Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love)

by Ayala, Rachelle

  My pulse vibrates behind my ears and I gasp.

  I don’t know what’s worse, wondering if my father is alive, or noticing Tito Louie using his left hand on the touchpad.

  Chapter 8

  Tito Louie settles down for his afternoon nap. I adjust the oxygen for him and count out his pain pills. “Let’s not think about this Tatay character, okay? He’s probably a stalker, some guy I met in the past.”

  “My wishful thinking.” My uncle stares at the ceiling and sighs deeply. “You do have a lot of stalkers. Maybe you should delete your account.”

  “Probably. I’ll have my lawyer investigate the messages.”

  Louie cradles his head on the pillow. “Say ‘hi’ to your mother for me and give your uncle a hug.”

  I dutifully hug him, and we trade kisses.

  Calming my uncle from the excitement leaves me drained and disoriented. The messages are too detailed, and I’m not at all convinced it’s a random stalker, but at the same time, why give my uncle false hope? I wave goodbye and let myself out the door.

  “Hey, hey!” It’s Cliff escorting another resident to her door. “How’s he doing?”

  “Taking a nap. See you.” I continue down the corridor and take out my cell to call Owen.

  Footsteps follow me. “Vera, you dropped something.”

  Cliff waves a wrapped panty-liner in front of his chest.

  Great. My face heats, and I grab at it, but he moves his arm up and holds it above his head. “I’ll let you have it for a kiss.”

  What elementary school did he play hooky from? Bet they held him back until he outgrew the student desks. I toss my hair over my shoulder and turn away. “Keep it.”

  He drags his sorry self to my side. “Can you autograph it?”

  Ewww! Is he some pervert or what? I snatch it and keep walking. It’s strangely silent behind me. Not hearing his usual footsteps or voice trying to chat me up, I glance back and see him knocking on Tito Louie’s door. What’s his problem?

  I scurry back, my hands in fists, pumping at my side. “Stop disturbing him. He’s sleeping.”

  Cliff slides a greasy smile my direction and wipes his hair from his forehead.

  “It’s my break. Besides, he texted me as soon as you left.” He covers his mouth as if he said something wrong. “I mean, he’s always telling me to hotfoot it to his place. He hates leftovers, you know.”

  I’m not giving an inch, so I block the door. “Let my uncle have his nap. I’m sure he’ll throw a doggy bag out for you.”

  The door opens from behind me and I almost fall in. Tito Louie staggers, and Cliff reaches across me to steady him. I stare from my uncle to Cliff and back, my indignation rising. He tells me he needs to rest when he’s really spending the afternoon with loser boy?

  “Oh, Vera,” my uncle says. “I thought you had to see your lawyer or something.”

  “Lawyer?” Cliff smirks and winks at me. “Call me next time you need someone to bail you out.”

  Tito Louie sucks in a noisy laugh and looks at Cliff indulgently. “Come on in. I left you some shrimp, and there’s quite a bit of chicken and pancit.”

  He waves at me and shuts the door. My jaw must have dropped to my chest. I look around to see if anyone spied my moment of abject humiliation, but the hallway is quiet. What would my uncle have in common with a shaggy-haired, muscle-bound college dropout? Okay, I don’t know he’s a dropout, but I’m not about to credit him with any intelligence.

  ***

  I’m about to ring Owen when Zach calls, his smiling face lighting up my display. I can’t get over his electrifying eyes, blue like aquamarine sea glass. More rugged than a pretty boy, Zach reminds me of a Survivor reality show winner.

  “Hey, how’s your afternoon?” he says, all cheerful.

  “Not bad. I visited my uncle.”

  “Bet you brought food. Is he well?”

  “As well as he can be, and yes, he ate well, too.” I cross through the courtyard and hurry toward my car. Zach seems to call me more often these days rather than text.

  “Care to have dinner with me tonight?” There’s a slight hitch to his otherwise casual voice. “I know you might not be hungry, since you just ate with your uncle.”

  Is this a real invitation? My heart tangles, and I wonder if he’s out of leftovers from the meals I’ve been supplying him.

  “I’ll be over a little later,” I reply, checking the time.

  “Where would you like to go? I’ll make reservations and we can go dancing afterwards.”

  I’m not in the mood for going out, not with worrying about Tatay’s messages and figuring out where they came from. “Maybe we can order pizza and stream a movie?”

  “Nah, that’s boring. There’s a club that meets in a cellar. Ever heard of Salon Electro? Respectable French restaurant on top and dancing underground.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Dancing might be dangerous for him.

  There’s silence, and then he clears his throat. “Why? Because of my leg, or are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

  “No, not at all. Your leg is just a part of you.” I unlock my car and scoot inside.

  “Right, and I’m missing one. It’s fine. I won’t guilt you into a date. Bye.”

  “Zach, I—” Call ended. Did I say something wrong? I take a moment to calm the fluttering in my chest. He seems to be so sensitive lately. I’ll run by his place and check up on him after I call Owen.

  Browsing my YouTube page I note the messages left by Tatay. He started following me a year and half ago, around the time my brother Rodrigo died. A pang catches in my heart, and I lean my forehead on the steering wheel. Rodrigo first, and then Rey a few months after. If Tatay is truly my father, how sad he must feel. Most of the messages were short. “Good job.” “Love this song.”

  My finger stops scrolling. On November 10th, the anniversary of Rey’s death, he wrote:

  My heart aches when you sing Nandito Ako. I wish I could be there for you. R&R. Never forget.

  Had Tito Louie seen the meaning in this? R&R, Rey and Rodrigo. I move to another song, a Christmas playlist. Tatay left another message, this time a happy one:

  Maligayang Pasko, Iha, do you still have Bing-Bing?

  How could it be anyone but Papa? He wishes me a Merry Christmas and calls me Iha, daughter, then asks about Bing-Bing, the blue bear he gave me when I was born.

  I call Owen and tell him about the text messages and YouTube comments. He promises to check on them but thinks they could be pranks from jealous exes, his favorite theory.

  “But who knew about Bing-Bing?” My throat tightens. “Tito Louie pointed that out.”

  “Ah, yes. A clue.” Owen adopts a superior detective voice. “However, as you mentioned, your uncle knew about Bing-Bing. I’m sure your mother does, too.”

  “So? They’d hardly play tricks like this on me. My mother doesn’t want to think about my father, and my uncle’s excited to find him.”

  Owen harumphs and snorts annoyingly. “I’ll put on my private investigator hat and check on the origin of the messages. We’ll install an IP address logger of people who hit your fan page. Why don’t you respond to the messages and ask for comments?”

  “Good idea, but I haven’t been on there in ages. I don’t know what to say.” Life has been a real turmoil this past year and my fantasies of being a YouTube star are on the other side of unrealistic.

  “How about taking suggestions of songs people want to hear?”

  “Sounds good. Can you post for me?” I give him the password to my website. “I hurt Zach’s feelings again.”

  “Do tell.” I hear his feet thump on the desk and his chair creak.

  “I don’t understand him, that’s all. He wants to take me to an electro dance club. Do you know how crowded those places are? I don’t see how he’ll manage with his prosthesis. I told him I’d rather order pizza and stay in, and that upset him.”

  “He wants to impress you, show you he’s
still got the mojo.”

  Owen’s right. Zach’s trying too hard. A lump forms in my throat. “I was being selfish, thinking about my problems.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Owen drawls. “If you don’t want to go dancing with him, how about zydeco night at the Hoot? Best Cajun crawdads west of the Mississippi. I can show you a good time.”

  His antics bring a smile to my face. “You’re sweet, but you and I have a working relationship.”

  “Well, hell-ya! Fire me.” He whoops a rebel yell.

  I’m laughing by now. “No way. Good lawyers are hard to find. Gotta go.”

  “Okay, give Zachy baby a kiss for me. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out about the messages.”

  “Thanks, I totally appreciate it.” I say goodbye and hang up.

  Chapter 9

  Because of the evening rush hour, it takes forty minutes of stop-and-go traffic to get to Zach’s place. The entire way I debated whether to call or surprise him. I’ve ruined the date already, but maybe we can still do something fun after I apologize. I luck out with a parking spot and hurry toward Zach’s unit.

  A middle-aged woman hosing off her walkway nods at me. “He just got back from running. Such a nice young man. Helped me with my groceries.”

  “Thanks.” I smile at her and knock on Zach’s door. My stomach is in knots, and my heart has never beaten so erratically. Why do I care so much? It’s not like I’m in love or anything. I just hate hurting him. And … it’s hard to imagine not being at least friends, even without the benefits.

  The door opens, and Zach stands there with a towel around his waist. His hair is damp, water drips down his chest, and he’s leaning on a single crutch, not wearing his artificial leg. His lips cock to one side. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”

  What’s going on? Is he upset? Joking? Or back to his playboy self? Goosebumps form on his skin, and I quickly step in and shut the door.

  “I came because I thought we could still go dancing.”

  “Too late. I took off my leg, the one you didn’t want to be seen with.” He points to his prosthesis standing by itself on a fake foot enclosed in a running shoe.

  “That’s not what I meant, I was worried, you know, whether you’re ready.”

  Ugh, digging myself deeper.

  His eyebrows draw into a frown. “Let me decide when I’m ready for an activity.”

  “I agree. It’s just that I’m a nurse, and I think of all the things that could happen, and … sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” He opens his arms for a hug.

  I fold my arms around his waist, relieved he’s so forgiving. His damp skin feels velvety under my fingers and for a moment, I want nothing more than to bury my nose into his chest and kiss a trail down his sculpted abs. Swallowing my drool, I push away and stare at the patch of blond hair between his nipples. “What do you want to do now?”

  “Pizza and streaming a movie sound great.” Using a single crutch, he hops to the sofa and props his foot on the coffee table.

  “No, seriously. That’s boring.” I pick up his artificial leg. It’s lighter than I expected. “Is this a new one?”

  “Yep, got it a few days ago. It’s supposed to feel more natural than the starter one I had.”

  “It looks really high tech. What’s it made of?”

  He runs his finger over the dark metallic part where his tibia would have been. “The pylon is carbon fiber composite, and the inside of the foot is an elastic polymer that absorbs and releases energy.”

  “Pretty cool.” I flex the foot and set it on the coffee table. “Is it comfortable?”

  His eyes half-close, and he swallows. He looks at the artificial leg, blinking. Then his face tightens, clouding like a grey shield.

  I’m so insensitive. Of course, it’s not comfortable.

  The last thing I want to do is hurt him so I rise to my feet. “I didn’t mean anything. I should leave.”

  “No, don’t.” His voice catches. “It’s all right.”

  Oh, Zach. He’s more worried about how I feel. I put my arm around his shoulder to comfort him. “I know it’s been hard for you. I can’t even imagine what it’s like.”

  “It’s not so bad. I manage.” He presses both hands over his nose and rubs downward.

  “You can talk to me. I’ll understand.”

  “I don’t want your pity.” He still hasn’t met my eyes, keeping them pinned to the coffee table.

  A lump rises from my chest to my throat. “I admire you. I … I think you’re incredible … to deal with what you’ve been through.”

  He shakes out of my embrace. “I don’t need comforting words. Treat me like you’d treat any other man.”

  “What other man? I haven’t been with anyone since I met you.”

  “I … uh, what did you just say?”

  My pulse skips a beat, and heat flows to my cheeks. The truth is I hadn’t been interested in anyone else, but I don’t want to give Zach the wrong impression.

  “I meant, yes, I’ll act as if you’re like anyone else.”

  He tugs my arm, his expression suddenly serious. “Let’s talk about our relationship.”

  My knees weaken and I sit back down on the couch, hardly able to believe his words. “Relationship” sounds so loaded, scary. The suffocating closeness, opening up emotionally and trusting, being helpless. I can’t get sucked into this. Besides, he’ll be devastated when he finds out how his mother died.

  I try to lighten the mood. “I can’t exactly talk while you’re dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel. You’re too distracting.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” He wipes a hand over his wet hair. “You don’t know how fast I jumped out of the shower when I heard the doorbell. I was hoping it was you.”

  The sincerity with which he says simple things like this spins my heart like a wobbly top. I’m used to guys who play power games and never admit they care.

  “Do you want me to cook?” Food is always my peace offering and I want to make him happy.

  “I promised you pizza and a date.” He gives me a thumb’s up and fumbles on the end table for his smartphone. After ordering the pizza, he grabs his crutch. “I got some of that calamansi juice you like in the fridge. Don’t go anywhere, ’kay?”

  “I’m good.” I watch him hobble to his room, admiring his inner strength. He’s so thoughtful to remember my favorite juice. We can at least stay friends, can’t we?

  After grabbing a can of juice, I turn on the TV to a news station. Despite the images of cars on fire and police in riot gear, I keep thinking about my father, picturing him in a cave overseas living off the land, maybe herding a few goats and trading milk and cheese with villagers for supplies. That is, if he’s alive.

  Zach returns wearing a pair of cargo shorts and an Ironman t-shirt from his last race. He’s still too sexy even with clothes on. I swallow the rest of the juice and turn off the TV.

  The doorbell rings, and Zach hobbles to the door. The delivery man looks him up and down and stammers, “Hey, how’s it going.”

  He hurriedly places the pizza on the kitchen table and seems eager to leave.

  Zach appears unconcerned. He’s counting out the bills and smiling. “Here you go, buddy. Have a nice evening.”

  The pizza is piping hot, topped with pineapple, ham, scallions, and cheese. Zach offers me a piece first, and even though I have no appetite, I pick at it and make a show of eating while he gobbles up two slices and cracks jokes, his Aussie accent thickening at the punch line. “No worries, mate.” “When in Oz, mate.” Strange how the jokes make Australians look like drunks, idiots, and scumbags. Guess it’s reverse national pride, opposite of Filipinos who are proud to be Pinoy.

  Zach’s so easy to hang around with and tonight, he seems determined to show me how comfortable and upbeat he is. But the more he jokes, the more I wonder about a relationship with him, especially one that is exclusive. Even though I hate to admit it, I grew up watching Disney princess movies, and
before my father died, I used to wish upon a star for my very own … never mind.

  “Sure you don’t want more?” Zach pushes another slice my direction.

  “I’m good.” I look at my cell for the time.

  “Anywhere you have to be?”

  “No, just checking messages.” I slip the phone into my purse. “I’m all yours this evening.”

  A grin develops slowly, and he looks genuinely happy. “Let’s not waste any time.”

  Taking a remote, he dims the lights and powers on the stereo. The dulcet tones of 98 Degrees’ “I Do (Cherish You)” fills the living room. He stands and holds out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”

  The music is so romantic. I feel my cheeks lifting with a smile as I take his hand and he wraps me in a smooth embrace. We’re barely swaying to the balmy, slow rhythm. He holds me close and I snuggle into his chest, feeling protected and safe. My body softens against his, and I try not to think where this will lead. He’s here, I’m here, and I think we like each other … for now.

  The song lyrics caress my heart and bathe me with hope. I do cherish Zach, so much.

  Where did that come from?

  I hold him tighter, wanting to disappear in his arms. It’s hard to explain, but I feel closer dancing without steps, hearing his heart beat, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, his soft breath on my hair, more intimate than … I blush, thinking of the ways we’ve used each other before.

  When the song ends, Zach kisses the top of my head. “Bet that’s the first time you’ve danced with a one-legged man. If you can call it dancing.”

  “I loved it,” I murmur. “It’s Zen-like, minimized movement, more in the present.”

  “Nice spin.” He lowers the volume on the stereo and pulls me down to the sofa. He tries to sit on my left, so his complete leg is next to me, but I get up and move to his left. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

  The lyrics of the song we danced to run through my mind and I’m nervous. Did he mean to put that song on, or was it just the next one on his playlist? I’m overthinking this again.