Manila Marriage App (13 page)

“I see. A good reason for your dad to be angry with you.”

“As if he needed another reason. Between that and my career choice, you can see why I'm a gigantic disappointment to him.”

My mouth opened and dropped shut. I needed a moment to absorb all of this. I drew in a cleansing breath. “I'm still at a loss, here. Why were you keeping it a secret?”

“Can you imagine what my life would be like if eager brides-to-be knew about my money? By asking for applications, at least I found out basic details first. And, as a side note, I was happy to hear Blaine was well off, and his financial status didn't matter a whit to you.”

“That's true. He's egotistical when it comes to his fat money belt. One of his least attractive traits.” It was starting to make sense, now. “So you're the reason I have the best room in the hospital?”

“Yeah.” He blushed. I loved it when he blushed.

“Thank you for the private accommodations. Does anyone else at the seminary know of your, ah, plentiful portfolio?”

“The president knows, and I think Danilo suspects, but no, I don't advertise the fact.” He stood up and walked over to the window.

“I don't understand why you don't want your friends to know.” I reined in a yawn, and I'd only woken up two hours ago. Pathetic.

He rested his hands on the windowsill and leaned his forehead on the glass. “It's complicated. Give me a minute to think of how to put it into words.”

He paused and I let him ponder. He didn't open up easily, and from what I'd seen, it was a rare day when he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

“Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.” I shivered and huddled deeper under the blankets.

He glanced over his shoulder and turned toward me. “OK, let's talk money. First, my father's career was mostly responsible for my parents' difficult marriage. He was always at work, and Mom resented it. I vowed I'd never let the pursuit of wealth come between my future family and me. Second, as to why I don't simply throw dollars to the poor here…Shay, this stays between us, right?”

“Of course. I'd never betray a confidence.” I gazed into his eyes hoping he'd know I meant it.

“All right, then. I make anonymous donations to the community, the hospital, the seminary, and anywhere I feel I can make a difference. God's blessed me with means, and I want to do the best I can with the hefty responsibility.”

Well, this was new. Someone who wished to remain anonymous. “Giving financial gifts sounds like a great deal of fun. But why are you so bent on getting a promotion? Heck, why do you even need a job?”

“Someday I hope to have a more important role here at the seminary so I can better assist the community. If I had additional clout, the government might listen to my ideas concerning clean well water, better sanitation, etcetera. There are tons of ways to help the people do more than merely subsist.” Timothy's voice deepened, and I could feel his passion from across the room.

He wasn't coldly ambitious. He didn't want a wife so he could further his career for selfish reasons. He was poles apart from Blaine. Goodness, he was a galaxy apart from any other man I knew. “But why then, when Pinky landed in the hospital, did you ask for money from your church? Wouldn't writing a check have been easier?”

He walked over to the bed and sank down next to me. “To answer that, have you ever heard of the story about the widow's mite?”

“Yeah, but run it by me again. I'm a bit rusty in my Bible knowledge.” I sipped ice water from the cup Nurse Meri had left for me.

“In the New Testament, passages in both Mark and Luke tell how Jesus watched as people gave their money to the collection boxes. Many of the wealthy were throwing in large sums, and they were proud of their generosity. A poor widow came by with an offering of two small copper coins. That was all she had, and she gave it away.”

“OK, so you're saying although the rich gave more, the widow's gift meant more?” Interesting concept. A song from my childhood played through my mind. “Little is Much When God Is in It.” I hadn't thought of that hymn in twenty years.

“Exactly.”

I rubbed my temples for a moment. This was weighty stuff, and I wanted to soak it in. “But how does that apply to you having piles of money?”

“If God sees it that way, why would I deprive anyone from knowing the joy of giving? A person's gift of a dollar might mean more than all the checks I write.” He stared into my eyes, urgency written all over his face. “Do you see? Faith matters most of all. How was that widow going to live? How was she going to eat? She sacrificed all she had because she had faith God would take care of her.”

Now I got it. Reach out in faith even when it doesn't make sense—or perhaps especially when it doesn't make sense. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with this new information, but I knew it was important. Deep inside, I longed for such faith—faith like Timothy's.

I reached out my hand for him, pulled him toward me, and draped my arms around his neck. His encompassing warmth seeped into me. He hugged me as if I was made of spun glass, and he was afraid I'd shatter. I rested my forehead on his shoulder and sighed.

“Shay, I have faith you're here for a reason. You're supposed to be here. I can feel it.”

And he was right. Getting my relationship with God back on track was priceless and worth every millisecond of agony I'd experienced since arriving. Maybe someday I'd tell him the whole story.

He kissed the top of my head—there'd been a lot of that going on lately—closed the blinds, switched off the light, and left on quiet feet.

 

 

 

 

17

 

Timothy wheeled me out to the curb and helped me into Imelda's car. “Remember, I'm not far away if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I know. And don't forget to give Pinky the set of colored bracelets I bought for her at the bazaar. I hope she likes them.”

“She'll love them, and I won't forget.”

He moved toward my forehead, but this time I wasn't going to let him get away with one of those Brother-in-Christ kisses. I grabbed his shirt and yanked him halfway into the car to kiss him proper. On the lips. With feeling.

I was going to miss him, but I needed time to sort out my life. Everything was so confusing. I'd come to this foreign country for reasons that didn't matter much anymore. Now I was different. Very different. The world had stopped, rebooted, and started again.

As Imelda drove, I studied the scenery. “How long until we get to your house? Sorry. I sound like a whiny kid.”

Imelda shook her head and patted my hand. “Not too far, now. My son's away on a business trip, but you'll get to meet his wife, Jovelyn, and my twin grandsons. They're adopted and almost identical. Jun is almost always dressed in something blue, and Doon in red. And yes, I know, Jun and Doon—their mom and dad have a sense of humor. Poor kids.”

We swung into the driveway of an attractive upper-middle class house. The boys were at the front door waiting, squealing with delight when they spied their grandma.

“
Lola, Lola
!” said Jun, the one in blue shorts.

“
Lola, Lola
!” repeated Doon, the one in red shorts.

“We woke up,” began Jun.

“And you were gone,” finished Doon.

Four-year-old kids were extra cute.

“What does
Lola
mean?”

“Grandmother. Boys, pipe down and say hello to Miss Shay.”

“Hello, Miss Shay,” the boys said in unison.

Jovelyn greeted us with a warm welcome, and hustled the kids into the house.

Imelda showed me the way to my own bedroom, and brought my bags in from the car. Next, she carried in a vase full of flowers while trying not to giggle. “They're
sampaguita
. Timothy asked me to give them to you and told me you'd understand.”

The sweet scent of the delicate blossoms filled the room. My heart skipped a beat or two. Or maybe three.

Imelda offered to help me unpack. With heavy eyelids, I declined, wanting only to creep into bed and pass out. When I was warm and snug, I sniffed the fragrant air, thoughts of Timothy drifting through my mind.

 

~*~

 

I grew stronger with each passing day, but tired easily with any kind of exertion. Like moving. Imelda snapped into nurse mode, and I couldn't have asked for a nicer place to recover.

Not a day went by without an e-mail from Timothy. He sent me funny e-cards to brighten the long days. I was especially fond of one with a fluffy kitten in the hospital suffering from excessive cuteness. And somewhere he'd found a card with a comical sick mosquito. That one made me laugh. It got so when I woke up in the morning, the first thing I did was check my e-mail. If my card-of-the-day hadn't arrived yet, I was sorely disappointed.

Brianna video conferenced with me at least three or four times a week. After I'd been at Imelda's for a while, I was turning in for the night when my sister popped up on my computer screen. Taking my laptop to bed with me, I propped it up on a pillow and prepared to chat.

“Hey there. Have you been able to get in touch with your boss?” Brianna bit into her mid-morning bagel slathered with honey-nut cream cheese.

“Finally. With the time difference, it was hard to connect, but I persevered and talked to Mr. Ford yesterday. And you have a dab of cream cheese on your cheek.”

Brianna made a face and wiped her cheek with a napkin. “What did he say?”

“He wasn't happy with me—we've launched a new software product and expectations are high. Very high.”

“Uh oh.”

“He said he was sorry, and of course he sympathized with my plight, but he wasn't going to be able to keep my job open.” I pressed my lips into a thin line and crossed my legs under me. “However, since I've been at Compudine for five years, I'll receive a month's severance pay.”

“That's it? After all this time?”

“That's it.
C'est la vie
. Can you hold on a sec? Your bagel's making me hungry.”

“Sure, but don't be long. I only have a couple more minutes before break time's over.”

I shambled down the hall to the small kitchen and came back with a glass of guava juice and a slice of wheat toast. Imelda was already in bed, but she'd insisted I make myself at home. “So where were we?”

“I was going to tell you how ecstatic I am you've been unceremoniously fired. You never liked the job, anyway. How often have I heard you say you were bored silly? And you know what they say, right? When God closes a door…”

“…He opens a window. Yes, I know. I guess I'll put my faith in Him and wait and see what happens.” I used to hate that expression. So cliché.
Maybe I was learning to cling to faith.

“Shay?”

“Yeah?”

“You've changed, but I like it.” Brianna wolfed down the last crumb of her bagel and licked her fingers clean.

“You're right. I'm a different woman, and I'll explain it to you the next time I see you in person. For now, I'll let you get back to work.”

“One more thing. Clark says ‘hi.' He's a sweetie.
Ciao
.” Brianna waved and signed off.

As the days passed, Timothy's cards developed a serious tone, complete with virtual bouquets. I'd been writing brief replies as my strength allowed, and we were getting to know each other on a deeper level. It seemed to be easier for him to tell me what was in his heart through a letter than in person.

After I'd been at Imelda's for a month, Timothy sent me the sweetest note I'd ever received:

Dearest Shay,

Ever since you tumbled (literally) into my life, I've wondered where this journey was going to lead us. You're not the woman I was expecting God to send me. Instead, you far exceed my every expectation (please see Ephesians 3:20.) When I wake in the morning, I remember each curve of your beautiful face. When I fall asleep at night, I dream of the sweet kisses we've shared. I miss you, and I long to kiss you again.

I pray you will soon long for me as I do you, but for now, I've been doing my best to give you the time you need. Whenever you're ready, I'm right here waiting.

Love, Tim

This from the same man who'd first radiated arrogance personified? He was a mountain of contradictions, cloaked in complexity.

And I longed for him, too. More than I wanted to. With each day that flew by, I yearned ever more for his presence and his embrace. But this was crazy. I couldn't stay here. I had a life at home. I might be jobless, but I still had my family and Clark the supercat.

Soon, I would feel well enough to travel. I couldn't impose on Imelda and her kind family any longer. I would have to make some kind of a decision.

Clueless as to what I was going to do, I said a prayer and sat down to write a response.

 

 

 

 

18

 

The next day, I parked myself in Imelda's front room and waited for Tim to drive up. I'd asked him to come. He'd answered my note practically before I'd hit send.

I'd spent some time primping, and my hair was as blonde as it had been when I'd arrived. I preferred it that way, so it was staying that way. I was as ready as I was ever going to be despite the rock in my chest and the stone in my throat.

At sight of him coming up the walk, my heart walloped inside of my ribcage. I threw open the door and he wrapped me in his arms, pulling me off my feet.

“Shay.” He twirled me around—twirled!—set me down, and beamed me a grin that outshone the mid-day sun. “There's a park nearby with a lake. Why don't we go on a field trip?”

He knew how much I adored field trips. “I'd love to. Let me get my bag, and I'll tell Imelda where we're going.”