by Jan Elder
Liwayway’s shoulders curled over her chest. “We have no money to pay.”
“Don’t give that another thought. We just want to make her well.” Timothy’s tone was soft and gentle.
She nodded. “Can I come? Please?” Her hands trembled as she smoothed Pinky’s hair.
“Of course you can come.” His gaze flicked down to Liwayway’s bare ring finger. “Don’t worry. We won’t leave you alone.” He squeezed her shoulder as tears slipped down her face.
The crowd hushed, and many who were standing plopped down. I sat with them, right in the dusty street. Traffic was at a standstill anyway, and it seemed the thing to do.
Was this the same guy who’d asked if I’d be willing to submit a sample of my cooking?
Danilo emerged behind us in the SUV. He opened all four doors and stood waiting for instructions.
With great care, Timothy picked up Pinky and led Liwayway to the back seat of the car. He ducked in, still holding the child, and signaled for Danilo to help Liwayway.
For the first time, Dr. Flynn focused his attention on me. Without a word, he inclined his head as an invitation to hop in the front seat. I don’t often jump on command, but I’d let it go under the circumstances. As I rose, so did the entire melee and more crying commenced.
They were a sympathetic bunch.
Danilo threw the car in reverse, and we traversed the campus going up, up, up until we found ourselves at the very top of the hillside near the guardhouse. Bayani had obviously been expecting us, and off we went.
I was thankful we headed in the opposite direction of the traffic jam below. Reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from my cheeks, I found them damp with tears.
~*~
Hours later, Dr. Flynn, Danilo, and I drove back to the seminary. In an absolute daze, it was a real effort to put one foot in front of the other. I was glad that Danilo parked the car on the lower level. There was no way I was going to make it down all those stairs again tonight.
After a short trudge to a multi-storied cinder block building, we ascended the stairs. Timothy and Danilo conversed primarily in English with other foreign sounding words thrown in. I could figure out most of it, though, especially when my name was mentioned, and I could make out our destination—Timothy’s place. We reached an apartment on the top floor—four wretched stories up—and my bags were sitting in front of the door. How they got there, I had no idea, but I was ever so thrilled to see my suitcases.
Stepping forward, Timothy opened the door, pushed it back, and motioned for me to enter the room. He hefted my bags as if they were goose down pillows, depositing them with a thump on the living room floor.
I guess I’d been expecting something rustic in this country. Instead, I found myself admiring a room filled with light, gleaming wood and contemporary furniture. And books. Lots and lots of books. That explained question fourteen. It was important to him any woman he chose to marry loved to read. Between his office and the apartment, he housed more books than some libraries I’d visited.
“You’ll be staying here since the guest cottage is unavailable.” For the first time in hours, Timothy looked me in the eye, promptly blushed crimson, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Sweet mercy, he was adorable when he blushed. “I mean, I won’t be staying here with you. That is, I’ll be bunking at another guy’s place in the Coleman building...” He trailed off, flustered by his minor gaff.
A noisy guffaw escaped. I couldn’t help it. I might have been able to control myself if I’d had more sleep but, for sure, now I’d mortified the poor man.
Timothy planted himself in the middle of the room, his gaze fixed on something above my head. He collected himself, tossing his funk aside. He waved a dismissive goodbye to an amused Danilo and pivoted back to me. “The apartment’s not large, but it’s comfortable—at least it is for me. We’re standing in the combination living room, dining room. Over to your left is the kitchen, and through that doorway and down the hall are two bedrooms and a bathroom.”
Inquisitive as always, I studied my surroundings. The square living room exuded real touches of style. Dozens of carved stone animals, carefully arranged on shelves near the windows, drew my attention. Bookcases made of the same satiny wood in Timothy’s office held hardback books, all dust-free and ordered by size. I moved to a sliding glass door and drew back gauzy yellow curtains to reveal a blazing sunset. With the curtains out of the way, bright rays angled through the glass, illuminating two portraits on the opposite wall, one of a sullen middle-aged man, the other a stunning woman in the prime of her life.
I must have made a sound because Dr. Flynn tensed. “My parents.” He frowned and changed the subject. “I would assume you’re hungry. You’re welcome to anything you can find.”
My hopeful stomach growled at the possibility of sustenance. All I’d had to eat at the jam-packed hospital was a stale candy bar and a cup of burnt coffee. I peeked into the compact kitchen and was overjoyed to see a bowl of fruit on the counter. Along with all of the exotic produce, I noticed a humble apple. It would soon be mine.
I followed him as he carried my luggage back into what was the larger of the two bedrooms. Setting my bags on the floor, he switched on an air conditioner—oh joy!—and nodded toward a narrow twin bed. “The sheets are clean, as are the towels in the bathroom. There’s a linen closet at the end of the hall if you need more.”
As he spoke, Timothy backed out of the room. I had the distinct impression not many females had visited his apartment. How could such a striking, take-charge kind of man be so shy and inept when it came to women? And why was it necessary for him to advertise for a wife? During this long, arduous day, the subject had never come up.
At the hospital, we’d hardly said a word to each other. Most of the time, he’d been busy talking to doctors or taking care of paperwork, while I’d been working on staying awake. It would be nice to have quiet time to talk and get to know each other. As I arranged my suitcases, I mulled over the enigma that was Timothy Flynn.
Crossing back into the living room, I found him perched on the edge of an olive-colored couch, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. I parked my derrière on the chair opposite him and propped my elbows on my knees. “Bad day, huh?” Sometimes I could be the mistress of understatement, but I didn’t know what else to say.
Timothy’s eyes narrowed, full lips curling into a scowl. “This isn’t the first time there’s been an accident at that intersection. Last month, a teenage boy died from multiple injuries after being struck by a car. It’s horrible. The seminary’s been petitioning the city to put up a traffic light, but no one seems to care.”
Another kid had died? No wonder he was livid.
At the very worst time possible, I tried to stifle a yawn, but wasn’t completely successful.
He must have thought I was uncaring. Timothy vaulted out of his seat and cocked his head.
I couldn’t quite read him. Was he irritated? Exasperated? Dismayed? Or maybe he’d been waiting for an excuse to disappear. He skirted around the furniture and headed toward the door. “Why don’t we talk later? You aren’t used to our climate, and I’m sure you’ve had a long, trying day.”
I was going to reply, but he was already out the door. I hurried after him and paused in the doorway as he spun around.
“There’s a house key on the kitchen counter. Come and go as you please.” With that parting shot, he was gone.
Wonderful. Appetite gone, I wandered into the bedroom and settled on the bed. I was too keyed-up to drift off now. Besides, the mattress was thin and hard. It reminded me of an old futon I’d had in college. I kicked off those idiotic red sandals and padded into the bathroom. Without warning, the walls tilted, and I stretched out a hand to steady myself. If I only had enough energy left for one more task, I’d skip the meal and opt for a shower and clean, pea-free hair. I headed for the bathroom.
It was marvelous to be clean. Back in the bedroom, the air conditioning had kicked into high gear.
I shivered and scowled at my bags. Too tired to go digging in my luggage for my pajamas, I grabbed a fresh pair of undies and the first t-shirt that caught my eye. It was all I could do to pull them on and collapse on the narrow mattress. There was a light afghan at the foot of the bed, and I tugged it over my legs, cradling my head on the pillow. Through droopy eyelids, I glimpsed the glow of the rising moon shining through the blinds and tree top branches swaying with the soft breeze.
~*~
I woke up to a pale dawn, the light growing brighter with my every breath. Yikes. How long had I been asleep? Disoriented, I fumbled to click on the lamp, and blinked hard. Had I just seen a shadowy object by the door vanish? Must be seeing things.
I swung my feet to the floor and reached for the water glass I’d left on the nightstand. Last night I must have been more zonked than I remembered. How could I have missed the prominent black leather Bible staring me smack in the face? Maybe the fine doctor was for real, but I suspected he’d put the Good Book next to his bed to impress me.
I found a pair of yoga pants in my luggage and shimmied into them before I made my way into the kitchen. Food. I needed food. Some variety of yellowish juice called to me from the top shelf of the refrigerator. I unscrewed the lid and sniffed. Papaya? Mango? It sure wasn’t my usual orange juice, but the scent was straight from heaven. Finding a glass in an upper cupboard, I rummaged around for something breakfasty to go with it. The lowest shelf of the fridge yielded a loaf of dense brown bread full of grainy goodness, and in the door sat a jar of orange marmalade. That would do.
I was finishing the last delicious bite when a folded piece of paper slid under the door. I picked it up to see “Miss Callahan” written in a heavy, bold hand. The note read, “I didn’t want to disturb your sleep but thought you should know I’m on my way to church. I should be back around noon. Timothy Flynn.”
Hmm. Miss Callahan. Timothy Flynn. We were still on a last name basis.
I threw open the door. The sound of retreating steps slapped on the staircase as I hung my head over the railing. Down below, the silhouette of a tall, dark-haired gentleman appeared. At least I hoped he was a gentleman and all that the word implied. Time would tell.
“Dr. Flynn!” I sang out. “Wait.” It would be good to venture out and see some of the sights. Even church.
He whirled around and put a hand to his forehead to shield his vision. It was impossible to see his expression in the dazzle of morning light, but his posture stiffened. Silence reigned. After a few long seconds, he said, “Did you say something, Miss Callahan?”
I knew he heard me. My own spine stiffened right back at him. I wasn’t going to idle away the hours sitting in an apartment all day. I was halfway around the world, and I wanted to explore this intriguing new country. I called down, “May I go, too? I’m awake now.”
May I? Lame.
“It’s obvious you’re awake.” After yesterday’s brief touch of kindness, the man had lurched back into condescending. “If you want to come to church with me we need to get going. I’m running late.”
I was getting tired of shouting down at him, and I didn’t want the entire campus to hear our conversation. Instead of debating the issue, I yelled down one last time, “Give me two minutes.” I ran back inside and dressed in a hurry. The last thing I wanted to do was make the touchy guy late.
Flying down the four flights of stairs in what had to be Olympic time, I jolted to a stop when I reached the bottom. There was no need to seem over-eager.
Timothy had climbed part of the way up that long flight of stairs toward his car and I caught him glancing at his watch. He would have to wait another minute for me to catch up.
Those blasted steps were steep, and I took my time going up. When I reached him, I balanced on the step below him. If we’d been side by side, Timothy would have been a good eight inches taller. Now, I had to crane my neck to see his face. And what a face. I hadn’t had much of an opportunity to study him until now. His chiseled, clean-shaven jaw displayed the barest touch of razor burn. And the breath-stealing scent of him! Warm and spicy, very manly, very enticing. If all my ex-boyfriends had smelled that beguiling...my gaze continued to sweep upward.
He was watching me, his expression difficult to decipher.
I gulped. Busted. Did I see a spark of attraction in the silvery depths of his eyes? As I inspected him, his beautifully shaped mouth curved up at the corners. He pulled in a quick breath.
I reveled to think my close proximity was having an effect on him. As I tried in vain not to gawk, I stumbled on the narrow step, battling not to fall backward. I should have been paying more attention to my feet rather than that mesmerizing face. A strong arm slipped around me as I toppled.
“Must be jet lag.” This time a real smile split his face.
I began to sweat, or as proper Brianna would say, glisten. Whether it was from the humidity or Timothy’s nearness, who could say?
“Isn’t it a bit early in the day for it to be so hot?” Why did inane words keep flying out of my head?
“What can I say? Welcome to the Philippines in May.”
I gazed at him, and we had a moment. A very short moment.
His next words brought me plummeting back to the tropical terra firma. “By the way, is that what you’re wearing?”
4
I gave myself a once over to make sure I hadn’t left the apartment, sans pants or something. Nope. Everything was as it should be. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” If I were a cat, I’d be hissing.
The epitome of wide-eyed innocence, he lifted a shoulder as if he had no idea he’d said anything offensive. “I was merely observing that you’re overdressed for the type of church we’re going to. Too formal. And you have long sleeves. The building doesn’t have air.”
Now I was downright mad. How dare he? Overdressed? In my opinion, I was quite fetching, especially since I’d gussied up in churchy clothes in two minutes flat. “I’m sorry there was no time to dress to suit you, but you did say you were in a hurry.” I lifted my hand and waved him on.
He wheeled and vaulted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Show-off. I glowered at his back the whole way up.
As we reached the top of the hill, the guard came out of the guardhouse. “Morning, Dr. Flynn. On your way to church?”
Huffing and puffing, I paused behind Timothy, smiled, and waved at the guard. I was only trying to be sociable, but the surly sentinel was not amused. His eyebrows puckered together until they were one thick line across his forehead. “She with you?”
“Yes, Bayani. She’s with me. We’ll be back in a few hours.”
As we walked to his car, he beat me to the passenger side and pulled open the car door for me. My. How formal. Then I remembered another question from the marriage application. He’d asked how I would react if he opened my door.
Hmm. I dipped my head in his direction and moseyed over to the car. “Thank you so much, Dr. Flynn.” Still steaming over his reaction to my clothing, I couldn’t resist the small dig, but it never hurt to be civil.
“You are definitely welcome, Miss Callahan.” The look on his face was priceless—a baffling mix of consternation and approval. He hauled open his own door, buckled his seatbelt, shoved the key in the ignition, and sat there studying his fingernails.
What did he want now?
“Seatbelt.” His voice had taken on a slight brusque tone.
Bristling at being treated like a child, I fastened my seatbelt and folded my arms across my chest. The tension in the cab was thicker than the humidity. Perhaps now was not the time to get confrontational, but part of me had been seething since our first meeting. I shifted in my seat and gave him my best belligerent glare. “So, tell me Dr. Flynn. Why do you dislike blondes?”
“I did not say I disliked blondes.” Timothy jammed into reverse and backed out of the parking spot.
“Oh yes, you did.”
He halted the car and faced me. Rubbing the bac
k of his neck, he rolled his shoulders. “No, I did not. I said that you were a brunette in your picture, and I wasn’t expecting you to have changed.” He hit the gas and made a left out of the lot.
I could play this game, too. “OK, but you can’t deny that you implied you were somehow dissatisfied with my appearance.”
“I was not dissatisfied with your appearance, although you must admit you were wearing a rather unorthodox traveling ensemble.” For a split second, he shifted his attention away from the road and glanced at me sideways. The ghost of a smile played across his handsome face. Was he teasing me?
I tapped my fingers on the center console and shook my head at this ridiculous sparring. Taking a deep breath, I tried again. “I will agree that what I was wearing was not haute couture, but that has nothing to do with being blonde.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being blonde, but I was counting on someone with less…”
“Less what?”
“Less presence, perhaps. Someone who blended in.”
Now I was totally confused. “Blended into what? The wallpaper?”
Silence filled the air, as he seemed to search for precisely the right word. “What I mean is when you breezed into my office, you projected a certain allure. I have the feeling when you enter any room you’re the center of attention. All eyes are drawn to you.”
Did I hear a compliment, or was he poking fun at me? Just to be sure, I pursued an explanation. “So, are you saying I draw attention to myself in a good way or a bad way?”
He was driving with concentration, but he sneaked a quick look at me between weaving through traffic and gunning the engine. I caught a glimpse of lightheartedness in his upturned mouth. He was enjoying our repartee.
Me? Maybe a little.
“Miss Callahan, are you unaware of your magnetism? What I’m looking for in a wife is…a touch of the demure. Decorous, diffident, you know, retiring.”
“You mean boring and prudish? If you wanted prim and proper, you shouldn’t have chosen me.” Had he assumed all computer programmers were shy geeks? Now I was sorry I’d practically begged him to take me to church.
