Chapter Eight
G ia turned down her music and listened. She crept closer to the bedroom door and listened again. If Rocky was home, he sure was being quiet. She’d seen nothing of him since he deposited her in his guest room, warned her about the falling computer parts in the closet, and explained the tricky faucet in her own private bathroom. He’d supplied peanut butter crackers and a nectarine in case she got hungry, and then left for practice. She’d tweaked her resume and fell into the best sleep she’d had in years and never heard him come back home—or leave again this morning.
She stepped onto the cool, bare tile. “Rocky?”
There was no answer, just the low hum of his central air working overtime on another stifling day.
She made her way to the living area and knelt on the country-blue couch to peek through the blinds. No car in the drive. No kids or pets in the quiet cul-de-sac. She pitied the lone squirrel that dragged its fluffy tail across the dry and crunchy grass to reach the shade at the base of a Pin Oak.
She turned and settled in on the well-worn cushion to survey Rocky’s bachelor pad. Four matching stone coasters with a Lone Star design sat on the small coffee table. Countless white condensation rings were ingrained in the wood right beside them. So much for using the fancy coasters. There were technology magazines, church bulletins, and copies of music. She counted five remote controls, all lying outside of the wicker basket she was sure was for, well, remote controls. She resisted the urge to tidy up.
The recliner didn’t match the couch, but he’d compromised by tossing a blue crocheted blanket over it. The lamp on the end table with the bare, non-environmentally conscious bulb and no shade, topped off the look. As with any respectable man cave, the large television took up most of the far wall. There were tiny state-of-the-art speakers hidden somewhere, she knew, but she couldn’t see them.
The other creamy white walls screamed for artwork. “Be careful what you wish for,” she mumbled as she moved on. “There could be poker-playing dogs in the dining room.”
No. No dogs. But how would she know? This had evidently become his home office and it was buried in ancient monitors and desktop towers. There were shelves covered with discs, cables, laptops, and manuals. If that was a dining room table beneath the crooked chandelier, she wouldn’t know it from the piles of paper and assorted electronics stacked high and covering one whole side. There were no chairs, only a spot he’d carved out for himself to pull up to the table and work on what appeared to be a high end system.
The kitchen smelled like lemons. It hadn’t last night. The trash can had a fresh bag and a broom was propped by the door to the concrete patio. Two homey blue and yellow dishtowels hung in sync on the oven door handle, and assorted plates and clean takeout containers air dried near the sink.
Something deep and overwhelming struck her as she found a clean glass and dispensed water from the refrigerator door.
This is for me... He’s been cleaning for me.
“I can’t let him do this.” She emptied the glass in a hurry and put it back. “I need to move on and take care of my own problems.”
In her haste to return to her room, she almost missed the note on the kitchen table.
Gia,
Gone to drop off some computers and run errands. Text me if you need anything while I’m out. I’ll be back in a bit. We’ll pick up your car after lunch.
Rocky
Shame swept across her. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be letting Rocky pick up the pieces of her shattered life, and she shouldn’t be burdening him with her problems.
Stupid impulsive personality. Always getting her in trouble, always hard to control. She’d fought it for years and rarely came out on top. From the retail jobs at the mall she’d stomped out of as an angsty teenager, to the classes she’d dropped in a heartbeat when something didn’t go her way. Not to mention the sinful things she dabbled in at the mere suggestion of one of her so-called friends. Act now, think later. Dive in without looking, suffer the consequences. Burn bridges, no hope of repair. If even one of her idiotic non-thinking decisions had been different, how totally different her life might be.
And now, on impulse, she’d come home with Rocky. She should have resisted, though the man didn’t look much like he was going to take no for an answer. She shouldn’t have accepted that first date when, deep down, she knew something was wrong, and she sure shouldn’t have kissed him and stirred all those feelings... Nice feelings... But still, feelings she had no right to pursue with so much else going haywire in her mind and body.
She rushed from the lemon-scented kitchen to gather her things from her cozy borrowed bedroom. The worn-out copy paper box that served as a piece of luggage ripped further down the side when she moved it. She headed back to the kitchen and found the pantry and washer-dryer alcove before hitting on the garage. Perhaps there was a box or a handle bag...
It was best she leave and deal with her own mess as soon as she had her car.
Before she could hurt Rocky more.
ROCKY POPPED IN THE house to the sound of opening and closing doors.
“Gia?”
There was a tiny gasp and then she skidded into the foyer from the kitchen. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you.”
“You OK? I heard banging.”
“Sorry. I was looking for the garage. I’ve been to your pantry and your laundry nook and found the—”
“Please don’t go in the garage.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to overstep. I was looking to borrow a box.”
“It’s not that. Mi casa es su casa. But that garage is dangerous.”
She took some of the plastic shopping bags off his lap and headed for the kitchen table. “Yeah, I’ve seen your dining room.”
“Hey, that’s my office. That’s where the magic happens.” He followed her and started to unload bags. “The garage is a different story. Too many things out there you could trip over.”
“Message loud and clear. Is there anything else in the car?”
“No, that’s it. I have lunch from the grocery store deli.”
“You didn’t have to do that—”
“You need to eat.” He opened a box of fried chicken and a container of macaroni and cheese. “Grab us some paper plates, will you?”
She went straight for the cabinets above the counter and flung open two doors. They were empty, of course, but she stood there a second anyway looking adorably embarrassed in her animal print pajama bottoms and long sleeved college tee.
“Well, duh. I guess everything’s on the bottom where you can reach.”
“Yep. But now you know what to do if you ever want to keep a private stash of cookies from me.”
He’d never seen her blush quite like that.
She took a deep breath as she found the plates and picked through the silverware drawer for a couple of forks. She dropped them on the table and reached for the long-handled grabber he had hooked on the inside of the pantry door. “I’ve been seeing these things all over the place.” She clacked the holders together. “I doubt anyone could hide anything from you.”
“My mom’s responsible for those. They do come in handy if I drop something. Trouble is, the grabber is never where I need it despite my mother’s attempt to leave them all over the house.”
He scooped mac and cheese onto her plate until she raised her hand to stop him. She seemed tired and more distant than yesterday. Had she slept? Called anyone? He was trying to give her space, and it was harder than waiting for Christmas morning.
A mass of messy hair tumbled off her shoulder as she scooted her chair to the table and tucked one leg under her. She remained quiet.
“Are you feeling better?”
She took a napkin from the square container on the table and swiped cheese sauce from her lips. “I think so. The trauma is wearing off, but that means reality is setting in. On the bright side, there’s no more dizziness.”
“Good.”
“My appetite is coming back. It must be. This mac and cheese tastes great.”
“Also good. Have some chicken. And I’ll get you a cold bottle of water from the fridge.”
She touched his arm. “Rocky, stop. I’m fine. You don’t need to cater to me.”
“What can I say? My mother raised a well-mannered Texas boy and a southern gentleman. I am merely operating under the basic rules of chivalry and southern hospitality.”
“Well, you need to stop. Do what you normally do. I can take care of myself, and hopefully I’ll be out of your way soon.”
Rocky paused with his hand over a chicken leg. He didn’t want her to be out of his way. “What’s wrong, Gia? Has something else happened?”
“No, uh, do you mind if I get my laptop? There’s a job opening in Houston, and I’m not familiar with the area. Maybe you know where it is.”
“Sure. I’m usually working on two or three laptops at the table while I eat.”
“Two or three? The only thing I see more of than laptops around here are foam footballs. No wonder you need all the grabbers. There are probably lost balls behind every piece of furniture you own.”
“That’s me. Combination dumb jock and computer nerd.”
She touched his shoulder as she brushed past. “I don’t know about that. I’ve not seen you work on one computer, but I do have a giant bear at camp that proves you can hit something with some kind of ball.”
She returned with the computer and grabbed a chicken wing as she powered it up. “I updated my resume and registered on several job sites.” She tapped impatiently and fidgeted in her chair as her programs opened. “This thing is slow. And it shouldn’t be because it’s not that old.”
“Let me see something.” Rocky nudged the corner until he could see the screen. “When was the last time you ran a virus scan or cleaned up your hard drive?”
She put down her chicken. “It’s been a while.” She flicked a piece of lint off her top. “Plus, I think my virus protection may have expired.”
“Look here at the bottom,” he said and pointed. “Those icons and message bubbles are there for a reason. You have updates and maintenance you need to do.”
“Yes, I know. I haven’t had time.”
“Just sayin’. Ignoring those messages is like ignoring the check engine light in your car. It’s not good.”
She shot him an icy glare. “This is because I teased you about all the foam footballs, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s because I don’t want you to fry your computer. I’ll clean it up for you later.”
“That would be great. If there’s time.” She went back to wildly striking keys.
Fear coiled like a snake in his gut. What did she mean if there’s time?
“Here it is.” She tilted the screen. “Where is this?”
“I think that’s way out in west Houston.” He pulled out his phone and punched in the address. “Yep. Far west Houston. It’s a nice area,” he choked. “Pretty far from here.”
“There’s this one in Travis County too.”
“Travis County. That’s Austin, right?”
“Yes. It’s with the state. With Child Protective Services.”
He knew she needed work and fast. She’d have to take what she could get and restore some sort of order to her life. Somehow he’d hoped that would be in his neighborhood. “Austin is nice.” And a bazillion miles away.
She pushed the lid closed. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have enough education or experience for what I really want to do, and no one’s going to give me benefits anyway. I may as well suit up for the Burger Buster and wait for my ankles to swell. Do you have a box or don’t you?”
“Whoa, wait a minute. I don’t know what’s wrong with your ankles, but you will find a job.” He pushed his plate aside and re-opened her computer. “C’mon, you have more education and experience than a lot of people. And God is still in control, remember? Keep sending stuff out. Something will stick.”
“I’ve made thirty inquiries.”
“Good start. It’ll happen.”
Once he had his hands on her computer, it was all he could do to keep from launching search and rescue sequences on behalf of her hard drive. He glanced at her error messages and let the information slide by. Nearly killed him. “Look. Here’s one.”
She didn’t answer. He tore his eyes from the screen to find her staring at him, her brows all furrowed as if studying a creature in the wild.
“What is it? Do I have food on my face or something?”
“No. You really are a motivational person aren’t you?”
“No, Gia, we’ve been through this. That motivational thing at camp does not come naturally to me. I’m sure I’m failing miserably. They just haven’t bothered to fire me yet.”
“No, you have a knack for the positive. I see it in kids all the time. They are perpetually optimistic creatures. Not adults. Adults tend to go glass half empty as soon as real life tosses them a few curves.”
He gave up on the search and took another piece of chicken. “I’m sure you’re a gifted psychology person or whatever, but please don’t try to demystify my brain. I’m tellin’ you, you won’t find much.”
“I don’t play mind tricks on my friends. I’m only saying I appreciate your ability to see things in a positive light. I couldn’t have gotten through these last few days without you.”
“You’re going to be fine, Gia.”
“See? It’s like you can’t help yourself. You jump in there with the encouragement even though you know how insurmountable some of this is.”
“It’s not insurmountable. It’s only overwhelming.”
Her face went blank. “Wow... You’re good.”
“If you’re going to make fun of me, I’m not going to clean up your cesspool of a computer.”
“I’m not making fun.” A slight smile teased at the corners of her mouth as she took her plate to the trash. “I’m envious of your upbeat attitude.” She paused at the kitchen window above the sink and looked out. Her hand brushed across her stomach. “I mean, I know there’s a miracle in this whole mess somewhere, but it all seems jumbled up and hopeless that I can’t find it yet. I can’t yet connect my mind with what’s happening to my body.”
He could see the panic rising in her eyes. He wanted to approach, wanted to hold her, longed to comfort her.
He didn’t move. “You’re doing fine, Gia.”
She waved her hands in front of her face as if chasing away sudden heat. “Let’s talk about something else.” She returned to her chair. “Back to you for a minute. It doesn’t take a psychologist to know your positive attitude is probably a result of your injury and subsequent struggles.”
He reached for her computer again and started closing windows so he could explore the system. “I guess. I’ve been living this way for a while now. I don’t much think about it.”
“But you have such strength. You must get that from your past experiences.”
“I’m not a saint, Gia. I’ve had some bad days. And up until I accepted Christ, there were a lot more bad days, but yes, I guess I draw from what happened after my injury. What choice did I have?”
His words seemed to have put her off balance though she was clearly in control of the conversation. He’d dealt with his stuff so long ago and settled into his daily groove, it was hard to remember a day when he wasn’t living his new normal. She, however, was struggling to find a way out, around, or over a difficult situation—and he was so busy trying to take care of her, he missed how she was desperately trying to take care of herself.
He sat back in his chair, balled up his napkin, and tossed it onto his plate. “When I was first injured, I did all those textbook things you do in that situation. Shock, denial, anger—you know the drill. But then there’s that day. It’s that day you decide how you’re gonna let it all play out. And I had two choices. I could either curl up and die, or I could tackle one obstacle at a time and live. I decided I’m more of a tackler than a curler.”
She flicked the corner of the napkin basket until a rhythmic clicking sound filled the kitchen. He covered her hand with his to stop the nervous movement.
“Well, I’m certainly not a curler,” she said. “But my tackling skills are horrendous.”
“How so?”
“I don’t make much of a strategic plan for the best possible return on my tackle. I tend to tackle first and ask questions later. You’d think I’d have better control over my impulsive nature after battling it for so long. But yet, here I am.”
“It wasn’t your impulsive nature that made you a crime victim. That’s not on you.”
“Of course it is!”
Panic was evident in her voice again. It seemed to creep up and zap her every once in a while and set her off. She grabbed his plate, sprang from her chair, and made a return trip to the trash.
She leaned against the counter. “It’s always on me, Rocky. You don’t know me. I put myself in situations without thinking. That guy would have never had the chance if I’d been making better choices in the first place. My father is right about me. I find trouble everywhere I go. I’ve made so many wrong turns, that even when I decide to make right turns, the wrong ones come around to bite me every time. I. Can’t. Win.”
He had no experience with an upset woman in his kitchen. Basic survival instinct prevailed on him to duck and cover—or at least wait it out.
She smashed the lid onto the mac and cheese container and flapped the chicken box closed. She practically threw them into the refrigerator. After a quick swipe with the cleaning wipe she found under the sink, she returned to her chair.
“Did you say you had a box?”
“I can probably find you a box. But I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if you’d like to go to Wednesday night church with me tonight—”
“I can’t go, Rocky. I don’t know how long I’ll be in this area, and I’d rather not see anyone.”
“I understand. I also need to ask you about tomorrow.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is my day to go to camp. I thought you might want to go with me? Maybe talk to the directors or pick up your mail... Or have you talked to them already?”
“I haven’t talked to them. I don’t know where to start.”
“I’d say start with the truth. I’m sure they’re worried about you. You don’t have to tell everyone everything, but you’ll have to tell someone something.”
“I know. Rebekah and some of the others have been blowing up my phone every time they can sneak away or have phone time. I really need to tell Paramedic Ash about the drugs. He was very concerned about me, and I know he’s wondering.” She went back to picking at the napkin basket. “I’m not going to mention the pregnancy to anyone yet. I haven’t been to that kind of doctor or know if I’m OK.”
“That’s good,” he agreed. “Tackle one thing at a time.”
“I’ll call as soon as I can catch someone in the office. I’ll tell them I’m not coming back.”
He nodded. “And you can let me know if you want me to tell anyone where you are or pick up your mail or anything you left there.”
“Unfortunately for you, they’ve all seen that newspaper. It’s not like you can act like you don’t know me.”
“I won’t say anything, Gia, unless you want me to.”
She leaned forward. “I’m sorry I brought you into all this.”
“I’m not. Glad to be here for you.”
“That’s sweet, but... Anyway... Where’s that box?”
“I’ll get it. What are you up to?”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “I can’t stay here, Rocky. It feels inappropriate and it’s disrupted your life.”
He knew that was coming since she’d mentioned the box. He’d tried to block it out of his mind. If she wanted to go, he couldn’t stop her. “Nothing’s disrupted. You should stay here where you’re safe until you figure out what to do.”
“I can’t. You say nothing’s disrupted, but I know you were up cleaning your kitchen in the middle of the night. I can’t be responsible for that.”
“It needed done anyway.” He fought to keep desperation from his voice. “You should at least stay ‘til morning. Get a good night’s sleep before you head out. You’ll have the place to yourself. I’ll be at church.”
“I’m sorry, Rocky. I should never have come here. I need to fix this myself.”
He clenched his jaw so tight his neck hurt. Had she forgotten there could be letters from a rapist sitting at camp? What about her doctor appointments later in the week? Had they not had this whole conversation about her impulsive nature and how that didn’t work for her? And where in the world did she think she was going?
He rubbed his temples. Screaming all these questions inside his head was creating a throbbing pain behind his left eyeball.
He met her determined gaze. Nothing he could say would change her mind. If he could let it rest in God’s hands, it would be easier to accept that. “OK. Let me know when you’re ready to get your car. I’ll get your box.”
“I’ll get it,” she offered. “Is it in the garage?”
“No. It’s in my car. I’ll get it. Stay out of the garage.”
GIA PLACED SOME OF her belongings in the sturdy box and piled the rest of her things near the bedroom door. The zipper on her camp duffle bag separated as she attempted to slip one last pair of shorts inside.
“Figures,” she said as she rearranged clothes and collected the panties that popped out of the top. “We had a good run, I guess.”
She smoothed the multicolored quilt and sat on the edge of the bed to retrieve her flip-flops from under the deep blue dust ruffle. She was glad she’d agreed to stay until morning. Though uplifting in an awkward and relieving kind of way, her phone calls to Rebekah, Ash, and the camp directors had been more taxing than she ever imagined. They were appropriately appalled, concerned, and supportive, and then Ash startled her with the sad reality of how many confused and injured girls he encountered on first responder calls. Date rape was apparently alive and well and rampant at college campuses and high school parties.
She stepped into her shoes and swiped her keys off the dresser. The more she stashed in her car tonight, the faster she could leave in the morning. Rocky had worked on her computer, left her alone all afternoon, and long ago headed for Bible study. She knew God was with her and leaving was the right thing to do. Why did it feel horribly wrong?
She lifted the box. And where was that astounding sense of peace she had earlier in the week?
She pushed through his front door. Rocky’s across-the-street neighbor huffed and puffed his way back and forth on his lawn with an extra loud mower. He glanced her way and waved. She steadied the load and waved back. Then she nearly collided with Rocky as she turned the corner to the driveway.
He was speeding toward the street with paper towels in his lap. The garage door was closing behind him. She may have been about to be mowed down, but that didn’t stop her from stealing a glance at the mysterious space he’d forbidden her to enter. She couldn’t see a thing.
The box wobbled and flopped out of her hands. Rocky made a sharp but seemingly effortless swerve to the side. He whirled around and stopped at about the same time she began seriously rethinking her decision to stack her teal, pink, and yellow panties at the top of the open box. They floated down and littered the ground between them.
She glanced at the neighbor. He was laughing as he mowed.
“I thought you were at church!”
“I was. I thought you weren’t leaving until morning.”
“I’m not.” She dropped to the ground and shoved things back into the box. “I was putting this in the car. And what are you doing to my car anyway? Why is the hood up?”
“I’m checking the fluids. If it’s anything like your computer, I’m not a moment too soon.”
“You’re funny. For your information, I had the oil checked in May. It’s fine. How did you get in it? It’s locked.”
“It’s open,” he said. “I opened the door and popped the hood.”
“It’s parked on the street,” she argued. “I would have locked it.”
“Fine. You locked it. Yet, I opened the door and pulled the hood release. Whatever. Call me Houdini.”
“Oh, I’ve got somethin’ to call you...”
“Save it for later. Right now, I need to check the other fluids so you don’t get stranded somewhere in these skyrocketing temperatures on your quest to not stay here where it’s safe. What if it overheats?”
“It’s not going to overheat.” She stood with the box. “But help yourself. I’ll start the engine so you can check the transmission fluid. Yeah,” she said with a smirk. “I know stuff. Car stuff. I know the engine has to be on to get a correct reading of transmission fluid.”
“Give me a minute to check everything else first. Being a mechanic and all, you’ll understand it’s best to check the other levels while it’s cool. I don’t need a steam burn from the radiator.”
His elderly neighbor to the left crept toward them with a garden hose. She inclined her ear as if to eavesdrop on their spirited discussion as she pretended to water a near dead asparagus fern.
“Hello, Rocky,” she called across the yard.
He turned toward the voice. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Konchesky,” he said like warm butter. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain. Everything all right?”
“Fine, ma’am. Was your grandson able to stop that leak in your kitchen faucet?”
“Not yet.”
“Max and I will come look at it as soon as we can.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem, Mrs. Konchesky. You should get back inside. The mosquitos could carry you away tonight.”
Mrs. Konchesky chirped what should have been a cute old lady giggle—if she wasn’t so diabolical. It was more like an evil laugh to Gia’s ears. When Rocky looked away, the woman gave Gia the stink-eye.
“Did you see that? That old biddy gave me a dirty look.”
“Hey, watch it. She makes the best oatmeal raisin cookies in the world, and I’m her favorite on this street. I get them once a week. Don’t mess that up for me.”
“So how long have you and the old neighbor lady been an item? And don’t tell me you’re not, because that lady is pretty uncomfortable with you having another woman on your premises. I’ll bet she’s seen what’s in your garage.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m putting this box in the car. How’d you get out of church so early?”
“It’s not that early. Isn’t it around eight?” He parked his chair near the car and started working. “Pastor Charles doesn’t keep us too late in the summer. There’s talk of suspending Wednesday night Bible study for the month of July. People are travelling and all that. The church will still be open for prayer, but nothing formal.”
“Everyone needs a break,” she agreed and noticed how he grabbed the side of the car and pulled himself up and forward to reach everything. “Can I help you?”
“No. Some cars are harder than others, but I think I can get to everything. This won’t take long. I was serious about the mosquitoes. They’re bad. You should go in. But leave your keys.”
“I’m OK. Have you eaten?”
“No. If you’re hungry, I can go get us something.”
“No, Rocky. No more takeout. That stuff is horrible for you. Don’t you ever cook?”
“Yes, sometimes, but it’s not much fun for one. Doesn’t seem to be much of a point.”
She leaned against the car. “Well, I can’t believe I’m saying this because it goes against every Italian blood cell in my body, but I saw you had a jar of spaghetti sauce in there and some pasta. I’ll go put on some water and cut up some vegetables or something.”
“Sounds good,” he said and swiped the dipstick clean. “You still leaving in the morning?”
“It’s for the best, Rocky. My presence here has your girlfriend Mrs. Konchesky all peeved. Can’t have that.” She started toward the door. “Cannot have that.”
“I know what we should do,” he said casually. “I know what would help this situation.”
She turned as he wiped off his hands. “What’s that?”
“We should get married. It works on every level.”
She laughed. “Oh, Rocky, what would Mrs. Konchesky do?”
He didn’t crack a smile. “I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it and praying about it for hours.”
“You’re not serious, you’re insane.”
“Never been more serious. Or sane. We’ll talk about it over dinner, which, by the way, I’m really getting hungry.”
“I’m not going to marry you, Rocky. You can’t propose marriage to a near stranger on the driveway over a dipstick—”
“I just did. I mean, I can do it better, but I’m working with a limited time frame here.”
“You are unhinged. And I would know.”
“I’m not. We’ll discuss it. I have until morning to change your mind. If you don’t want to get married, you can leave. If not, we’ll go to the courthouse.”
“I’m not getting married at the courthouse. Can you safely get that hood down without bashing yourself in the head?”
“Yes. Please start the pasta.”
She resumed her walk to the house like some sort of zombie.
Marriage. Really .
“Gia?”
“Yes?”
“You left some of your underwear on the driveway.”