Manila Marriage App (3 page)

“No problem.” I patted his shoulder. He really was a nice young man.

“Bayani will watch over it.”

A man as big as an offensive lineman, swaggered out of a nearby guardhouse. With his muscular frame and crisp, white uniform decorated with gold buttons, he radiated intimidation. Without a doubt, I'd be safe with him escorting me down any dark alley. He closed the gate (also complete with sharp spikes on top) and wrote something down on a clipboard. The grounds of the campus stretched out beneath us.

Danilo motioned for me to follow, spun, and bounded down the first steep flight of steps. I was preparing to sprint after him when my gaze fell to my feet. Oh yeah. Flip-flops. Carefully, I placed one foot after the other, scurrying behind, the foreign trees and flowers a blur as I tried to keep up. When we neared the bottom of what had to have been over a hundred steps, the campus leveled out. Good thing. All the speed walking I'd done at shopping malls should have made me more fit.

Now I understood question number eighteen on the marriage application. Was I able to climb plenty of stairs? In retrospect, I suppose that should have been a warning. And sometime soon, we'd be going back up. Scary thought.

Danilo was still on the move, and I rushed after him. He disappeared into the Faculty and Student Center, a newish stone and glass building. Inside, the décor was modern and comfortable and much appreciated puffs of cool air circled around us. The race down the stairs in the steaming heat had left me winded. It surely couldn't be nerves that had my heart pounding in my ears.

A sofa and chairs in the lobby called to me, but I soldiered on and did my best to keep up. We trekked down a long hallway lined with offices until we arrived at a large corner office on the left. Before entering, I took a moment to compose myself and smooth my flyaway hair. My fingernail scraped on a patch of dried peas behind my left ear. What was the point in primping?

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I strolled into the room. Behind a massive teak desk sat the man I'd come to meet. The photo he'd e-mailed me didn't do him justice. Not by a long shot. If I'd been the obvious sort, my jaw would have dropped to the floor. And there'd be plenty of drool.

He stood as I entered the room, cool gray eyes raking over me. His bio had told me he was a tall man, but the head shot hadn't captured the aura of authority he projected. Mister-too-important-to-pick-me-up didn't say a word, although that intense stare roamed my face with apparent disbelief. Perhaps he was confused as to my shabby state, but he didn't have to be rude.

We glared at each other. In fact, he examined me as if he were judging a heifer at the county fair. If he were testing my mettle, I was not going to be the first one to blink. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head, loosened his lips, and said the words I least expected. “Miss Callahan, you're
blonde
.”

Words spilled out of my own mouth before I could filter them. “Whoa, nothing gets past you does it, Dr. Flynn?”

“In the picture you sent me, you were a
brunette
.”

Well, he had me there. Before last Tuesday, I had been a brunette. Light brown, but still brown. I straightened my spine. “Hey, I didn't go platinum or anything. The appealing color you see before you is called Golden Latte. Two measly shades lighter.” Huffing, I pushed my long mane behind my ears hoping no remaining traces of peas were visible. “And what am I doing justifying my personal color preferences to you? It's my hair.”

He kept staring at me. “Putting that issue aside, you're also not…how shall I put this? You're…you're not what I expected. You're way too…”

“I'm way too what?” My chin rose, as did my ire.

“Oh, never mind,” he mumbled. His head hung down and, I swear, his feet shuffled. That was unexpected. Was he arrogant or bashful?

Either way, still standing in the doorway, I'd had enough of this strange exchange. Since he didn't seem to know how to greet me like a decent human being, I'd give him a demonstration. “OK, let's try this again. Dr. Flynn, I presume? I'm Shay Callahan. You know, the woman you ordered with a ‘keen mind, and a rational outlook on life?'”

I strode across the room and extended my hand. As I moved forward, my rubber-clad feet entwined and down I fell on the hardwood, gliding to a stop in an untidy tangle. My purse hit the floor, skittered past the desk, and landed at Timmy's feet.

Personal stuff scattered everywhere, some of it highly embarrassing. Rising to my knees, I gathered up what I could and lifted my head.

His eyes danced as he tried his best not to snicker.

My humiliation gave way to fury when the suggestion of a smile tugged at his lips.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to get my feet back under me. To my absolute astonishment, I found my left flip-flop was stuck to the floor. I'd managed to step on a sticky wad of gum, thus explaining my clumsy tumble. A sweet, lingering scent came from my flip-flop.

“Miss Callahan? Are you all right?” Did Timmy have to keep gazing at me as if I had twin antennae growing out of my scalp?

“Just fabulous, thank you for asking.” I took off both shoes and wobbled to my feet.

Turning my back on him, I marched over to a nearby camel-colored couch to sit and lick my wounds. I took a second to organize my thoughts and focused my attention on the austere and orderly space. Positioned in the far corner facing a large window was Timothy's desk. His view amazed me. Sure, there were exotic sights galore, but that's not what caught my attention. Across a courtyard, a dozen or more children played on seesaws, swings, and jungle gyms. The window glass did little to block shrieks of delight. I would have imagined a man of such great importance would have wanted a quieter office.

Just a few yards beyond the playground ran the busy highway we'd driven in on. Traffic zoomed by at an alarming rate, but I was pleased to see a sturdy fence kept the kids in and the danger out.

While I'd been mulling, Timmy had gathered my belongings, and strode over to hand me the pile, along with my purse.

I gave him a nod, whipped out some tissues and hand sanitizer, and worked on my sticky sandal. A wave of wooziness hit me, and I was tempted to put my feet up on the book-laden coffee table in front of me. Instead, with as much dignity as I could muster, I crossed my ankles, and placed my hands in my lap. “Whose children?”

His face brightened. “Are you fond of kids?” He looked so hopeful my irritation melted. Well, some of it. Man, he was hot. “Many of our students are married, and we built the playground for their children. Would you care to meet some of the kids?”

I wanted to, but my gritty lids were fast on their way to closing down for the day. I was trying to figure out a good way to say “maybe another time” when I heard the awful squeal of brakes, followed by a sickening thump. Outside, traffic screeched to a halt, motor vehicles slithering to a stop mere inches from one another. There was a moment of profound silence, and then the cacophony began. Amidst shouts and honks, a piercing scream came from not far away. I could hear panic in that scream. Heart in my throat, I ran to the window, fearing the worst.

 

 

 

 

3

 

Timothy, Danilo, and I raced through the seminary front gate to the scene of the collision.

Pandemonium reigned. In the middle of the gridlock sat a wailing woman clutching a young girl—perhaps three or four years old. Long black hair had fallen over the child's features, and it was obvious she was in serious condition.

Everyone knew Dr. Flynn. The crowd divided as if parted by Moses. I was close behind him, so I couldn't see his face, but I knew the exact instant he sighted the waif. He sucked in a breath, broad shoulder muscles tensing. I could hear him praying under his breath. “Lord, help me know what to say and do.”

Timothy waved for Danilo and asked him to bring the car around. Was he planning to take the child to the hospital himself? Not a bad notion since it was a sure bet an ambulance would have a hard time reaching the accident site. It was clear the kid needed a doctor and she needed one now.

While we were all waiting for Danilo—and that included a crowd of at least a hundred—Timothy squatted down to determine the child's condition with probing eyes. She was lying on the pavement with her head cradled in her mother's lap. He placed a tender hand on the girl's forehead and started praying again. What could it hurt? His words calmed the mother somewhat, and what was even more of a shock, they made me feel better, also. When he'd finished talking to God, he turned toward the mother. “What's her name?”

In a small, cracked voice, she said, “Annalisa, but we call her Pinky. She's…she's only four.”

“She's a beautiful child. And what's your name?”

“Liwayway Rojas. You are Dr. Flynn, the teacher.” She chewed on her bottom lip and attempted a tiny smile. The anguished woman couldn't have been more than a child herself—around twenty, maybe twenty-one.

Timothy laid a comforting hand on her back. “Yes, that's me.” He sank to the ground next to her, folding his long legs under him. “Even though Pinky's unconscious, she's breathing well. But her left arm appears to be broken, and she has a bump on her head and some scrapes. I think we should take her to the hospital. Are you OK with that?”

Liwayway's shoulders curled over her chest. “We have no money to pay.”

“Don't give that another thought. We just want to make her well.” Timothy's tone was soft and gentle.

She nodded. “Can I come? Please?” Her hands trembled as she smoothed Pinky's hair.

“Of course you can come.” His gaze flicked down to Liwayway's bare ring finger. “Don't worry. We won't leave you alone.” He squeezed her shoulder as tears slipped down her face.

The crowd hushed, and many who were standing plopped down. I sat with them, right in the dusty street. Traffic was at a standstill anyway, and it seemed the thing to do.

Was this the same guy who'd asked if I'd be willing to submit a sample of my cooking?

Danilo emerged behind us in the SUV. He opened all four doors and stood waiting for instructions.

With great care, Timothy picked up Pinky and led Liwayway to the back seat of the car. He ducked in, still holding the child, and signaled for Danilo to help Liwayway.

For the first time, Dr. Flynn focused his attention on me. Without a word, he inclined his head as an invitation to hop in the front seat. I don't often jump on command, but I'd let it go under the circumstances. As I rose, so did the entire melee and more crying commenced.

They were a sympathetic bunch.

Danilo threw the car in reverse, and we traversed the campus going up, up, up until we found ourselves at the very top of the hillside near the guardhouse. Bayani had obviously been expecting us, and off we went.

I was thankful we headed in the opposite direction of the traffic jam below. Reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from my cheeks, I found them damp with tears.

 

~*~

 

Hours later, Dr. Flynn, Danilo, and I drove back to the seminary. In an absolute daze, it was a real effort to put one foot in front of the other. I was glad that Danilo parked the car on the lower level. There was no way I was going to make it down all those stairs again tonight.

After a short trudge to a multi-storied cinder block building, we ascended the stairs. Timothy and Danilo conversed primarily in English with other foreign sounding words thrown in. I could figure out most of it, though, especially when my name was mentioned, and I could make out our destination—Timothy's place. We reached an apartment on the top floor—four wretched stories up—and my bags were sitting in front of the door. How they got there, I had no idea, but I was ever so thrilled to see my suitcases.

Stepping forward, Timothy opened the door, pushed it back, and motioned for me to enter the room. He hefted my bags as if they were goose down pillows, depositing them with a thump on the living room floor.

I guess I'd been expecting something rustic in this country. Instead, I found myself admiring a room filled with light, gleaming wood and contemporary furniture. And books. Lots and lots of books. That explained question fourteen. It was important to him any woman he chose to marry loved to read. Between his office and the apartment, he housed more books than some libraries I'd visited.

“You'll be staying here since the guest cottage is unavailable.” For the first time in hours, Timothy looked me in the eye, promptly blushed crimson, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Sweet mercy, he was adorable when he blushed. “I mean, I won't be staying here with you. That is, I'll be bunking at another guy's place in the Coleman building...” He trailed off, flustered by his minor gaff.

A noisy guffaw escaped. I couldn't help it. I might have been able to control myself if I'd had more sleep but, for sure, now I'd mortified the poor man.

Timothy planted himself in the middle of the room, his gaze fixed on something above my head. He collected himself, tossing his funk aside. He waved a dismissive goodbye to an amused Danilo and pivoted back to me. “The apartment's not large, but it's comfortable—at least it is for me. We're standing in the combination living room, dining room. Over to your left is the kitchen, and through that doorway and down the hall are two bedrooms and a bathroom.”

Inquisitive as always, I studied my surroundings. The square living room exuded real touches of style. Dozens of carved stone animals, carefully arranged on shelves near the windows, drew my attention. Bookcases made of the same satiny wood in Timothy's office held hardback books, all dust-free and ordered by size. I moved to a sliding glass door and drew back gauzy yellow curtains to reveal a blazing sunset. With the curtains out of the way, bright rays angled through the glass, illuminating two portraits on the opposite wall, one of a sullen middle-aged man, the other a stunning woman in the prime of her life.