Greg tapped lightly on the partially closed door. “Is there a special little girl here?”
“Daddy, Daddy, come see!” His daughter’s excitement reached him before he stepped into the room.
Paloma sat, Jazarah on her lap, in the pink-and-white ticked armchair that Jazarah called her reading chair. The small crib quilt that Lily had sewn for her while they waited for word they could finally fly to her was an uneven ball of fabric bunched in her arms. Every night Greg tucked her in with the quilt, always showing her the square that Lily stitched with, “I’ll love you forever,” and his daughter’s sleepy eyes would blink as she’d clutch the quilt to her chest and whispered, “J woves you, too.”
Jazarah waved him over and pointed to the page in Max Lucado’s You Are Special where Eli, the woodcarver, explains to the wooden Wemmick Punchinello that the stickers the others use to label him only matter if he lets himself care about them. Greg loved the story’s message, that joy comes from what God thinks of us, not others, and that in His eyes we are all special, regardless of how we look.
When he and Lily bought the book years ago, they knew their daughter would face all sorts of issues and not just because of her race. Being an HIV-positive child would not be a ticket to popularity. But what made Jazarah special was what made her different, and what made her different would make her later question her self-worth. As her parents, Greg and Lily were determined their daughter grow with the conviction that nothing could sway God from loving her. You Are Special became a book that they gave to their own families and many of their adult friends, some of whom apparently either forgot or were never told the message.
His daughter pointed to Paloma’s face, then his, then her own. “No ’tickers!” She grinned as she clapped her hands.
“Come hug me, no sticker girl.” Greg held out his arms, and she reached for him. He gathered her close with her familiar just bathed, lavender soap smell and still damp hair. “Paloma will tuck you in tonight because daddy is going to Aunt Elise’s party.”
Jazarah loosened her arms from around his neck and leaned back against his arms, her brown eyes targeted on his own. “Why?” Her expression, so solemn and yet so parental-like, made him want to laugh.
“Remember Daddy told you about the party to raise money so more mommies and daddies can bring home beautiful little girls like you?”
She glanced up at the ceiling, then back at him. “Uh-huh.”
Greg kissed her forehead, then settled her in Paloma’s lap. “Well, that’s where I’m going. I’ll wake you up in the morning, and we can have pancakes for breakfast.”
She grabbed her quilt and wiggled comfortably back in her reading spot. “Like me?”
He laughed. “Yes, I’ll make ‘J’ pancakes just for you.” One morning he made pancakes in an assortment of alphabet shapes, and they hadn’t been round since. Unless they were the letter “O.”
“Both doses, right?” Greg asked Paloma as he smoothed his daughter’s hair.
She nodded. “Yes, sir. Both on time.”
Even though he asked the question daily, and even though she answered the same daily, Greg appreciated that Paloma responded each time as if his daughter’s required regimen of drugs was new. She knew, because of the drugs she took herself, that missing a dose of antiretroviral therapy or even juggling the times the drugs were administered were the biggest threats to HIV-positive kids. A disruption in the schedule either way could mean chancing the virus would become resistant to the therapy.
“Great. Thanks.” Greg kissed his daughter one more time. “I love you, my special Wemmick.”
She smiled and mashed her quilt against her chest. “Me, too. Forever and ever.”
When Nina entered the Astor Ballroom of the St. Regis Hotel, every notion she had about attending a benefit of this magnitude hid in shame. And she promised herself to never roll her eyes again when someone described an event as “breathtaking.” Well, perhaps if they sounded like Marilyn Monroe when they said it, she might have to reconsider.
The scene before her was spectacular. Tens of thousands of sparkling white lights canopied the ceiling. Huge spindly trees wrapped in the same white lights branched across the room and met one another. Tables were draped in subdued silver cloths of polished cotton. The tailored chair covers matched the tablecloths but were anchored to the chairs with wide white satin ribbons wrapped around the backs and tied with generous bows. Riding the waves of conversations, the stringed music of the violins and harps sailed across the ballroom.
Thanks to Aretha, she didn’t feel at all uncomfortable among the couture collections that surrounded her. Brady did attend, camera in hand, and she could tell by the appraising nod when he walked past her that he didn’t, at first, recognize her. Aretha told her that he turned around, took a few steps toward her, then must have changed his mind because he stopped and headed in his original direction. Nina decided that if their paths did cross again that night, she’d ask him why he wasn’t in New York with Janie scouting out places to live. Between bites of steamed asparagus stems, Aretha warned her that such a question was truly none of her business. “He doesn’t owe you an explanation. And even if he gives you one, I don’t know why you are torturing yourself. If he says there’s no more Janie, are you really interested? And if you are, don’t tell me. I don’t want to lose all respect for you.”
Nina ignored Aretha’s dire predictions. “Let’s go view the quilts before the silent auction ends,” she said.
“I’ll meet you there. I just saw someone I want to say hello to.” Aretha dashed off before Nina had a chance to find out who the someone was.
The quilts were in the adjoining room. They covered every wall and just walking around the room was like stepping inside a giant kaleidoscope with a landscape of fabrics and textures and even dimensional objects. When Elise first gave her the tickets, Nina expected that the auction would feature quilts that memorialized family or friends lost to AIDS. But it was the money raised from the event that would go toward supporting the efforts of the NAMES Project and their ongoing work with the Memorial Quilt. The ones on display that night were sewn by local support groups throughout the Houston area. Nina recognized some of the traditional quilts, classic patchworks with patterns dizzyingly intricate. Lace, beads, even trinkets embellished some of the contemporary quilts.
Nina spotted a quilt whose funky design and colors she was certain Aretha and her little decorator-self would adore. It would be a perfect birthday present for her because Nina knew that it was a luxury she wouldn’t buy for herself right now. Standing in front of the hot pink and lime green paisley print quilt, Nina was the first bidder and realized she had no idea how much she should bid. She looked around for people wearing “We Care” pins, which meant they were volunteers attending the benefit to help with the auction.
A few couples moved past her, and she spotted a lapel pin on the tuxedo of a man who stopped to bid on the giraffe quilt next to her. He was still writing on the bid sheet when she tapped on his shoulder. “Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to bid on this for a friend, and I saw your lapel pin—”
When he placed his pen down on the bid sheet to look up, there was the shock of mutual recognition as Greg Hernandez and Nina O’Malley stood face-to-face.
13
Brady, she expected to see. Greg Hernandez? Not so much.
And Greg Hernandez in a tuxedo? Not so shabby. In fact, she wanted to slap herself for the flicker of warmth she was certain flushed her face. Even if she did find him surprisingly attractive, she certainly did not want him to feel even a stitch of satisfaction to see it reflected in the blush on her cheeks.
They both tripped over their words like wires stretched across their mutual discomfort at finding themselves where they would not have wanted to be.
After swatting a few syllables in one another’s direction, Nina managed a coherent sentence. “I didn’t know you worked here,” she said. Another deserved slap for a ridiculous comm
ent. Aretha, anytime you want to make an appearance and save me would be fine. She shifted her weight ever-so-slightly to give her other foot a reprieve from the tingling that led to total toe numbness and would make a speedy escape improbable. “Volunteer, I meant I didn’t know you were a volunteer.” What she really wanted to say was that she was stunned to find him at an event supporting anything AIDS-related.
“Well, I didn’t know I was one either until a week or so ago,” Greg said. “It’s given me something to do and kept me out of trouble.” He smiled and added, “So far.”
“There you are,” the voice of relief tinged with frustration, sailed above the heads of the cluster of people. It originated from a woman who snaked her way through a cluster of sequined gowns against a backdrop of black tuxedos. Her cropped platinum hair seemed as no-nonsense as the simple black sheath she wore. Nina had heard about the death of his parents, so she knew whoever this was, she wasn’t his mother. Her eyes flickered on Nina for only a moment, then she handed Greg a plastic cup and a bottle of water the size and shape of a coffee thermos. “Who’d want to go hiking with that?” She emphasized that and pointed to the container she’d given him. “Glass water bottles? Better off putting it in a can,” she harrumphed.
Greg laughed. “You’re the queen of practical. Thanks for the water.” He set the cup and bottle down on the table next to them. “Did you need me for anything?”
“Crystal was following me. She had a question about taking orders from people who don’t win the auction.” She looked over her shoulders and back at Greg. “Guess she got sidetracked.” Turning her attention to Nina, she said, “You’re bidding on that one? Good choice,” she said and walked off.
As she threaded her way back through the crowd, Greg watched her and shook his head, an amused smile on his face. “That was Martha. Her group made that quilt. She left so quickly, I didn’t have time to introduce you.”
“Oh, so you’ve been to this benefit before?” Nina said, trying not to lick her dry lips and wondering if her breath reeked of the grilled garlic-infused cilantro shrimp she’d sampled earlier.
Two women who walked over to look at the quilt squeezed past Nina, pushing her within inches of Greg. In high school, she dreamed of being this close to him. Close enough to punch him, which she knew would have hurt her more. Physically. She contemplated other ways of marring the face that so many girls in school wanted pressed against their own. After her brother died, she abandoned what she considered the smoke and mirrors of praying to an invisible God. But the one prayer she let escape her lips was that Greg Hernandez know pain. The gut-altering pain that she experienced.
Greg twisted what, at first Nina thought was a wedding band, but the ring was on his right hand instead of his left. “No, I haven’t. My sister invited me, and Martha, well . . .” He stopped, drank some water, and looked into his cup as if expecting to find the rest of his sentence there. Greg set the cup on the table and when he looked at Nina, he said, “Anyway, I doubt you’re interested in a rambling narrative about how I came about being here. What about you? Were you here last year?”
Nina wished he hadn’t sounded so much like a polite customer service rep, trained to ask scripted questions. Really? This is the second time you’ve seen one another in years. Why are you expecting more than feigned interest? She considered an equally vague answer, but why? What were the odds their ships would dock at the same port? Might as well go for honest. “I wasn’t here before either, and the only reason I’m here tonight is because I’m on assignment. Not that I don’t think this is a worthy cause, but charity events, you know the who’s who doing the what’s what, aren’t the stories I write.” She moved to the side to avoid a possible collision into Greg, letting a couple holding hands and reeking of fresh love walk by. “I’d rather do more investigative reporting. But . . . my editor gave me the tickets. And, she’s not someone I want to annoy by refusing. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt she’s the reincarnation of General Patton, the female version. She’s demanding and driven, and that’s as diplomatically as I can describe her.”
A carousel of expressions moved over Greg’s face as she spoke. From expectant to thoughtful to confused to amused. She didn’t remember being humorous. Perhaps the orchestra tuning up in the ballroom lent a dramatic backdrop to her tale of woe. Otherwise, what was that flicker of a smile?
“Oh, so you’re a reporter. Local news station?” He poured himself more water.
“I’d rather be behind a camera than in front of one. No, I work for a local magazine called Trends. You might not have seen it yet if you just recently moved.”
Greg almost choked trying to swallow his water. “Excuse me,” he coughed out.
Nina opened her purse to find a tissue to hand him when she heard Aretha calling her. “Nina, look who I found.” Her relief withered faster than a Southern girl in the Georgia sun when she looked up to see Elise trailing behind her friend. “Oh, great. Speak of the devil . . .” she said as she handed Greg the only thing she could dredge up, a napkin from Starbucks. “I’ll tell her I’m interviewing you, which, of course, I planned to do next anyway, and maybe she’ll march off in another direction.”
He started coughing again.
If Greg had known that being a volunteer would provide him the front-row entertainment about to unfold before him, he would have signed on without his sister’s persistence.
“If you’re going to be there, you might as well have something to do and not wander around aimlessly,” Elise had told him when she handed over his pin.
At first, he thought it was her ploy to assure that he’d show up. But walking in tonight, he realized that, by giving him a mission for the evening, she saved him from the awkwardness of feeling alone in a room full of people.
He expected to feel a bit awkward without Lily. He didn’t expect that he would feel that way standing near the woman he least expected to see there. What made meeting her all the more uncomfortable was his realization that, even before he knew that he knew her, she’d captured his attention. Greg remembered thinking that only a woman as beautiful as she was self-assured would be able to pull off wearing a quirky, but stunning vintage dress to such an occasion. He would have never guessed that the girl he humiliated on the floor of his high school cafeteria would be the woman admired in the ballroom of a grand hotel.
It was reassuring that she was equally startled to see him. Of course, based on what he suspected was her perception of him—arrogant, spoiled, and unfeeling—her surprise didn’t surprise him. The last time they’d seen one another was her appointment at the vet clinic with her dog, the squirmy dachshund that she’d named after some city. He didn’t have a reason to discuss his daughter or his wife. Had he, she might have been less shocked.
When she started explaining her reason for being at the benefit, Greg thought her working for Elise would be too coincidental. Then, as she continued to talk, the notion became less unlikely. Describing her editor as demanding came close to Elise, but he almost couldn’t stop himself from laughing aloud when she mentioned Trends. Then, as if on cue, his sister appeared. At first, he thought the comedy of errors would be amusing. But seeing the change in Nina’s demeanor, the way she squared her shoulders and tugged on the pearl drop she wore, centering it in the hollow of her neck, he sensed a pending disaster. But the iceberg had moved in too close, and the ship was about to crash.
The petite woman his sister followed scanned him from head to toe, then turned her attention to Nina. “Elise and I bumped into each other at the pasta bar. And almost literally.” She laughed.
Nina did not. With Elise a few steps away, Nina flipped a hand in his direction. “Aretha, this is Greg Hernandez. Aretha is my roommate. And this is—”
“There you are,” said Elise.
Greg glanced at Nina and saw her open her mouth to answer, when Elise added, “Have you seen Peyton? I thought he’d be with you.” Elise peered over her brother’s shoulders as if she’d spot her husband hiding b
ehind him. And before he could reply, his sister looked at Nina. “I’m sorry. I must seem so rude. Aretha told me I had to see your dress. It’s lovely, just as she said.”
Elise placed her hand on Greg’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you knew my brother.”
The words my brother hurtled into Nina and if she didn’t soon salvage the emotional wreckage, she would be crushed beyond recognition. She willed herself into composure, clasped her hands in front of her to still their trembling. Standing between Greg and Aretha, she heard the gasp of one and sensed the flinch of the other. Nina had looked at neither one of the two as her mouth and lips formed syllables into words and pushed them out to answer Elise.
Nina’s face paled and Greg winced when she said, “I didn’t either.”
Elise looked from her to Greg and back again, the question on her face unanswered.
“Excuse me, please. There’s something I must attend to,” Nina said and walked away from her boss, her friend, and her betrayer.
14
Somewhere between moving her arm out of reach of Greg’s grasp, Aretha calling her name, and the ladies’ room, which was her intended destination, Nina slammed into Brady Lambert. Make that Brady Lambert’s camera lens.
She pressed her hands to her throbbing forehead, squeezed her eyes to ease the stinging, and hoped whatever she exclaimed at the moment of the crash didn’t require a censor.
“Whoa! Ma’am, are you okay? I didn’t see you . . . you walked by so fast.”
She felt herself wobble, and Brady placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I just need to sit down . . . somewhere . . . ladies’ room . . .” Something inside her welcomed the pain. It trumped the assault she felt her heart had just taken.
Threads of Hope: Quilts of Love Series Page 7