Manila Marriage App

by Jan Elder

  13

  After a long day of wending our way through hundreds of stalls, I couldn’t wait to get back to Timothy’s place. I’d scored plenty of treasure—a chic new pair of shoes, a silk blouse and scarf, inexpensive jewelry—including a pair of genuine pearl earrings that had been calling my name—and several carved wooden animals for my nieces and nephew.

  Timothy had purchased a striking pair of brass bookends in the shape of horse heads. His choice fit him to a tee. Practical and gorgeous at the same time.

  While at the bazaar, I had to work to keep up with Timothy’s brisk pace. The man was not a natural browser, although, he’d tried. He was quite patient with my wandering, but his way of shopping employed the hunt and kill method. He searched for what he wanted, and when he found it, he was done.

  We sped down the road, and I sank lower in the seat with every mile. I hadn’t been feeling myself for hours, and I was tired, sweaty, and faintly nauseated. Must have been that horrible humidity.

  By the time we made it back to the apartment, I was finished for the day. Collapsing on the couch, I tried not to focus on how my head was splitting, the throbbing behind my eyes relentless. My calves ached, and my back throbbed as if someone were punching me—from the inside.

  Timothy eased down in the chair next to the sofa, studying me. I pretended not to notice and rolled over on my side, shielding my face from the glimmers of sunlight streaming through the window. Everything was so bright. The light in the room hurt my brain.

  A cool hand touched my forehead, his fingers brushing hair away from my face. “You’re hot. Do you want some pain reliever?”

  “No. I’ll be fine. Just need to lie down for a while.” OK, so I was lying, but it took too much effort to tell the truth. I shifted my hips and tried in vain to find a comfortable position. “I’m not very hungry, though. Could we postpone dinner, again?”

  “Sure. We’ll make it another night. Can I get you anything at all? You should be over your jet lag by now. Maybe you’re getting sick.”

  “Maybe,” I mumbled. A burning need to discover some answers surfaced. Tonight, he was not going to get away again. So what if I was melting into the sofa fabric? Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I shivered, as drippy as an icicle lost in the desert. I worked to sit up and managed to prop myself up with some throw pillows. I refused to give in to this. “Timothy?”

  He squatted down next to me, and seized my fingers, his huge hands swallowing mine. Gently, he rubbed my wrist with his thumb. “Yes?”

  My heart hammered, his nearness filling me with the desire to get closer. Did I detect a trace of cologne? Was he wearing the super-expensive Italian scent for me? I resisted the pull. We had issues to discuss. Moistening my lips, I battled to form words. “Why…why don’t you like blondes?”

  Timothy laughed as he lost his balance, bottom hitting the floor. He reached over and curled a lock of my hair around his fingers. “Still on that subject, are we? I love your hair. I was taken aback. That’s all.”

  “But why does it matter?”

  Folding his legs under him, he sat at my feet. He could make himself comfortable anywhere. “I wasn’t sure if the board of directors would agree you’d make a good wife.”

  OK, this was confusing. My fuzzy head was having a hard time focusing. “But I don’t get it. What does my hair color have to do with your directors? Why would they possibly care?”

  “I was expecting a shy, mousy, computer nerd the board would approve of. You’re way too beautiful to be a missionary’s wife, or I’m guessing they might think so.”

  Floored, I didn’t know how to respond. My head tilted of its own accord, making the room spin. He’d said I was beautiful? That first day we met I’d been a mess—peas in my hair, mismatched clothes, not to mention showing all the grace of a lumbering rhino. A tear leaked from the corner of my eye. At the military cemetery, he’d called me a jasmine blossom, and now he thought I was beautiful. Another tear skated down my cheek. I prayed he didn’t see. It wouldn’t do to be categorized as a foolish female. “But I sent you a picture of me. You were aware of what I looked like even if I did have brown hair.”

  “Don’t you remember the picture you sent me? You were at a Halloween party, dressed up in a calico cat costume. I liked your silly grin—even with the whiskers. OK, you were cute with the whiskers, but I couldn’t tell much else.”

  If my face wasn’t flushed already, I’m sure it would have colored then. “I’d forgotten. Brianna wanted me to send you a professionally posed photograph, but at the last instant, I was feeling defiant and chose the most unflattering picture I could find.” I deliberated a second and then asked, “So why did you want to see a picture of my mother?”

  “It seemed the sensible thing to do. I figured seeing a photo of your mom might give me a glimpse into your future. If I was going to wake up next to you for a lifetime, I was hoping you’d be at least somewhat attractive.”

  Wake up next to me for a lifetime? A quiver raced across my shoulders and shimmied down my back. This time the warmth enveloping me wasn’t because of a possible fever. I crooked my head to see the portrait of Timothy’s mother on the wall. “No one could compare to your mother’s beauty.”

  Timothy kissed the palm of my hand. “You can.”

  If he’d been Blaine, I might have suspected the compliment was a line, but I didn’t think Timothy could ever be insincere. If he said it, he meant it.

  I breathed in, coughed, and swallowed. My throat was so sore I was having trouble talking. “Could I have some water?”

  He hurried to the kitchen and returned with a glass of ice water. Placing an arm behind my back, he helped me sit up so I could take a big drink. Then he settled down next to me on the couch, extending his muscular legs out in front of him.

  He’d make a great father. Kids would feel safe with him and be enchanted by his caring, protective nature. Without question, Pinky had responded to him with adoration. And when his dark hair fell over his brow, as it did now, he was so engaging; children would be drawn to him in droves.

  Yet being this near to him unsettled me, turning my resolve to mush. I was leaving soon. I didn’t want to fall for this man. Powerless to resist, I reached over and brushed the hair out of his stormy gray eyes.

  His arm slipped around my shoulders. Pulling me close, he leaned in for a soft, gentle kiss. If I were the dramatic type, moonlight and romance might have come to mind. Since I wasn’t that sort, I puffed out a modest gasp. The mystifying man had made a move!

  I pulled back slightly and touched his check. “As delightful as that was—and believe me it was delightful—I really could be contagious.”

  “Don’t care.”

  My eyes widened as he cupped the back of my neck, wove his fingers in my golden latte hair, and drew me still closer. This time his kiss wasn’t sweet, or shy, or the least bit timid. This time, when his lips met mine, he kissed me with a touch of passion, just enough to let me know he was indeed attracted to me.

  I offered him my sweetest smile. “Nice.”

  He leaned his head back, his arm still tight around my shoulders. “Yeah. Nice.”

  Too nice. Plus, I didn’t want him getting any more germs. I enjoyed the thrill another moment, disengaged, picked up my glass, and sipped my water. “OK, let’s go over this again. I didn’t follow directions and failed to send a picture of my mother, you couldn’t really tell from the photo I sent you if I was an ogre or not, and I said no to the question on whether I’d submit a sample of my cooking upon request.”

  “All true.”

  “And what’s the deal with questions twenty-seven and twenty-nine?” I’d been wondering about that for weeks.

  “Huh? Hold that thought. I can do better than water.” He ambled into the kitchen and came back with two glasses of juice, a bowl of fresh cubed pineapple, and two forks. Then he sat down next to me and moved close.

  I speared a bite of pineapple and tasted a burst of sweet deliciousness.
“Wow. Way better than what we get at home. Now, we were having a discussion on your confounded marriage application. Question twenty-seven. Have I ever been camping and did I like it? As you might recall, I answered yes, I have, and no, I didn’t. Question twenty-nine. Have I ever wanted to ride a…what did you call it…a caribou? So what’s the deal? No I have never wanted to ride a caribou.”

  “Carabao, not caribou. A caribou is a reindeer. A Carabao is a Filipino water buffalo.”

  I arched my eyebrows and dissolved into laughter. “OK, have it your way. Carabao. Since when has a desire to camp or the ability to ride wild beasts been a requirement for marriage?”

  “They aren’t. However, my job requires some travel on occasion, and accommodations are often rustic. Strange food could end up on the dinner plate, or creepy crawlies might sneak into your tent. The woman I marry needs to be aware of what she’s in for, and be able to cope. As to the water buffalo, I threw that one in for fun. They’re quite docile.”

  I adored the humorous side of him. “I’m sure you were overjoyed, then, to hear I didn’t freak out when I met George, the gecko. And except for huge, hairy spiders, I get along well with God’s great animal kingdom. As to riding a smelly buffalo, I’m sure I’d survive.”

  What was I doing? I sounded like I was trying to win his approval. Worse, I sounded like I was interviewing for the wife position. “Getting back to the subject, although my answers were not always what you were hoping for, you still asked me to come.” A nagging suspicion sprung to mind. “Was mine the only submission?”

  Timothy’s eyes did that mischievous twinkly thing again. “Uh, no.”

  “‘Uh, no?’ How many others?”

  “One hundred and thirty-seven.”

  “One hundred and…” I was dumbfounded. “And you picked me out of the pile? Why?”

  “I loved your answers to my questions. For one thing, you listed Silverado as one of your top five movies. A western is not the typical female choice for entertainment.” He slipped a casual arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.

  “Did you take note I also said I loved My Big Fat Greek Wedding? That’s as girly as it gets.”

  “True, but that’s a good thing, too. You’re multifaceted. And don’t tell anybody, but I’ll admit I’m rather fond of that movie myself. Now, guess how many applicants answered the favorite movies question with five religious films?”

  “I couldn’t begin to guess. How many?”

  “Sixty-three. I theorize they assumed that’s what a missionary would want to hear. And half of them took their answers straight off the internet. Try keying in the top five religious movies and see what you get. I never knew The Ten Commandments and Ben-Hur were so popular. It seems a great many women are mesmerized by Charlton Heston.”

  I was tempted to tell him his resemblance to Charlton in Ben-Hur was uncanny—and the chariot scene was one of the most exciting races in cinematic history—but I didn’t want him to think I was similar to those other sixty-three women. “What else did you like?”

  “Your sense of humor. You had me howling when you answered the question of whether you were a widow with ‘Not yet, but I hope to be someday.’” He shook his head. “Would you care to know what finalized my decision?”

  “Sure.” I was all ears.

  “Do you remember the question asking you to describe yourself in three sentences or less?”

  “Yeah. I remember. I was experiencing a self-indulgent, thoroughly immature moment.”

  That comment won a chuckle from the manly man. “You wrote, and I quote, ‘You’ll have to see me to believe me.’ How could I turn down a dare like that?”

  I don’t know what gremlin had possessed me the day I typed those words, but Brianna had approved it, too. “But why did you advertise for a wife in the first place? I’m sure you know you’re a catch. I would think your entire life you’ve had desperate women swarming all over you like honeybees on a sunflower.”

  Timothy swallowed hard.

  Uh oh. Something was up, and I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like it. “Timothy?”

  “Many reasons. I had one serious girlfriend in college, but she ended up being a gold digger. Consequently—and this may have been the wrong way for me to react—I don’t trust women, as a rule. I know my father sure doesn’t think much of females, and maybe I’ve let his assessment cloud my judgment, but it’s how I grew up. Since college, I haven’t bothered to date much because it didn’t seem worth the effort. Now I’m thirty-five years old, and I’m lonely.”

  Gold digger? What did he mean? Did she ditch him for someone wealthy? I was intrigued. Lonely? Yeah, I knew what that was like. And parents? My mother thought all men could walk upright under a worm’s belly with inches to spare. It was possible I had issues of my own.

  Timothy rested his elbows on his knees, guilt written in the slump of his shoulders. He blinked and exhaled. “You had a question on the subject of the board of directors. They would prefer their professors were married. They’ve made it clear I’ll never get a promotion if I’m single. The way they figure it, they want the students to be concentrating on their studies, not wondering whether their professor is trolling for a spouse. Outmoded reasoning, I know.”

  He paused and tugged at his shirt collar to loosen it. “Please, Shay, you have to understand. The only way I knew how to handle this was to use logic and search for a wife through advertising. It was the expedient thing to do.” His gaze darted around the room, his hands rubbing up and down his thighs. He cleared his throat. “The final reason I sent for you, specifically, was because of your computer degree. The head of our computer department retired at the end of last semester, and we need a replacement. Kind of killing two birds with one stone…”

  His voice trailed off as I stared at him in disbelief. Wonderful. He didn’t want a woman to love. He wanted a timid, plain-faced, priggish female who would bow down to the higher-ups, help him further his career, and manage the computer department. He was lonely? No wonder. What woman would agree to marry for those reasons? What about compatibility? What about chemistry? What about love?

  Any foolish romantic dreams I’d dared to entertain flew out the window.

  14

  There’d been no note under the door in the morning. I hadn’t expected one. The way Timothy dashed out of the apartment last night one would have thought a saber-toothed tiger was chasing him. Good thing he vamoosed when he had, because I was planning to claw him to pieces myself.

  After he made his hasty exit, I crawled off the couch and grabbed my laptop. Adrenaline pumping, I composed a scathing e-mail to Brianna letting her know how misguided she’d been in the men department, citing both Blaine and Timothy. I spilled my guts on Timothy’s duplicity and Blaine’s obnoxiousness. I’d known about Blaine’s shortcomings, but I’d been sucker punched by the missionary man. Weren’t Christians supposed to be above reproach? Weren’t they supposed to be honest and trustworthy? OK, maybe he’d been honest—a bit too much? As to trustworthy, he could have kept his mouth shut, and I would never have known his true intentions, but what a scam.

  Or was it? He’d never once pretended he was looking for love.

  Before I sent off my note to my sister, I did a complete rewrite and softened it. I knew she meant well. Still, I’d have to make sure she never stuck her nose in my love life again. I wanted to go home, or at least I wanted to get out of here. I weighed the pros and cons of flying home with Blaine, but nixed the harebrained idea in a hurry. I did have my pride. More important, being on a jet with Blaine for hours on end would be more than I could take.

  I rummaged through my purse for Imelda’s phone number, a much better option. I knew the scrap of paper was in there somewhere. After taking out every item, I found the number stuck to a piece of gum. Gum. It was a good thing the number was still readable.

  Steeling myself, I gave her a call. No answer. I’d try again later and do my best not to sound pitiful. Restless, I dressed for a stroll
around campus. Timothy was still teaching Dr. Kyun’s theology class, so I should be safe from his lame excuses or pathetic explanations. When he’d left last night, he’d known he was in the doghouse, and I doubted he wanted to see me, either.

  I didn’t want to mull over the fact I also had a less than noble reason for coming here. I wasn’t the traditional Christian woman he’d wanted, nor was I ever serious about wanting to marry him. But hadn’t the pompous man deserved a shove off his high horse? No, I wouldn’t give it another thought, especially now that I knew his true intentions.

  As I tramped across the campus, I took a left where I always veered right and found myself in an unfamiliar part of the grounds. It was quiet here with most of the students in class. I absorbed the beauty of the abundant trees and foliage, the colorful flowers captivating me. I marveled as ephemeral butterflies with transparent wings circled, alighting with invisible feet on the blooms. I had landed in a tropical paradise. Continuing on, I hunched under low-hanging branches and sniffed with pleasure. Citrus fruit. The fresh scent permeating the air reminded me of Timothy’s cologne.

  The pebbled path snaked through the trees and ended at a low concrete block building with Coleman Apartments written over the entrance. I could see a few air conditioners in windows, so it must be faculty housing. Students didn’t rate expensive cool air.

  I was crossing the open area in front of the building when I heard a giggle. Jemma? A deep, dynamic voice followed as Timothy and Jemma sauntered out the front door, laughing and talking, his hand under her elbow. He’d make sure she didn’t stumble over any imaginary obstacles. Perfect. He was ever the protector, wasn’t he?

  I glided out of sight and ducked under a nearby tree. At least my clothes weren’t neon bright, and they didn’t notice me. Timothy hadn’t wasted any time, had he? Since I was on to him, he’d trick some other poor female. I was tired of this inhospitable country.