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

by Ayala, Rachelle

  “Come, Vera.” Dr. Apodaca’s dry voice prods me. “Your mother gave me permission to speak for her.”

  She places her hand on my shoulder. Her scent of rosewater and dust evokes memories of the many afternoons I spent in her office playing dolls and drawing pictures. My mother couldn’t have afforded her hourly fee, and I realize she’d been babysitting me because she cared about me.

  We walk toward the gates and sit in the shade of the fir trees. I glance at the doctor, and she has tears in her eyes.

  “Your mother was a seventeen-year-old girl,” she says. “Her family was very wealthy. They were diplomats and lived in Makati, Forbes Park. Her name at the time was Maria with a long list of surnames tacked on, all indicating her pedigree back to the Spanish conquerors. She was devoted to God and wanted to serve Him in the convent, and her parents were overjoyed with her choice. But she had one wish—to learn a musical instrument. She loved the sound of the mandolin. Louie was an instructor for Lillian Morelli, wife of an American diplomat and owner of Morelli Vineyards in Napa Valley.”

  No wonder Owen told me the name of the old winery was significant, the one Mrs. Spencer inherited from her first husband. Why hadn’t I put it together? I had cut him off with some rambling about Zach’s father extorting Mr. Ping’s vineyard.

  Dr. Apodaca continues. “Lillian introduced Louie to your mother.”

  I’m confused about the linkage. My uncle said he dated an American woman, a married one. I clap my hand over my forehead. Had Felipe adopted Cliff? Taken the baby my uncle had with Lillian as his own? Which means Cliff is my half-brother?

  “Are you listening?” Dr. Apodaca taps my shoulder.

  “Oh, yes, please. I want to know what happened.”

  “As I was saying, your uncle was nineteen years older than your mother, and he took advantage of her. Maybe it was date rape, maybe your mother was seduced. She was underage, and Filipino law at that time specifies statutory rape if the man is more than ten years older. This is where your father stepped in. He was only nine years older than your mother.”

  I’m hearing all these words and not quite processing it, not believing my father could be either so noble or so stupid. He must have really loved my mother. Or was it the love for his brother that compelled him?

  “Why did my mother’s family allow the marriage?”

  “They didn’t. Lillian Morelli spirited all three of them away in a US Embassy jet. She was involved with Louie and wanted to save his skin. Your parents and uncle were and still are illegal aliens.”

  Someone once told me they were illegal, but I can’t remember who. Was it Cliff or Zach?

  “Do the police know? I hope they won’t be deported.”

  “Let’s not worry about it right now,” the doctor replies. “I have to give you more background on Louie and why your father risked his neck to cover for him.”

  “Okay, please continue.” I stretch and take a deep breath to relieve the pressure pushing down on my belly. Everything feels surreal, as if this were someone else’s story, not mine.

  “Louie is part Japanese. I know it’s not a big deal to you, but he was born in 1946 after the Japanese withdrawal.”

  “Japanese?” No wonder my mother’s always referring to the mysterious Tsinoy relatives I’ve never met, taught me how to cook Chinese food. She was trying to hide my Japanese ancestry.

  “Yes,” Dr. Apodaca says. “It was a shame for a Filipina to have been used as a comfort woman by the Japanese soldiers. That’s why Louie’s mother hid him. He spent the first ten years of his life locked in a closet.”

  My poor uncle. This explains why my father couldn’t allow him to be jailed. Ten years with no motherly love, no comfort, feeling scared and lonely, rejected. I dab at my eyes. “My father’s nine years younger. Did his mother change her mind when Papa was born?”

  “Not exactly. Family tradition has it one of your grandmother’s servants left your father in the bathtub when he was a baby. Louie would listen to your father babble and play with his toys. One day, he heard no sounds. He screamed and pounded on the closet door, but no one came. In a fit of strength, he broke through the door and found your father face down in the tub. By the time the servants arrived, he had revived your father. Everyone said he was a hero, and your grandmother let him out of the closet on the condition that one of the servants claim him as her son. The maid who was responsible for bathing the baby stepped forward. After your father was old enough, Louie told your father he was his brother, and his adoptive mother confirmed it, but to her dying breath, his own mother denied him.”

  “That was so unfair. It must have been hard for my uncle.” My biological father. A shockwave thuds in my gut. I pinch the bridge of my nose, my head starting to throb. Everything’s pouring over me, too much to absorb. “Why did Papa cover for him and marry Mama?”

  Dr. Apodaca rubs my shoulder. “He loves her so much, he never wanted this secret to come out. He married her and took you as his own daughter. He knew if Mrs. Spencer’s murder went to trial, the blood evidence would point to Louie, and everyone would know you’re Louie’s daughter.”

  “I can’t believe it!” I clench my fists. “I know it’s a shame, but why did my father waste all these years covering for a crime he didn’t commit?”

  “Louie saved his life.” Dr. Apodaca pats my back. “There’s family honor, too. But no matter what, your parents and uncle love you very much.”

  “I don’t know what to think.” My shoulders quake and I dig my fingers into the pressure points on my temple.

  So much has been dropped on me. My father’s not my father. Zach has a half-brother. And Cliff? He’s the motive for this entire mess, the baby Mrs. Spencer gave away. But who fathered him? My uncle or Felipe?

  We walk back to her office. Owen is waiting on the porch, and I can tell by the serious expression on his face that he’s deep in thought trying to figure out the mystery.

  After I say goodbye to the doctor, he takes my arm. “We should compare notes and figure out who the killer is.”

  “Exactly what I’m thinking.” I fish for a notepad from my purse. “My father’s off the list. He thought my uncle did it and covered for him. But my uncle doesn’t have blue eyes and both Felipe and Zach’s father have blue eyes.”

  Owen walks with his hands behind his back, his head lowered. “There’s one thing that bother’s me.”

  “What’s that?”

  He taps his head. “I reviewed the transcript of your recording. In it, Felipe said the killer dropped the knife at your feet, but you said the killer stabbed your bear, Bing-Bing.”

  “So?”

  “This is significant. Think.” He rubs the mustache he’s growing.

  That’s Owen again. The next thing out of his mouth is going to be about the little grey cells.

  “I have no idea.” I spy my parents walking around the fountain, hand in hand.

  “It’s obvious.” His bright blue eyes shimmer with self-satisfaction. “To stab the bear, the killer had to have touched it. Grabbed it, like he did the ball. You say he threw the ball. It probably landed somewhere in the greenhouse, and he was able to clean it or dispose of it, but the bear!”

  “What about the bear?” I play the role of innocent ingénue to his Inspector Columbo.

  “He made a mistake. You see? He touched the bear and left his fingerprints or his blood. But then you took the bear. He had to get that bear back, how?”

  “Stop quizzing me and tell me.” I cross my arms. He’s channeling Hercule Poirot, egg-shaped head included, but I’ll go along with it. Let him figure it out, including all the dramatics.

  “He follows you and your father. He doesn’t know where you’re going, but he has to get that bear. When he sees the drama on the bridge, he stops his car. You’re holding onto your father, the bear’s paw clenched in your hand. He grabs you from your father and takes the bear from you.”

  “Okay … so why is the bear sitting on my bookcase with a video
camera in his belly?”

  “Big mistake. The killer’s son hears about this bear, how it belonged to little Vera. The son thinks it’s funny to plant the bear on your bookcase.”

  “Who? Cliff or Zach?”

  “You already know.” Owen stops under a willow tree. “Who was at your mother’s house recently? Who texted you to bring your bear to the bridge?”

  And who’s into hidden cameras?

  “Cliff!”

  Owen nods slowly. “I’m going to speak to him, with the detective’s permission. He’s behind all of this. From the fake postcards to the text messages, the YouTube posts mentioning Bing-Bing. I’m betting his father told him everything, every detail except one.”

  Owen pauses to allow me to ask, “Which one?” even though I know by now.

  “That he was the killer. If Cliff is Mrs. Spencer’s son, which I’m 99% sure he is, then Cliff would inherit the properties from Lillian Spencer’s estate. But in order to get the property away from Zach’s father, they have to prove he committed murder, since a murderer can’t benefit from his crime. Which is where you come in.”

  “You’re right.” I clasp my cheeks. “Cliff’s father, Felipe, wanted me to pin it on Zach’s father, then when I balked, he called me a double crosser. He killed Mrs. Spencer because she gave their child away for adoption.”

  “Right, which means Cliff was disinherited.” Owen points to his head again. “I figured it all out. Let’s see how long it takes the detective to retrace all the steps my little grey cells have already taken.”

  Relief bathes me with a sheen of sweat. Cliff is not Tito Louie’s son. He’s not my half-brother, but unfortunately still Zach’s.

  “I have to tell Zach.” My fingers are tingling. It’ll give me an excuse to talk to him.

  “You sure you want to tell him about his mother?” Owen places an arm around my shoulder. “You still care about him, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ll always care for him.” I disengage from Owen.

  “Ah, your parents are coming,” he says, looking toward the street. “I’m glad your father and uncle are innocent. Talk to you later.”

  He waves to my parents and walks to his car. I run toward my father and mother and throw myself into their arms. “I love you two, so much.”

  “You know everything? Do you forgive us?” Papa says. So much love beams from his face, love for both me and my mother.

  “I do, now I know it’s better not to have secrets.” It’s a bitter lesson to learn after losing Zach. If he loves me without truly knowing me, it’s not me he loves but an illusion.

  After seeing my parents to their car, I take a long walk and sit under a tree overlooking a small pond. Ducks dip happily in the reeds, and tiny birds flitter and sing. I’m so drained I feel like I’m floating outside of my body. I’m almost happy. My parents love each other. My family is innocent of murder. But Zach. Would he give me another chance?

  There’s only one thing to do. Cliff had forwarded the dirty picture to me before leaving for Australia. Maybe he sent it to Zach, too. Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter. I have to come clean.

  I bring up Zach’s contact and send the picture to him with a message: No more secrets. When a Filipina gives you her heart, it’s forever.

  Chapter 33

  The Embarcadero is blustery, as usual. Lucas gestures for Maryanne and me to follow him to Pier 39, one of the most visited destinations in San Francisco. He has Emma tight and snuggly in a front baby carrier, and I bet he has a surprise for Maryanne. This is their first Valentine’s Day together as a couple, and February 14 was supposed to be Emma’s due date. Even though she was severely premature she’s caught up and is weaning off tube feeding, which makes it easier for Maryanne to go on outings.

  Sure enough, we stop at a chocolate shop.

  “Buy both you girls something,” Lucas says and snuggles the baby. “But you, little Emma, you’ll have to wait. I meant your mother and Tia Vera.”

  “Oh, don’t. I’m not your Valentine.” I’m just the third wheel with no prospect of a Valentine, ever.

  “I insist.” He drags me and Maryanne, one with each arm, and propels us through the doorway.

  “Hey, he’s treating, go for it.” Maryanne points to the counter. Heady, dark, and velvety scents drift from the samples and freshly baked goods. She leafs through the gourmet display. “San Francisco, Zurich, Chicago, Brussels or Paris?”

  All I have is Australia on my mind and a certain Aussie with dirty blond hair and the bluest eyes this side of the bay. I’m drawn to a piece of chocolate shaped like a boomerang with the Southern Cross stamped on the wrapper. Not long ago, I had lain in his arms while he showed me the constellations: the pointer stars, the heart of the Milky Way, and how to trace a line to the South Pole.

  He never replied to my text message—not that I really expected him to. Oh, I hoped, like all women hope, but this chocolate bar would be as close as I’ll ever get to Zach Spencer. Maryanne and Lucas chitchat in the next aisle. She’s wheedling him about two boxes and joking about all the shades of chocolate from white to milk to dark.

  “Something I can help you with, luv?” A deep honeyed voice vibrates close to my ear, and a set of cowboy boots appear in my field of vision. My heart and stomach fight to see how many butterflies they can expel, but I keep calm outwardly.

  “I was wondering how genuine this chocolate is.” I show him the boomerang-shaped bar. “Is it true blue Aussie, or imitation?”

  “As true and as blue as my eyes.” Zach grins that half-cocked panty-vaporizing smile. “When an Aussie gives you his boomerang, it’s forever. No secret.”

  Tears of joy seal the jagged cracks in my heart and I float into his arms. He sweeps me up and places me on the counter, right in front of all the tourists and kisses me hard, deep, and throbbing.

  People whip out their cell phones and gesture toward us.

  Zach turns to the gathering crowd and says, “Who’s going to help me? I’m about to stake my claim.”

  The crowd cheers, “Go, go, go, go.”

  “Zach, what are you doing?” I hide my face behind the boomerang bar, hardly able to breathe.

  He grins and blows me a kiss. The man behind the counter gives Zach a large globe, dark blue in a golden stand with all the continents upside-down. Each country is a precious stone: jade, lapis, mother of pearl, turquoise, agate, onyx and jaspers of all colors. Antarctica is white quartz and lies on top.

  “My world for your heart, darling.” He takes my hand and turns past Australia, moving my finger toward the equator to a cluster of shiny gems. “The best place on earth.”

  The entire Philippine archipelago glitters and sparkles, large and small stones shooting shafts of multicolored light. Diamonds.

  “Pull out the biggest island,” he says.

  “My ring!” It slides out of a specially made slot.

  Zach drops to his knees and the brightest, most electrifying set of blue eyes embrace me with out-of-this-world adoration. “Marry me, Vera, mine. And please, don’t embarrass me in front of all these people.”

  “Say yes, say yes, say yes,” voices around me chant.

  I let Zach slip the ring on my finger and hold up my hand. When I open my mouth to speak, the silence in the shop is like a collectively held breath.

  “Yes, I will.” Staring deep into the blue pools of his eyes, I sing “Bakit Labis Kitang Mahal (Why do I Love You So Much?).”

  Epilogue

  One year later, Spencer Island, Australia

  The tin shed is surrounded by fluffy waves of tussock grass. Zach drops his loaded backpack and cracks open the screen door. He pulls out two new camp cots and places them on the shady side of the hut.

  I let the diaper bag slide from my shoulder and unwrap Lilibeth from the Snugli baby carrier. Her little fists are tight, and her mouth is making sucking motions.

  “I know, sweetie. Mummy was seasick and you missed your feeding.”

  Her big brown eyes en
gage with mine as I unbutton my nursing blouse. Oh, what the heck. I’m on a deserted island, so I peel the whole thing off and let her latch on. Her eyes close contently and soon, she’s suckling and making tiny cooing sounds.

  Zach drags out a two-man tent and works on setting it up. He and my brothers came yesterday and stocked the hut with camping supplies, ensuring Zach and I will celebrate our anniversary in luxury and style.

  Warm and cozy feelings flood me as I nurse my daughter. Nothing has prepared me for the tides of love and closeness this little one brings. From her dark brown curls, to her blushing cheeks, to her tiny rosebud mouth, she is cuteness from head to toe.

  A lusty yowl has Zach rising to his feet and unbuckling his baby carrier. “Hey, your son’s hungry, too.”

  “Bring him over.” I raise one arm toward my sweet little guy. His twin sister’s pretty much emptied my left breast, but I’ve got one more.

  Zach trades babies with me and wrinkles his nose. I get the feeding, and he gets the changing. Pretty fair deal, if you ask me. He kisses Lilibeth’s nose and burps her while I turn to my other side and put Ry in position.

  “You have any kisses left for me?” I feign a pout after he’s done with the diaper change.

  He shoves the soiled one in a garbage bag that we’ll remove from the island and gives me a teasing kiss, one promising upcoming delights.

  Ry’s not a quiet nurser. He’s grunting and slurping and upset that the milk isn’t squirting fast enough. His face is beet red, and he clenches his fists and kicks as if he’s fighting me. Unlike Lilibeth, he’s bald with faint traces of blond fuzz and has grey-blue eyes. Somehow down the line I must have gotten a blue-eyed gene, maybe from one of my Spanish ancestors. However, his coloring favors my side, a golden tan compared to Lilibeth’s milky white.

  Zach kneels at the side of the cot and embraces us in one swoop, making sure to shower me with more kisses.

  “Think we’ll take this bunch to the cove tonight?”