In This Life (3 page)

“Please!” she cried. “This has nothing to do with the love I have for you and your brother.”

“I said I don’t want to talk about this right now. I’m giving you one week to tell Dad about this, and if you don’t, I will.”

She told him that very night, begged for our forgiveness, packed her bags and never looked back.

I left her with those words. I left the country with that anger.

A sudden movement caused the water to slosh around my face. I looked straight up at a pair of legs that were connected to a shirtless body. The clouds parted and the moon broke free. But the baseball cap on his head shielded his face away from its light.

I saw his lips move, but couldn’t hear a word. My ears were submerged in the water. It was too dark to make out his face, but a shooting star skated across the sky and allowed me a glimpse of his dark brown eyes.

He knelt down next to me and scooped my head out of the water. “Hello?” he said. “Are you okay?” His voice was low and deep.

I sat up on my knees, embarrassed and overwhelmed, my hair dripping wet like the rest of me.

“I’m fine. I was just chilling for a little bit.”

He tried his best to suppress a smile. I could see the outline of his face, the tip of his nose, his full lips. “Oh, is that what that was?” he asked.

“It’s very relaxing. You should try it sometime,” I snapped back.

“Okay,” he said as he began to lie down in the water. The black baseball cap bobbed up and down next to his head.

“No! Not now!” I squeaked, laughing as I lifted his head up. I still couldn’t make out his face, but his hair was thick, jet black, and somewhat unruly. Loose curls were entangled between my fingers.

He let out a throaty laugh. “There was nothing relaxing about that.” And although I only saw him in parts—that mouth, those lips, the perfectly aligned teeth—he put me at ease. But it was his presence, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand on my hair that pulled me out and brought me back. “Whatever it is, it’s never as bad as you think,” he said.

Slowly, I straightened myself and got to my feet. “With that thought, I think I’m going to leave. I’m tired. Thanks for the laugh.” I paused to collect myself. “Goodbye, stranger.”

I turned toward the long stretch of sand away from the shore, into the grove of palm trees, my feet zigzagging unsteadily in front of me. As I stopped to catch my balance, I looked back to see him still seated on the sand, his legs stretched out into the water. The moon and the stars were nowhere to be found.
Were they even there to begin with?

“Dude. My name is Dude,” he called out.

I lifted my hand and signaled a wave without missing a beat.

By the time I reached the bonfire, there was nothing left but embers surrounded by beer bottles and burnt wood. The fading light of a few stars guided me on the path to my silent home. I couldn’t stand to be alone with my thoughts. So I barged into Dante’s room.

“I threw my—”

Milena was sitting on top of him, her head thrown back as he pushed himself against her.

“Spark, what the—” Dante grabbed Milena’s hips and flung her off the bed. “Oh, shit!” He fumbled for the light switch by the night table only to find out that it didn’t work. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Glaring at me, Milena scrambled to her feet, stumbling to pick up her bra and t-shirt.

“Er… Milena, I’m sorry,” I slurred. I should have known better. When your best friend was a hot piece of meat like Dante, you never found him alone. And Milena had been all over him at the beach. Wait a minute, hadn’t it been her twin, Paulina, that had been making the moves on him earlier? Not that it mattered, their faces were identical.

I just shook my head and gazed down at the ground. Still, it never occurred to me to leave. For all the partners we’d had, we each came first for the other, through breakups and make-ups and one night stands, our friendship was a constant. Whenever friends questioned why we weren’t together, we’d laugh and say that we knew too much about each other.

Milena left the room in a huff, and Tey finally got to the light switch on the wall. I kept my focus on a ball of dust rolling around the wood floor as he searched under the covers for his underwear.

“Ah. Found them.” He slipped them on quickly and sauntered over to me.

“I threw my phone into the ocean.”

The slow blinking of his eyelids, the slight curve of his lips. Signs that he was about to say something witty. He caught himself as soon as he saw the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. “That can be replaced,” he said instead.

I gave in to my sense of helplessness and crumpled in his arms, breaking into a sob.

“My dad said she could die!” I cried. “Oh, Tey, I’m still so mad at her!”

“Do you think you should go home? We could try to get tickets tomorrow,” he offered.

“No, no.” I shook my head. “I’m not ready to see her.”

Slowly he led me towards the bed, allowing me to collapse on the mattress. The room started to spin and I could barely get the words out between my labored breaths. Dante crawled in next to me and held me in his arms.

“I prayed for God to punish her, and now look what’s happened.” It was guilt that I felt, not sympathy nor compassion. Guilt for bad wishes and vengeful prayers.

“Shh. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. You’re wasted and you need to sleep it off. We can talk tomorrow.”

I nodded my head and faced away from him as he pulled the covers around us. “Can I stay here tonight? I promise I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

He held me close without uttering a sound.
Tomorrow I’m going to tell him just how much he means to me,
I thought.
I don’t ever want to take him for granted.
I closed my eyes to drift off, but not before hearing him whisper, “I’ve got you, Spark. I’m here.”

I JUST COULDN’T
get it out of my head. Memories of my mother had invaded my brain and were fixed in my thoughts. Last night, I feared divine retribution. Today, it felt possible that God and my mother had teamed up to force me into forgiveness. Nevertheless, statistics show that the odds of a ruptured brain aneurysm are one out of a hundred.
But once it bursts, that’s where the fifty percent survival rate kicks in.

Nothing about the night before made any sense. Despite the thousands of miles that separated us, the pain in my father’s voice was palpable. Yet all my anger and longing seemed to dissipate once the stranger in the baseball cap appeared. Who was he and how did he pull it off?

But back to the job at hand. This schoolhouse looked just like the one in that old television show,
Little House on the Prairie
, with white stucco walls and a set of wooden stairs leading up to its entrance. Inside, an open classroom was lined with wooden desks connected together with metal arms and legs. The chalkboard extended from wall to wall, the letters of the alphabet scrawled in cursive across the top. Everything about this place brought you back to the days before computers and overhead projectors.

I sat quietly at the desk shuffling through my list of notes for today’s catechism lesson while channeling my inner Laura Ingalls. My hair was braided in pigtails and tied together to keep the humidity from frizzing it out. But I was hardly dressed like a school marm, and I felt self-conscious, worried I was showing too much in my white hip-hugging shorts and fitted t-shirt. How would I have known I’d be asked to teach a religion class? Maybe no one would notice if I stayed behind my desk to conduct my lesson. I was still a bit miffed about being assigned to do this only two days after my arrival. Because I was the only practicing Catholic in the group, my arguments were futile.

She’d begun her process of entrapment simply. “You’re a practicing Catholic, are you not?”

“How do you know that?”

“You filled out the application form under ‘Religion.’”

“Oh. Yes, but define practicing…”

“Do you go to church?”

“Yes, but only during religious holidays.”

“Good enough.”

Sold. They needed a substitute and she promised it would be a fulfilling experience. So for two consecutive nights I read the lesson plan and studied its concepts. It didn’t seem too difficult—I was memorizing a textbook and would be spitting its contents back out, word for word.

“You will have someone there with you,” she’d assured me. “You just have to make sure that you stick to the lesson plan. Oh, and remember, many of these children are suffering from psychiatric disorders due to the trauma of the disaster. This is why we need someone with some medical training. Go easy on them. It’ll be a breeze.”

My fifth grade students began filing into the room. These twice weekly classes for the children of the village were subsidized by a nearby church. I surveyed the interesting mix of students; some looked like children of expats while others were likely residents of the tiny fishing village. There was a stark contrast between the rich and the poor in this place—the well-dressed children with their nannies or bodyguards who stood right outside the door blending in with the dark-skinned local boys and girls clad in t-shirts and shorts. There was whispering and laughing and the screeching of moving chairs.

“Good morning. How are you guys?” I said, standing up nervously to walk in front of the teacher’s desk, tugging at the hem of my shorts to cover more skin and crossing my arms against my chest. Darn it! I stood up. That wasn’t the plan.

“Ms. Matthews is on a two-week vacation to see her family in America. My name is Anna, and I’m your substitute teacher. There are badges on your desk. Please write your name down so I can get to know you.”

“Ms. Matthews is old. You’re young and beautiful,” a tiny dark-haired girl piped up as she affixed a name tag to her chest.

“Thank you. I know you’re missing her because she’s a wonderful teacher.”

I turned around to grab a pile of papers to hand out to the class.

“We’re not missing her,” a voice called from the back of the room. There was laughter, and then a wolf whistle which prompted some giggling that led to another wolf whistle. I walked around the room, papers in hand, willing myself to maintain my composure. It didn’t help that I had a horrible headache from last night’s fiasco.

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice called from the doorway.

I never thought I would ever see someone more beautiful than Dante. And yet, there he was, standing right in front of me. He was just as surprised as I was, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the corners when he realized it was me.

It was him. The guy on the beach from last night. I would recognize that voice anywhere. It was the voice of a crooner, melodious and soothing. It had lifted me up out of the past and brought me back to the present.

And now here we stood, face to face.

Right then, I had the undeniable feeling that he was created solely for my eyes. He was Adonis personified—piercing dark eyes outlined with a kaleidoscope of colors and swirling with secrets, nose perfectly sloped and proportioned, defined cheekbones over an angular jaw lined with glorious stubble, impeccably groomed and shaped. His hair fell in slightly untamed curls above his ears. And those lips. Full, plump, luscious. They could swallow me whole.

I snapped back to attention when I tried to suppress a giggle. What was his name again? Dude?

“Mr. Grayson!” Another little girl came running up to him. He swept her in his arms, but not before two or three little girls followed suit.

“Hi! How are you, Brittany? And you, Mariela?” he said, smiling at each of them. Two of the girls had their arms wrapped around his legs. “Hey, Malee.” He gingerly led each one of them back to their seats.

“Tony whistled at the new teacher,” another little boy said.

Dude shook his head at the boy who I surmised was Tony before turning back towards me with a fixed gaze, his eyes trailing from my face down to my legs. He stepped towards me. “Don’t mind me,” he said in a hushed tone. “I’m Caroline Matthews’ assistant. I help her out whenever she needs me and lead the doctrinal discussions.” He brought his lips close to my ear and whispered, “They’re a rowdy bunch. Caroline had a difficult time controlling them.”

I smiled to myself. Control was my middle name.
These kids didn’t fluster me, he did. I’d excel at staying the course, just as long as he didn’t look at me with those dark, mysterious eyes.

“Okay, kids. Let’s get started,” I said, going about my business as if he wasn’t there.

He moved to the side of the room and leaned against the windowsill, observing me with a silent grin. The way he crossed his arms against his chest accentuated how fit and slim he was, and for the first time ever, I found cargo pants and sneakers extremely attractive.

“In the next two weeks, we are going to learn about the Holy Sacraments of the Church. Who knows what they are?” I asked.

A hand shot up into the air. “Marriage, baptism, holy Communion,” a pretty little girl volunteered.

“Okay, marriage. What is the sacrament of marriage?”

More hands in the air. The room had calmed down significantly since Dude had started watching. I decided that it must be him. He had such a peaceful presence.