow the place up. He’d go just to show his face. Let her know he wasn’t afraid of seeing her in public with another man, and then he’d leave without speaking to her.

  Lucas followed the GPS down Lawrence Expressway. He turned toward Saratoga and headed into the hills along Big Basin way. He arrived just as a bus pulled out of the driveway. Grey stone lions guarded the gates and large vases filled with cypresses stood sentinel along the cobblestoned turnaround driveway. The three story Tudor home sprawled between a stand of fir trees and a deck surrounding a river rock landscaped pool. Unbelievable. His mother’s Baptist church existed in a rented facility near a warehouse and could not afford to pay the pastor fulltime. How much tithes and offerings would it take to allow the pastor to buy this spread?

  Lucas stepped through the gates. There was no security. Anyone could have passed through. He peered around the hedge toward the pool. It looked awfully deserted for a party. Walking around the deck, he recognized the pungent scent of marijuana. Empty beer bottles lay on the poolside tables, and paper plates and cups were strewn on the benches. Music blared from an open French door. He circled around the pool and headed for the patio.

  A man met him at the side of the cabana. “Hey, glad you could make it.” It was Frank, the captain of the basketball team.

  “Yeah, thanks. Have you seen Zach?” Lucas wasn’t about to ask him where Maryanne was.

  Frank scanned the brightly lit deck. “He’s around here somewhere. Make yourself at home. There’s beer in the ice chests. The fog’s settling in, so most people are down in the rec room.”

  “Okay.” Lucas followed Frank down a set of outdoor steps and through a French door. Inside, panels of richly grained wood lined the walls. After his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out clumps of people watching a movie. Another group gathered around a board game, and a few people hung around a bar complete with beer
taps and wine racks.

  Maryanne sat near a beer tap. She wore an off-shouldered mini dress that showed her cleavage and hugged her ass. A punkish looking kid with long dirty blond hair had his arm around her waist. He handed her a shot glass. Maryanne tossed her head back and downed it. The people around cheered and clapped, while the punk squeezed her thigh. She appeared not to notice.

  Lucas swept the chairs aside and walked over, his gaze locked onto Maryanne.

  “Hey, wanna beer?” A man with surfer bangs greeted him.

  “No thanks.” He crossed to Maryanne’s side and grabbed her elbow. “What are you doing here?”

  She shrunk from his grasp. “I’m trying to have some fun.”

  “You call this fun? You’re drinking and some guy’s feeling up your skirt?”

  “Leave her alone.” The punk with the stringy hair made a grab at Maryanne.

  “No, you get out of her face.” Lucas shoved him into a bookcase.

  The guy picked himself up and walked off, cussing.

  Maryanne stared wide-eyed at Lucas, but didn’t say a word. Ryan came toward them and glared at Lucas. “This is supposed to be a friendly party.”

  “We were just leaving, right Maryanne?” Lucas nodded at her.

  Ryan put his arm protectively around Maryanne. “Actually, you’re leaving. She stays with me.”

  “Maryanne,” Lucas pleaded.

  “Go, please,” she hissed between her teeth.

  “The lady says to go.” Ryan draped his jacket over Maryanne and steered her away from Lucas. “We’re playing Pictionary. I’ll give you a few extra points.”

  Lucas followed them. Ryan ushered Maryanne into the study and blocked Lucas. “Private party. Did you bring a date?”

  “What does bringing a date have to do with Pictionary?” Lucas wedged his foot in.

  “No date, no play. I think you lose.” He stepped into the study and shut the door.

  Lucas pounded the door. “Maryanne, talk to me. Maryanne!”

  Voices shouted at him. “Get lost. She doesn’t want you.”

  He continued to knock. “Let me talk to her, and then I’ll leave.”

  The door opened and Maryanne stepped out.

  “What’ya want?” she slurred.

  He took her arm. “I’m taking you home. This isn’t the place for you. They’re getting you drunk.”

  “No, Lucas. You don’t get to say what I do.”

  “We’ll talk someplace else.” He tugged her elbow, but she jerked away.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You don’t want me. I’m a drunk and a slut.” She threw her drink at him. The blast of ice and alcoholic fumes slapped his face like the backhand of a tennis racket.

  Lucas recoiled, and she disappeared back into the room. It was no use. There was no Maryanne on that painted face, just an empty, hardened shell. She’s not the woman for you. Don’t be unequally yoked. His mother’s voice haunted him. Gritting his teeth, he headed up the stairs. This was exactly why he should forget about her.

  His cell phone rang. It was Sandra.

  “What now? Did you lock yourself out?” Lucas let his annoyance spill.

  “Actually, I got ditched by my date.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at a club in Foster City.”

  “Can’t you call a cab?”

  “What are big brothers for? You’ll be sorry if I get raped or something,” Sandra huffed.

  “I’ll come get you. Stay put.” Lucas jotted down the address. He went up the stairs and out of the house. His eyes stung, and his hair was wet from the drink she had tossed. The fog hung thick, and trash littered the lawn and driveway. Someone had left the lights on in the cabana. He walked past the pool and out the gates without seeing anyone.

  ~~~

  Maryanne picked up the pencil. “What was the clue again?”

  Spinning, spinning, where will it stop? What the heck? She hadn’t drunk that much. This felt different, like she was outside her body. The guy next to her handed her a glass of water. She downed it, but her tongue still felt fuzzy, heavy.

  Picture? Clue? Her forearms were as weighted down as sandbags. Shit. Did she lose again? Someone stuck a hand up her dress and peeled off her thong. It arched across the room. She heard a giggle. Room, stop spinning! Fingers snapped at her eyes.

  Stop that! Snap, snap. Mom, I’m awake, will you stop? She slapped at the hand, but her arm wouldn’t move. The hand left and Maryanne floated over a globe. A child’s spinning globe, bright blue ocean, pink countries. Baby blue, yellow. Boy or girl? Was it a boy or girl? Yellow baby clothes. Barry made me do it. It wasn’t me, baby.

  She was flying up the stairs. Woo… a baby on her daddy’s shoulders. Throw me up again! Again! Papa. Higher. He laughed, his chest rocking and crashed through a door. She landed on her back, a weight pressed over her, heaving.

  Get the dog off me! Her uncle’s Saint Bernard licked her face. You’re too big. He’s just a big puppy. She couldn’t breath. Drowning. He clamped his mouth over hers and blew. In, out, in, out, stop! What’s going on?

  Maryanne kicked and rolled, trying to sit up, but she was crushed beneath a sweaty, hairy chest. Pressure mounted between her legs. No. Not ready for this. He held her shoulders down. Her legs splayed like bags of lead shot.

  “Didn’t hurt, did it?” A voice grunted in her ear. Stringy seaweed slapped her face. Why was he so heavy? She was freezing cold and burning hot. A shot of tequila and a cold margarita, with the lime. She licked the salt off the rim. Sloppy kisses. He was huge, but so rough. No, no, no. Push him off. Not happening. Not, not, not happening.

  Wipe-out! Water in her face, nose, eyes. A showerhead sprayed her. Why couldn’t she move? Raise hand, turn it off.

  “Put on these clothes.” Someone yanked her arm and pulled it into a sleeve. Wait. Those aren’t my pants. A car door slammed, bump, bump, bump. Dark, lights, oh, I’m gonna throw up. John, I’m sorry I messed up your Porsche. I’m gonna hurl. Lights flashing. Darkness.

  Maryanne clutched her stomach and retched. Something sharp dug into her face. She swept sand and twigs from her hair. Ugh… Where was she?

  Light pierced her eyelids, red flashes, stinging them. A black wheel was stuck in front of her face, and the stench of rotten food assailed her nose. She raised her head and bumped into a metal corner. What was she doing under a dumpster?

  Maryanne threw up. Her body ached all over. Why was she wearing a flannel floral old lady’s shirt and pale green slacks? She leaned against the cool metal, clawing the sides to stand. Her legs refused to obey, and she fell onto the concrete. A piece of broken glass dug into her palm. Owee Chihuahua! She pressed her palm against the flannel shirt.

  Her arms were heavy, and her fingers numb. Where was her purse? Cell? Keys? A flash of fire enveloped her. Burning, hot. Sweat. Need water. The dumpster spun, mocking. You can’t stand up.

  Can’t, can’t, can’t stand up. Lucas, Lucas, Lucas. Where are you?

  Chapter 10

  Lucas scaled the side of a levee and ran, scattering gravel with his racing shoes. The morning was misty and damp, still dark with the glimmerings of dawn. His breath steaming in his face, he crossed under a railroad bridge and shuffled down the embankment. Maryanne’s apartment lay across the tracks.

  Anger curled his fists, and he spat. Last night, his sister had taken him for a wild goose chase. By the time he arrived in Foster City, the club was dark and no one was around. Sandra hadn’t answered her cell either. Worried sick, he’d gone back to the apartment only to find her passed out on his bed, drunk.

  Sleep had eluded him. The usual push-ups, sit-ups and stretching didn’t help. The throbbing in his chest threatened to explode, thumping Maryanne, Maryanne, Maryanne. He cranked up the volume on his iPod. Forget about her, forget, forget. But the beat continued.

  He passed by her apartment. Her car was missing. Someone else must have driven her back. Turn around and keep running. His feet carried him up the st
eps. Leave her alone; she doesn’t want you. He knocked on her door. Silence. Barely able to breathe, he ripped off the earbuds and pressed his ear to the door. Nothing but his rapid heartbeat and jagged breathing. What did he expect to hear? Humping and moaning sounds? They were probably asleep, all worn out.

  If he didn’t go away, he’d bust her door and get himself arrested. He forced himself down the stairs and circled the apartment. Forget about her. Keep going. Scrambling onto the river bank, he lengthened his stride.

  Maryanne had been in no condition to drive last night. He bet her car was still at the church. Not that it mattered. He sprinted down the trail at the river’s edge and crossed under Interstate 880. The massive highway was held over his head by rows and rows of concrete pillars, and the roar of traffic noise drowned the pounding in his head.

  The church grounds of Lion Community loomed on the other side. Dawn was breaking, and a single seagull called to him. He ran around the perimeter. Four basketball courts, tennis courts, two sand volleyball pits, a large multipurpose room with a giant satellite dish. One of those televangelist ministries. That would explain the wealth.

  A sign pointed to a soup kitchen. Street people loitered in sleeping rolls. A man emptied his bottle and threw it in the bushes. Lucas picked it up to put it in the trash.

  He jogged toward the back of the church. Even the service driveway was paved with pebbled concrete. Large brick enclosures housed the dumpsters, and a body lay at the base of one of them. Lucas stepped toward it, looking for signs of breathing. It was a woman in cast-off clothes.

  Gingerly, he touched her neck, feeling for a pulse. She was still warm and not stiff. Whew, alive.

  Her hair was plastered over her face which lay next to a puddle of vomit. Lucas shook her shoulder. “Are you sick? Do you need a doctor?”

  She moaned. Probably a drunk sleeping it off. Her floral flannel shirt was buttoned up wrong, and her pants were rolled up to the knees. Bare feet, but clean. Very strange. She raised her hand and dropped it. Blood oozed from her palm.