The Highest Bidder

by Chanta Rand

  Lydia had known Max for years and the two hugged gleefully. The others were all strangers in her home, yet Lydia welcomed them like long lost relatives. “Make yourselves at home,” she told the group. “Any friends of Miguel’s are friends of mine.” Lydia offered everyone a glass of Caipirinha, a liquor distilled from sugar cane. It was served with kiwi and pineapple, a delicious combination.

  While the others took a seat on the large, overstuffed couches, Alexa admired the architectural elements of Lydia’s cozy home. The house was richly decorated. Rounded archways and polished, terra cotta tile floors dominated the rooms. Vivid oil paintings covered the buttermilk colored walls, and there were plenty of lush flowers and houseplants. What she liked best were the tiny woodcarvings that peppered the house. She picked one up and marveled at the craftsmanship. “Beautiful,” she murmured.

  “Thank you,” Lydia accepted the compliment. “I carved that myself.”

  “You’re very talented,” Alexa told her. “Obviously, this is more than just a hobby.”

  She grinned. “Yes. This is how I make my living.”

  “Impressive. You have a magnificent home. It love the colors, the art,” she sniffed the air. “Even the smell.”

  Lydia laughed. “What you smell is dinner. Excuse me while I check on it.”

  “Let me help,” Alexa offered, following her to the kitchen.

  “Okay, but I have a confession to make. I can’t take credit for tonight’s dinner. Miguel hired Alejandra, my cook, for me a few months ago. She’s so helpful.”

  “That was sweet of him.”

  “Yes, my brother is a very thoughtful man. Many people don’t know that about him.”

  Alexa followed Lydia into the spacious kitchen. “This is Alejandra,” Lydia proclaimed.

  Alexa stared into the woman’s eyes and instantly felt the spark of recognition. “Mrs. Gonzales?” she probed. “Is that you?”

  “Sí. You surprise to see me?” the woman replied in broken English.

  “Yes, I am,” Alexa confessed. She wasn’t quite sure how to respond. When she’d last seen Mrs. Gonzales, the woman was severely burned on her lower torso. They’d tended to her burns, given her a pain reliever, and allowed her to rest in the recovery room for as long as she wished. When Alexa went to check on her at the end of the day, her friends had already loaded her back into the wagon and taken her home. What was she doing here?

  The woman cleared it up with her next statement. “Doctor Silva rescue me. He come to my house. Tell me I should not stay there. But,” she shrugged, “I have no money. Nowhere else to go.”

  Lydia finished for her. “Miguel promised her a job here, and she’s been with me ever since. She’s learning how to speak English too,” Lydia beamed proudly.

  “Doctor Silva good man,” Alejandra insisted. “The clinic change my life. I work here and go to school to become nurse next year.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Alexa congratulated her. “You will make a great nurse.”

  She smiled. “Ms. Lydia say so too.”

  Alexa was happy for her. Her sole purpose in coming to Brazil was to help women who couldn’t help themselves. She’d spent many restless nights questioning herself and wondering if she’d made the right decision by coming the jungle. Alejandra made her feel like every bad hair day and every mosquito bite was worth it.

  “Come with me, Alexa,” Lydia told her. “I want to show you my studio.”

  Alexa followed as Lydia led her to a workroom in the back of the house. Statues in various stages of completion littered the room. Some were tiny, like the ones she’d seen earlier. Others were large, but no less intricately carved.

  “The quality of your work is outstanding, Lydia. How long have you been carving?”

  “When my husband passed several years ago, I took up woodcarving to pass the time and to keep my thoughts off him. I missed him so much. I felt like I would die of loneliness. Losing someone you’ve loved with every fiber of your being can do that to you.”

  You’re preaching to the choir, girlfriend. I know exactly how you feel.

  “One day, a friend suggested that I take some of my pieces to the mercadão to sell. I sold them all. That’s when the artist in me was born.”

  Alexa walked to the middle of the room where a large table sat covered in wood shavings. Metal chisels, wood hammers, and rubber mallets were haphazardly spread across the tabletop. In the corner, small logs lay nestled against larger chunks of wood. A bust of an old man caught her attention. She picked it up and examined it. The figure had deep eyes and a thick mustache. The detail was so perfect, the wood looked like real skin. Even the folds of his wrinkles looked so soft, she had to touch them to convince herself they weren’t real. The dark wood had been polished until it gleamed with a high shine. Something about it spoke to her heart.

  “I call that one Wisdom,” Lydia told her.

  “I like it. It reminds me of Pawpaw.”

  “Who?”

  “My grandfather,” Alexa explained. “He practically raised me after my parents died.” She couldn’t believe a statue was having such a profound effect on her. She stifled the rising tide of sadness that threatened to swell inside her. She didn’t want to break down crying in front of Lydia. “I love him with every fiber of my being too,” she said simply.

  “It’s yours,” Lydia offered. “I want you to take it home and show it to him.”

  “That might be difficult. He died several months ago.”

  “Oh, my sincerest apologies.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Alexa told her. “He lived a rich, full life.”

  “So, you have no other family back in the States?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And no significant other to return to?”

  Alexa carefully considered her words. “No. Not really.”

  “No? A vibrant woman such as you should have plenty of admirers. Your pretty skin is shiny like a coffee bean. Men in Brazil love coffee,” she hinted.

  Alexa grinned at her suggestion. “Brazil is definitely an enchanting country. My experience here has been one I will never forget. But something tells me my destiny is elsewhere.”

  Lydia nodded thoughtfully. “You are a beautiful person inside and out, Alexa. Miguel has told me how much he admires you.”

  Alexa smirked. “He didn’t seem to admire me the first day we met. He treated me like a flunkey until I called him on it.”

  “He was just feeling you out,” Lydia said in defense of him. “He likes strong women.”

  “He called me cabeçudo.”

  “Oh, now I know he likes you. He often uses that as a term of endearment.”

  “Well, I didn’t feel so endeared when he said it.”

  “Don’t you think he’s attractive?”

  The question caught her off guard. “Well, yes...of course. But …”

  “But what?”

  “He’s my boss.”

  “So?” she shrugged, as if Alexa had just predicted another day of rain.

  “So, I can’t date my boss.”

  “Who says?”

  “It’s just not a proper thing to do.”

  “Maybe not in America,” Lydia accused. “Things are different here.”

  “So, I’ve learned,” Alexa said dryly.

  “You will give him beautiful babies.”

  “Excuse me?” she nearly choked on her words. “Miguel and I are only co-workers, Lydia. There’s nothing between us.”

  “Maybe you have your heart set on someone else?” Lydia asked.

  Alexa shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Love grows on you. Miguel is a good match for you. You can have a very comfortable relationship. Just think about it,” she said as she left the room.

  Comfortable? Alexa wasn’t sure of much in this world, but she knew she didn’t want comfortable. She was tired of settling for ordinary. She deserved more. And despite the pain she’d been through with Tristan, she’d rather take a chance on passion an
d get her heart broken than settle for comfortable any day of the week.

  * * *

  Dinner was simple, but delicious. The dining room table was laid out with risoto, a dish of chicken cooked with rice and vegetables, broa, a type of corn bread, garlic potatoes, collard greens, and for dessert, freshly sliced papayas. After everyone had eaten their fill, Lydia honored them by playing a tune on her grand piano. As her fingers expertly danced over the black and white keys, a soul-stirring melody slowly began to emerge. Alexa was not a fan of classical music, but something about the song struck a chord with her. It was hauntingly beautiful. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. It was uniquely Brazilian, cradling her in a sweet blanket of rhythm.

  If music could soothe the savage beast, then this song would tame a wild lion. Or a savage predator. The song made her think about another type of Predator. As usual, her thoughts drifted to Tristan. In Brazil, everyone loved Futbol, otherwise known as soccer. No one really played the American style of football. She knew the regular season was over in the States by now. She wondered how well the Predators had done. Had they made the playoffs? Did Tristan have a good season? Had it been easy for him to forget about her and go back to his glamorous world of cleats and million-dollar endorsements?

  Who cares? You’re not supposed to be thinking of him.

  I know, but I can’t help it.

  A loud thundering of applause brought her back to reality. Lydia’s song was over and apparently, it had moved everyone in the group. They were clapping in appreciation. “Oh, that was such a sad song,” Lydia admitted. “Let’s see if I can get us back into a cheerful mood. She thought for a minute. “I’m going to play a song every American should know.” She changed tactics and began fiercely pounding on the keys. This time, the air filled with the familiar sounds of Happy Days Are Here Again.

  The song was ridiculously simple, but most of the guys in the group butchered the lyrics. Fueled by full bellies and way too much Caipirinha, they all sang loudly, unaware of their errors. Nobody cared anyway. Everyone was too busy having a good time. Tomorrow they’d be on their way back home, halfway across the world. Alexa felt that old sense of sadness tiptoe through her again. While everyone else was singing, she quietly drifted out onto the terrace. A warm breeze kissed the tops of her shoulders and ruffled the hem of her sundress.

  “So, this is where you are hiding,” she heard a voice tease. Dr. Silva had followed her. He looked cool and relaxed in his dark slacks and aqua-colored polo shirt. She could see his curly chest hairs peeping from the top of his shirt.

  “I’m not hiding,” she told him. “I’m just getting some fresh air and enjoying my last night in Brazil.”

  “That’s precisely what I wanted to talk to you about.” He stood next to her. “What if there was an opportunity for you to stay in this country?” he asked.

  She frowned. “But how? The grant money has dried up.”

  “You would be living here in a different capacity.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” she told him. “If I’m not working at the clinic, what would my role be?”

  He took her hands in his. “You would have the pleasure of being Mrs. Miguel Silva.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You want me to be your wife?”

  “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  She pulled her hands from his. Her mind was spinning from his revelation. A range of emotions catapulted through her head as she considered the full effect of his proposal. She measured her words carefully before responding. “Maybe we’ve gotten our signals crossed somewhere. Have I given you any indication that I’m romantically interested in you?”

  “No,” he confessed.

  “Then, what makes you think I’m interested in being your wife?”

  “I’d make a good husband for you. I would treat you right and love you the way you deserve. I have a home in the U.S. so when you get homesick, we can visit. I would take good care of you. You would never have to work again.”

  “I like working. I heal people for a living. There’s no better reason to be alive for me.” She shook her head sadly. “The fact that you would ask me to marry you when you have no clue of who I am just blows me away.”

  “I know you well enough, Alexa.” He gave her a determined look. “I know you’re smart and caring. I know the patients trust you. I know the MOG group respects you. I know you have a bold personality. Just being around you excites me. You are sensible, and you don’t get caught up most of the frivolities that other women indulge in. That is all I need to know.”

  She was going to have to set this fool straight. Six months in the Jungle did not make him a Alexa Kennedy expert. “What’s my middle name?” she asked.

  “I do not know,” he admitted.

  “What’s my favorite color?”

  “Yellow?”

  “No, it’s red. What type of music do I like?”

  He shrugged. “Jazz?”

  “Wrong again, Miguel.”

  He shrugged. “You are focused on inconsequential things. In time, I can learn everything you want me to know about you.”

  “Gee, how romantic,” she said sarcastically.

  He frowned. “I never figured you for the romantic type.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit of a cynic when it comes to romance. I’m not the type of woman who waits for her knight in shining armor to come. I believe fifty-dollar roses are a sham, and I believe expensive weddings are a waste of money. But I do believe in true love and passion. And those two things are noticeably absent with us. I’m just not willing to enter into any marriage under those circumstances.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I think you are making a mistake, Alexa. Love will come later. For now, you should live in the moment, for tomorrow is not promised.”

  The last time she lived in the moment, she had her heart tragically broken. “I respect you as a professional. But my personal feelings toward you are not mutual. I’m sorry.”

  “I guess you’ve made up your mind.” He flashed her his charming Mr. Hyde smile. “But if you won’t marry me, will you at least let me warm your bed?”

  She laughed at his candor. The man was persistent until the very end. “Honestly, I can get a space heater to do that.”

  “Oh well,” he shrugged. “You can’t blame a man for trying.”

  In an attempt to soothe his ego, she caressed his cheek. “I will tell you this,” she confessed, “You’ve made me feel more desired than I’ve felt in years. For that, I thank you. Next time I’m in a Brazilian jungle, I’ll look you up.”

  He chuckled. “Okay, Dr. Kennedy. That’s good enough for me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When Alexa arrived on U.S. soil, it was February. Dallas hadn’t changed much in six months. The one exception was the weather. When she left, it was the end of summer. White shorts were in season, mosquitoes were feasting on unsuspecting humans, and a drought ordinance was in effect. Now it was winter. Well, it was the closest thing you could get to winter in north Texas. A few hard-nosed Yankees from Chicago or New York would still be running around wearing short sleeves. But for her, fifty degrees was cool enough. She didn’t like cold weather. That’s why she lived in Texas.

  She took her time getting to the baggage claim. International flights were notorious for taking a lifetime to unload. No use in rushing. She’d left Brazil carrying far more than she’d arrived with. There were sentimental things she didn’t want to part with, like the fishing rod Gary made for her, the pair of rubber boots she used in the garden, and some handcrafted jewelry she bought in the Brazilian mercadão. Also, before she left, Lydia gave her the large carving of the wrinkled, old man. It was so big she couldn’t fit it into any of her suitcases. She had to purchase an extra bag just so she could take it on the plane.

  She’d wanted to bring some sweet mangoes and beans and rice back to Dallas, but that was a strict no-no. She�
�d already been warned that bringing food and plants from other countries into the U.S. was absolutely forbidden. That was probably how worldwide epidemics got started.

  She could just imagine some well-meaning tourist bringing an innocent-looking flower back that was not native to the states. Then, catastrophe struck when the flower turned out to be a form of bacteria that shed poisonous spores. The entire human race would be infected and subsequently turned into zombies, like the living dead. That’s probably what really happened to the dinosaurs too. They were rendered extinct by a traveling caveman with an algae sandwich. It had to be a man. Men were always screwing up the world.

  “Alexa!” she heard Viola call her name. Her friend had changed since she’d seen her last. She was slimmer and she had a new hairdo. Through their frequent letters, she’d discovered that Viola was going through menopause and that she’d cut her hair off.

  “You look great!” Alexa said, hugging her tiny frame.

  “Good Lord, I wish I could say the same for you. What the hell happened in Brazil?”

  Alexa laughed as she remembered that she still wore her hair in a frizzy ponytail. “Hair just really didn’t seem important compared to everything else I was working on. I helped so many women, and I learned how to fish and speak Portuguese.”

  “That’s impressive. Did you learn how to say ‘beauty salon’ in Portuguese?”

  “No,” She grinned. “But I know how to say it in English. After I get settled in, I promise that will be my first stop.”

  “Good.” Viola patted her short bob. “In fact, I may just go with you. Between my work schedule and taking care of your errands, I haven’t had any extra time to myself.”

  Alexa had paid her rent six months in advance, but she’d still made arrangements for Viola to take care of the things she couldn’t handle long-distance. “Did you pick up my mail?” Alexa asked.

  “Yes, I checked it every day. You have a stack of it sitting on your dining room table.”

  “Did you feed my fish?”

  “Yes, every week.”