by Leah Atwood
Dear Lord, please help me.
Once at her porch, she waved at Arturo. But only when she walked inside did she hear him drive away.
She leaned against the door.
Dear Lord, what should I do now?
Would Arturo be back on Monday? It was only Thursday. She suppressed a sigh.
It was going to be a very long weekend.
* * *
Several of Lana’s patients had minor complications, so Friday was busy. Still, she checked her phone often to make sure she wouldn’t miss a text or a phone call from Arturo. It was her lunch break and she was settled at her couch with a plate when Arturo called.
“Lana, I couldn’t wait to hear your voice.”
“Ditto.” She pushed aside the plate with the sandwich, not hungry anymore. “How is practice?”
“I have trouble concentrating on running routes and formations. I’m losing my focus.”
“Sorry to hear that,” she said.
“I keep thinking about you.” His voice dipped low.
“I keep thinking about you, too,” she admitted. She needed to change the topic, and fast, before she said too much. “I just came back from visiting your grandfather. He’s doing great.”
“I talked to him before calling you. He complains he doesn’t have a minute to himself. But I think he enjoys the attention.” Arturo paused. “I thought about some things you said. Do you have time to talk?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Sure.”
“Do you have any regrets?”
“Definitely not about the kiss.” She smiled. “But I guess I do. Being with Michael. Being angry with God for not giving me parents. Letting that anger eat at my soul when I should’ve tried to be a better daughter to my foster parents. A better sister to other foster kids.”
“Don’t blame yourself. It must’ve been difficult growing up like that. Do you keep in touch with any of them?”
“Some. We talk on the phone and text from time to time. Do you have any regrets?”
“Dylan,” he said quickly. “My childhood friend. We grew apart after I left Rios Azules.”
“Well, maybe you should look him up. He’ll probably be happy to hear from you.”
“There are other people…”
“Your parents?” Compassion filled her heart. She knew what it meant to long to be loved and protected, and to be left out in the cold instead.
“I want to stop being angry at them,” Arturo said.
Lord, please help me find the right words.
“All I know is, I’d die to know my parents,” she said. “Christmas is a family holiday. It’s the season of joy and forgiveness. I felt miserable until Mari taught me to pray for my birth parents. That helped me forgive them, and helped cleanse my soul.”
“You’re amazing. I know I said this, but it bears repeating.” Admiration shone in Arturo’s voice.
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. She was drawn to the shining star with an overwhelming force and had to find the way to break that pull.
“It’s so good to hear your voice. But I want more than that. I want to see you. And I can’t leave Houston. Not until Monday evening.”
She had a crazy idea to drop everything and fly to Houston in the evening. But she’d promised Arturo she’d take care of his grandfather. Just as Arturo had to fulfil his obligations, she had to fulfil hers. “And I can’t leave Rios Azules.”
“I’ll figure something out. Right now, I need to keep my head in the game. My team needs this win. But I’ll find a way to make this work,” he said with conviction. “I want you to be part of my life, and I want to be part of yours. It will be difficult after what you’ve gone through with Michael, and with hundreds of miles between us. But just consider it.”
“I will.” She didn’t have a chance to say much else.
“I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon.” Male voices sounded in the background, and he disconnected.
Several moments passed before she forced herself to chew on her turkey sandwich. Elation and fear battled inside her.
Done with her lunch, she headed to her next patient. She squared her shoulders as she turned a corner. She’d have to compete with thousands of adoring fans and demands of Arturo’s fame, not to mention his grueling schedule and geographical distance. But she’d fight for her chance at happiness. She’d worked hard to become a nurse, to forgive her parents, to grow a backbone in the relationship with Michael. When she put her mind to something, she could accomplish great things.
Her mind was on Arturo now. Though he’d lacked long-term relationships in the past, there was a first time for everything.
The second half of the day passed in a blur.
She slept in on Saturday and spent the rest of the day first with Grandfather De La Vega, then with Mari. As Lana entered her rental home in the evening, she reached into her pocket for her phone, but the phone wasn’t there. She was positive she had it an hour ago because she’d talked to Arturo then. Frowning, she called her last patient and the patient before that and checked her car. Nothing.
Lana grimaced. With the stores closed on Sunday, it would be Monday before she could get a new phone.
Her heart squeezed painfully at the thought of not talking to Arturo for a day. She was getting attached to him. But if this relationship didn’t work out, either, she’d pay the price. Her heart would be broken again.
Chapter Eleven
Monday evening, back at his childhood place, Arturo paced Grandpa’s office. With his grandfather out on a date with Evelyn, Arturo felt restless. On Sunday, no matter how busy he was, he’d still called Lana several times. She hadn’t returned any of his calls, and it bothered him. He’d missed her more than he’d missed anybody in his life.
Well, there could be a good reason why she’d avoided his calls. He’d gone to her place right after checking on Grandpa, but she hadn’t been at home.
Arturo stopped pacing the office and checked his phone. There were several texts from his teammates but no calls from Lana. He clenched his teeth. He’d ask Grandpa for his opinion later and then he’d pay Lana a visit again.
Instead of exercising his body, like Arturo would normally do, this time he decided to occupy his mind. Besides, the game had taken a toll on his body and he craved rest. The hard-won victory had been worth all the pain. But every season it was becoming harder and harder to fight the consequences of grueling games and practices.
A stab of guilt reminded him that his head hadn’t been in the game this time, in spite of his best intentions. Without his usual hyperawareness, he’d noticed the lineman coming at him too late and had been thrown to the ground. Arturo clenched his teeth. This simply wouldn’t do. He needed to have his focus back. And for that, he’d have to get things straight with Lana.
Arturo glanced at the long rows of books that filled the bookshelves from the ceiling to the floor. He ran his fingertips over the smooth leather and indents of gold letters. He leafed through the pages of Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, the book that he’d read several times as a kid. He hadn’t read much since graduating from the University of Texas. But this novel, worn out from age and use, gave him a comforting feeling, like meeting an old friend after being apart for years. Dylan and he used to play pirates after devouring that book, and had buried “treasures” in their respective yards when they were seven.
Spurred by the memory, Arturo returned Treasure Island to its place and headed to the shed to get a spade. Soon he stood under an oak tree, spade leaned against its trunk, a pile of soil near him, and a glass bottle in his hands. He carefully uncorked the bottle and reached for the “treasure,” a card with his favorite player at the time, running back Jack Brooks. One of the reasons Arturo had wanted to become a running back had been because he’d admired Brooks so much. The most amazing thing was that not only had Arturo met Brooks after being drafted to the Houston Storm, Brooks had been the one to mentor Arturo early in his care
er.
So many blessings had been given to him.
His chest swelled with gratitude, Arturo pocketed the card, leveled the soil, and returned the tool to its place in the shed. He headed back to Grandpa’s office, carrying a sense of self-worth and accomplishment together with the card.
Once in the office, he looked around the place with fresh eyes. A few books and some other items—brass candlestick and a glass ink holder, for example—had been passed from generation to generation. And even needing funds badly, his grandfather had never sold them.
The row of oil portraits of his ancestors looked at Arturo from the wall.
Until meeting Lana, he’d never realized how important it was to cherish this connection to older generations. His heart went out to her. How would it feel not to know where you came from, to have a blank space for that part of your identity? Not to mention how sad it would be to grow up without your flesh and blood having your back no matter what.
Lana made him think about things he’d always taken for granted. She was like a spring of fresh water to cleanse his soul.
So what book should he read? His gaze fell on the Bible, the only book on the desk. Here was his answer.
He settled behind the hand-carved desk and opened the Bible. The parable about the prodigal son. It looked like exactly what he needed to read.
Later, he closed the Bible. He didn’t move for some time afterwards. He’d left God out of his life. In a way, that had made him a prodigal son. Arturo’s heart filled with joy at the knowledge that God would accept him with open arms if Arturo came back to Him.
Arturo’s phone rang, and the name Lady Grace appeared on the screen. He answered, “Good morning, Lady Grace.”
“Good morning, young man. Just wanted to thank you for all the Christmas presents you bought for the drives.”
“You’re very welcome.” He’d enjoyed buying the gifts.
“I wanted to confirm that I can put you down for wrapping and delivering them.”
“I’ll do my best.” It felt good to say it. He’d participated in many charities, but it was more about writing a check, giving a speech, or filming a commercial than a personal involvement. “You’d be surprised, but I’m pretty good at wrapping gifts.”
“We like for two people to deliver a present, and we have a new person without a partner. Lana Smith.” There was a mischievous note in Lady Grace’s voice. “Would you mind being paired with her?”
“I’d love that.”
“I thought so.” Lady Grace laughed. Hmm, was he that obvious? Then her voice grew serious. “I remember you as a child, Mr. De La Vega. You grew up into a fine young man. Your grandfather must be very proud of you.” She didn’t mention the times when he used to steal oranges from her garden during his rebellious years, and he was grateful for that.
“Thank you, Lady Grace.”
“Say hello to your grandfather for me. I pray he’ll feel better soon.”
“I will. And… thank you for praying. I’ll pray, too.” He intended to keep that promise.
He sat quietly for several moments after disconnecting. Partly, he’d volunteered to deliver presents because of Lana, but now he was even more glad he’d done it. Something inside him shifted. One of the reasons he’d been so driven to succeed in football had been to make his grandfather proud. At first, he’d hoped that his trophies would make his parents pay more attention to him, but he’d learned quickly that had been futile.
So he’d wanted to prove to his grandparents that they’d made the right decision by taking in a hurting, lonely boy who’d felt rejected by the very people who were supposed to love him the most. Well, it didn’t hurt that success in sports had brought him feelings of power, self-worth, and an unbelievable adrenaline rush.
He’d poured all his anger and hurt into the drive to win the game, and he’d achieved more than his wildest dreams. Those years of exhaustive training, broken bones, concussions, and food and sleep deprivation had been worth it to make his grandfather proud of him. To leave a legacy.
Arturo looked at the row of his ancestors’ portraits on the wall. One day, his portrait would be added there. And after that…. He’d never seriously thought about starting a family. But getting to know Lana made him think about those kinds of things. The way she treated her patients told him she’d be a good mother. He wanted to be a good father. Better than his own dad.
He wished Lana were here so he could discuss it with her. It was so easy to talk to her. He’d been used to watching what he said, especially in public, because every word could be misconstrued. But not in this town and definitely not with Lana. The ability to trust someone completely was huge for him.
She’d probably tell him to pray about it.
Dear Lord, please guide me on the right path. Amen.
He felt better after praying.
His glance fell on the book Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. Dylan and he used to have a great time building a hut from branches in Grandpa’s yard and imagining themselves on the uninhabitable island.
Those were good memories. Lana was right. Maybe Dylan would be happy to hear from him.
It took several minutes of research and help from Lady Grace, but Arturo tracked down Dylan’s current phone number and called him.
“Hi, Dylan,” Arturo said as soon as his childhood friend answered. “This is Arturo. Arturo De La Vega. I know it’s been years since we talked…”
There was a pause. And then… “Hey, Arturo! So great to hear from you! How have you been? I’ve watched all your games.”
They talked for a while, remembering old times. They discussed sports and then switched to families. Arturo gaped at the news that Dylan had a six-year-old boy and a foster teen he wanted to adopt. A beep in his phone warned him about an incoming call, but Arturo let it go to voice mail, reluctant to interrupt Dylan.
Then Arturo’s heart ached for Dylan when his friend told him about his wife getting addicted to drugs and leaving him because he’d tried to get her to go to rehab. They finished the conversation with the agreement to meet up for steaks and recordings of his best games.
After disconnecting, Arturo checked his voice mail. The message was from Sean, his private investigator and good friend. Why was Sean calling? Arturo had cancelled the only pending investigation. Maybe his email had gone to a spam folder, and Sean had never seen it.
Arturo pressed the voice mail button.
Sean’s voice filled the room, “I emailed you the results of the background check of Ms. Lana Smith. I’m saying this off the record—she seems to be a gold digger.”
Arturo felt sucker-punched. This had to be a mistake. From what he’d learned so far about Lana, she was the furthest thing from a gold digger possible. He deleted the message, checked his email, and deleted the one from Sean. Arturo didn’t need to know the results of the investigation.
Gold digger.
What had Sean discovered in Lana’s past to make such an assumption? Sean was a good PI and wouldn’t say that without facts to substantiate the claim. The seeds of curiosity grew fast inside Arturo, and it wasn’t easy to weed them out.
His phone played his favorite country tune, and the word Sean flashed on the screen.
Arturo pressed the button to answer. “Hello, Sean.”
“Hello, Arturo. I just wanted to verify you received my email.”
“I received it, but I deleted it. I don’t need to read the results of the investigation. I trust Ms. Smith.”
After several seconds of silence, Sean said, “That’s your choice. I’ll send you another one, just in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“As a friend, I’d advise you to look at it,” Sean said carefully.
Arturo’s hand fisted. “Why? What did she do?”
“Now, don’t get so upset. It’s nothing too bad, really. Professionally, she’s a great nurse. Her references are outstanding, and the professors at the university were actually surprised she didn’t t
ry to become a doctor. She could have a better career if she’d worked in a large hospital instead of being a home health nurse in a small town. Patients love her. Doctors who worked with her praised her beyond measure.”
Pressure eased in Arturo’s chest. “Then what is it? Has she done something…”
“Illegal? No, her background is clean.”
“Then what is it?” Arturo growled.
“She seems to use celebrities to her advantage. Have you heard of Michael Jones?”
“Who hasn’t? His movies are huge at the box office.” Then realization sank in. Lana had talked about her first love, a man named Michael. The man he’d met at her place. But that guy was short, stocky, and didn’t look like the dashing hero Jones always played in the movies. Black moustache and beard instead of the famous actor’s golden hair and clean-shaven face, plus sunglasses, had fooled Arturo.
“Have you heard of Ariana Wren? She was first his girlfriend, then fiancée.”
“I don’t follow tabloids. Sounds familiar, though.” Oh, no. Arturo sank deeper into his chair. Lana Smith and Ariana Wren could be the same person. Michael had called Lana Ariana.
“America loved that story. Cinderella and her Prince Charming. He met her at a hospital, and it was love at first sight. He played it up well in the media, giving hope to all girls out there that one day they’d meet a handsome, famous, rich guy, and he’d fall in love with them. After some dating, she left nursing. She lived the glamorous life, appearing on his arm on the red carpet, at movie premieres and many parties. Then rumors started surfacing, of him cheating, of them breaking up. But later they’d always be seen together. So they were breaking up and reconciling for years. Until…” Sean paused.
“Until?” Arturo wanted to cover his ears, not to hear the rest of the story. But he needed to know the truth.
“Until they seemed to break up permanently. Jones sent gifts her way, but she rejected them all. Then he got down on one knee and proposed. She accepted, especially considering he backed up his proposal with a huge diamond ring, two houses, and a convertible. I’m resending you an email with files.”