by Cheryl Wyatt
And he’d be a stronger voice in Javier’s life.
Her fear of Javier being in a dangerous job was like a candy factory compared to what could happen to Javier out in the streets. Celia stared toward the road and sighed. She supposed she could go to the marshmallow roast, but how would she find a way not to fall prey to Manny’s charms?
Mama mia. The guy’s eyes alone were hotter than jalapeños. Then again, so was his temper. And hers. How would they not burn each other into oblivion?
Life had been missing something the past two weeks. A void had opened up the moment Manny had walked off her porch that day.
Oh, boy, that day.
It hadn’t been until Celia read police reports that she’d realized Manny had been on the scooter seconds before impact. How he’d escaped harm, she’d never know. Of course she would.
Celia pulled her sweater tighter around herself and stared up through the skylight at the expanse of deepening blue, past it really, to the One who spoke it into existence with a sentence.
Let there be…
She knew, because she’d been studying the power of spoken words in her Bible. Too bad God didn’t speak into her body, “Let it be light.” Then, poof, she’d drop those extra ten pounds. Okay, twenty.
“Lord, Thank You for protecting Manny. Maybe I should trust You with that more often, eh?”
She’d viewed Javier’s military Web sites to know just how dangerous a PJ’s job could be. She’d had no idea these were the guys who usually went after downed pilots, or that they were some of the more famous rescuers she’d seen on FOX news or CNN. Their creed, “These things we do, that others may live,” wasn’t worded that way for nothing.
Their job meant risking everything for the sake of another.
It had to be one of the most demanding and selfless jobs in the world. Yet she never heard the media talk about them, probably because they were Special Forces. Silent warriors who worked behind the scenes and didn’t care that the entire world had no clue they were the valiant ones who were owed true credit for saving countless lives with sheer sweat, raw courage and selfless will.
Celia sighed. Even if things progressed romantically all the way to the ring, her chances of ending up twice a widow in her life were astronomically high.
In Manny’s line of work, not only did he dive blind out of perfectly good aircraft during flight in pitch-dark doing Indy 500 speeds at heights requiring oxygen administration, he was a combat warrior, which meant he was shot at for a living. In the deepest sea or on the tallest mountain or in scalding climates, he’d leap for another life if he thought he could save it.
Hadn’t that been what he’d done with Javier?
Why hadn’t she seen it before? He’d risked friendship with her; something she knew had grown to be vitally important to him, to save her son from himself and bad choices. The scariest part was, the more she’d spent time with Manny, the less she’d cared that he had a dangerous job. The way he worked toward healing, he’d be back at his duties soon.
Maybe it was good this rift happened. She needed a reason to stop becoming dependent on him. Still, she couldn’t negate that he brought amazing amounts of joy into her and Javier’s lives, and undeniably positive change in her son.
She needed to figure out how to influence Javier to do good without Manny’s help. She should commit to finding a church home. Celia cringed at the notion, yet deep down she knew God had been dealing with her on that.
Church would be a stretch, but she didn’t see any other viable solution.
Celia huffed. Maybe she should stop all this thinking and get down there. She rubbed off a circle of mist her breath painted on the glass and watched smoke rise from Amber’s backyard.
Maybe she’d skip mowing the cemetery tonight. The grass was mostly dead this time of year anyhow. Maybe she’d go have a marshmallow or two with Javier and Manny. She liked the crispy brown ones with liquid centers.
She donned her cloak and headed down the road. Once there, she unhinged the gate to the backyard, heart pounding so loud he must have heard it from where he sat on a log near the fire.
Alone.
He turned to face her, then lifted his shoulders, peering behind her as if expecting to see someone else. “Javier coming, too?” He stood, smoothing hands down his jeans.
Celia’s feet screeched to a stop on the brick patio, her vision scanned the yard. “Excuse me? I thought he was still here with you.”
Manny blew out a breath and reached for his crutch, propped against a tree. “No. He left an hour ago, saying he wanted to head home early. Said he felt a migraine coming on.”
Celia’s heart fell. Javier hadn’t given up his sneaky ways?
Manny stepped toward her, his words cautious. “He probably figured you were going to work tonight and wouldn’t realize he’d gone out. I’m sorry, Celia. I watched him as far as your yard. I didn’t think he’d cut out that close to home. I should have called to see if he made it.” Weariness clouded his eyes.
“It’s not your fault.” The burn of tears caused Celia to inch back toward the gate. She didn’t want Manny to see her cry.
Too late. His hawk-vision honed in and his hard swallow told her moonlight gave away her tears. Tenderness softened his face and he stepped toward her. His hand brushed her arm.
She spun like a top and rushed from the yard. The heavy wood gate clanked shut behind her. Warmth still radiated from where he’d touched her arm. And her heart.
Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Oh, boy.
Her mind reeled all the way down the street.
Half of her hoped Manny would follow. The other half embraced relief that he hadn’t. Once inside her home, Celia passed the point of fuming. She dialed Javier’s cell number, pressing buttons hard enough to creak the phone. Surprise hit her when someone picked up on the second ring.
“’Lo.”
“Javier?”
“Yeah.”
“How dare you?” Celia yelled into the phone, then scolded him in Spanish.
A heavy breath came through the line. “M-Mom, what are you talking about?” Javier muttered something unintelligible in Spanish, too.
“Why does your voice sound like that? Have you been drinking?”
“No. I was trying to sleep.”
“With who?”
“What? No one. Mom, why can’t you just come upstairs and talk to me? My head hurts from you screeching in the phone.” A sigh followed the words. Words her mind riddled to figure out.
“Javier, where are you?”
“In the loft.”
“Here?”
“Duh, Mom. I hear you down there stomping around. I’m hanging up now. You’ve gone loco.”
Celia stared at the dead phone. Then started to giggle. Javier was up in his loft room. Not out partying. Sleeping off a headache, just like he’d told Manny.
How had she missed him coming up the stairs? It must have been when she cleaned the closet. She had to keep better tabs on him.
She stepped up the stairs and peeked into his darkened room. Soft music played from iPod ear buds stuck to his head.
“I’m sorry, Javier. Can I get you anything?”
“Yeah. You can get quiet and sane and let me sleep. I’ve got a long day’s work tomorrow and I don’t feel good.”
“Manny will understand if you need to call in sick.”
“No. Unless I have to call in dead, I’m working. I don’t want him to think I’m a lazy slacker.”
Celia doubted Manny would ever think that. “Okay. I’m going for a walk. You’ll be okay here by yourself?”
“I’m not four anymore, Mom.” Javier’s sleepy voice muffled into the pillow he pressed over his face and ears.
She longed to move it and brush hair from his eyes. Kiss his forehead like when he was little. She’d wait until he was asleep so as not to embarrass him. She inched back down the creaky loft steps with peace washing over her. Her son was here, safe and sound.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?” Celia turned.
Javier’s bed head peeked around the top of the stairs. “Maybe I could use a good-night hug. Just like you used to, when you sang me a song and everything. Only don’t tell anyone. And, by the way, what I said about hating you and it being your fault that Dad—” He swallowed. “I’ve been feeling bad about that and—”
At the eruption of her tears, his words faltered. He blinked his own tears away. “I’m sorry.”
She rushed the stairs and took him into her arms. “It’s okay, son. I forgive you. Unfortunately, I think you inherited my big mouth and tendency to speak before thinking.”
“Stop making excuses for me. Manny says I don’t have excuses, I have choices.” Javier hugged her back.
The strength of his embrace surprised her. His shoulders and back had filled out.
“That Manny’s pretty smart.” She sat beside his bed and started singing a Spanish lullaby. The distraught look coming over her son’s face caused her to laugh midstanza. He stared at her mouth as if tarantulas skittered across it.
“What?” Her smile faded.
“I don’t remember you singing that badly.”
“To any toddler, a mother’s voice is the sweetest thing.”
“No offense, Ma, but on second thought, no singing. Maybe I just need sleep.” Javier fell across the bed, thrusting the pillow over his face.
Celia tickled his ribs.
“Let off, Mom! Laughing hurts my head!”
She gave his ribs one more poke. “Okay, you big sissy. Get some sleep. If you need me, I have my cell phone. If you sneak out of the house, I’m breaking not one but both of your legs.”
“Yeah? Well, look at this.” He raised his sleeve and pumped his bicep.
“Wow. Impressive. Working out with Manny not only made you wiser, it pumped you up. I noticed that before.”
Apparently, so had half the girls’ volleyball team because lately she’d fielded calls from giggling girls every ten minutes. “Good night, son.”
“’Night.”
She didn’t budge. He lowered the pillow to feign a scowl at her, but she detected a grin peeking behind it.
“Go! You’re making it worse.”
“Okay, Mr. Macho, see you in an hour or so.”
“The only thing I’ll be seeing in an hour is the back of my eyelids.”
“Fine. I get the hint. I’m outta here.”
“Finally. Relief,” he muttered in dramatic tones into the pillow, eyeing her with mirth over top of it.
She headed for the door, missing these times together, wanting to drag it out but knowing he really did have a headache. It had been so long since they’d talked and joked like this.
She’d nearly made it to the door when he cleared his throat and made airplane noises. “Incoming!”
Thunk. His pillow hit its mark on the back of her head.
She spun, wagging a faux scolding finger at him. “You’re supposed to be sick. What happened to that headache?”
“Getting worse by the second. Every time you open your mouth, in fact. Hey, is your face hurting, Mom?”
“No.” He looked so serious. Maybe he thought he wounded her when he’d thrown that pillow at her.
“Oh.” He grinned.
“Why?” she asked, suspicion mounting.
“Because it’s killing me.”
“You big goof.” Celia laughed all the way down the stairs. She hadn’t been working at night this week and had only been teaching during the day. She’d rescheduled her makeover clients to make time with her son. She and Javier had played board games together and talked more than they had all year. The bond between them strengthened with just that little quality time she’d set aside for him.
It only takes a little to mean a lot and I’ve give anything for one more minute with my son.
Manny had said that candidly one evening during dinner with her and Javier. How she wished Manny hadn’t lost his son. But wishing didn’t bring anyone back. If it did, Joseph would have been here a gazillion wishes ago.
Speaking of sons, she hated that she automatically assumed Javier had taken off tonight and deceived them. She needed to let Manny know Javier was home safe and sound. She also needed to try to trust Javier more, though he’d broken her trust before.
Maybe she’d been going about this the wrong way. In providing for his future, she’d missed the present with him. Sure Christmas was coming up and she wanted it to be nice for him, but could it be possible her son needed her presence more than her presents? Celia turned off the television and living-room lights, then flicked on the porch light.
Maybe Manny was right. Maybe she should quit her night job. She could still do her makeover-consulting business on the side. That, she could limit to weekends. She still had her teaching job during the weekdays. People came to her house for the makeovers, so it wasn’t as if she left Javier home alone to get into trouble. Or to leave without her consent, staying out late with who knew who, doing who knew what. She’d had no control over her out-of-control son. Until Manny crashed the scene. Literally.
Thank God for the grove of trees and the gust of wind that had blown all their lives upside down.
Maybe God hadn’t breathed the wind, but He had determined the forecast of its outcome. That Manny dropped into their lives had been no accident. There was a reason, if only to teach her to be a better mother to Javier by suggesting things such as backing away from her night job. Speaking of…
If she quit that, she’d only have to worry about Javier during school hours. Much as she hated to, Celia realized she needed to come to a compromise that would work for both of them. Manny had been right all along. He needed to know what a difference he’d made in Javier’s life. And hers.
Prepared to eat her humble pie, she threw on her coat and started down the street to Manny. She’d tromped three steps when the Montgomery house lights clicked off for the night. Celia stopped and sighed. She’d looked forward to eating a roasted marshmallow with him.
She went home and wrote an apologetic note stating she’d been wrong and hadn’t realized Javier was upstairs all along. She walked back down the street, scrawled Manny’s name across the note and taped it to Amber’s door.
Disappointment nipped at her heels all the way home.
Chapter Fourteen
“Mark it down in the history books.” Manny stepped inside the primary-colored, snowflake-decorated classroom. Tempura paint smells mingled with Elmer’s glue, markers and chalk dust in the air.
Amber and Celia looked up from their desks. He eyed past them to the window where school buses dotted with children’s heads rumbled away from the curb.
“I was just leaving.” Amber’s obvious grin blared as she hefted a milk crate of craft items and hightailed it out of there. Manny stepped aside so she could pass.
“I’ll call you later, Amb.” Celia waved then straightened a stack of papers on her desk. “So what are we marking down in the history books?” She looked up
Manny moved closer to her. “I got your note. I can’t believe I actually have proof in writing that the perfect Ms. Munez is wrong.”
She rolled her eyes and flapped papers at him. “Ha, ha. Hey, you’re out and about. How’d you get here?”
“Joel dropped me off. You owe me a ride to rehab.”
She flashed a cheeky grin. “Is that so?” Even in her conservative teacher clothes she brightened the room.
“Yeah, and a trip to the grocery store.”
“You remember that, huh?”
He stepped closer. “I remember every single thing about you.”
She shuffled papers for the umpteenth time. He refused to break his gaze though hers darted everywhere but him. Could it be the feisty Ms. Munez was shy around him? Manny grinned.
She slid folders into her satchel, grabbed her mega-purse and breezed past him. She flicked the classroom light off.
And fled.
Manny stood in the dark, blinking. What jus
t happened here?
“Last one to the car’s a rotten egg,” echoed from the end of the hall.
Gotten. Manny let his head fall back. Gotten and rotten. He laughed at the ceiling. “Rotten egg or not, I’ll endure the rap just to be able to spend an hour with her, Lord.” He put his crutches to the hall floor and followed the dust of her heels to the teachers’ parking.
She held her nose when he lowered himself into the seat.
He chuckled and jabbed a finger at the front windshield. “Drive. This egg’s about to be late.”
Friendly chatter filled the miles to Refuge’s rehab center across town. Celia unloaded his crutches while he extracted himself from her tiny car.
Inside, Manny pointed out the waiting area where people either watched TV or perused magazines. “You can hang here.”
“Actually, I want to go in with you.”
Manny gulped. He couldn’t very well refuse her since other family and friends accompanied patients and various rehab personnel. He didn’t want pretty Celia to see him weak and struggling, though he knew God was with him and should make him feel strong.
Before he could figure out a way to keep her in the waiting room, she brushed past him into the physical-therapy department.
“May I help you?” a receptionist asked her.
“Nah. I’m with him.” Celia dumped her satchel and purse in the corner by the desk and waited for Manny to sign himself in. They didn’t have a chance to sit down before a physical therapist approached. “Mr. Peena?”
“Pen-ya,” Celia corrected, holding the woman’s gaze.
The young girl eyed Celia with interest and waved them on with her clipboard. “Mr. Pen-ya it is, then. Let’s get started.”
Manny sat on the leg-press bench, hating that Celia’d see him sweat with pain. But he had to push himself or he’d never get strong enough to rejoin the team. It about killed Manny when Joel left every other weekend for training gigs at Refuge Air Base.
“Can you give me ten more?” the therapist asked minutes later, then added more weight.
No! “Yep.” He pressed the weights and extended his legs. Outrageous pain in his hip made him want to puke.