Beautiful Stranger (18 page)

“Tell her I said hello.”

“Will do.” He straightened and hit the car on the hood, like Robert was a chauffeur. It rankled.

Inside, things went steadily downhill. The building was a warren of offices, most of them referral services, Marissa told him, for various kinds of problems in the community. One floor was devoted to teens and their troubles, and Robert was slightly startled to see a room full of hoodlum-looking kids taking a martial arts class of some sort. “What is this place?” he said with a scowl.

“It's all kinds of things,” Marissa said. “Mainly resources of various sorts, a place people can come outside the government structure to get help for whatever it is they need help with.”

“Whatever they need.”

“Yeah.” She gave him a puzzled smile. “Why is that so hard to imagine?”

“Everything seems a pretty big palette.”

“It is sometimes. But that class for example, has really been a godsend. It keeps a bunch of kids off the street after school during that work period before parents get home, and it's free.” A thin black woman spotted Marissa and rushed over to hug her. Marissa, startled but pleased, hugged her back.

“I am so glad to see you!” the woman cried. “I missed your big night, and wanted to be there so bad. Did you get my present?”

“The bowl! Yes, I did. It was wonderful.” Marissa introduced her as Ruth Idamiller, head of counseling ser
vices, and Robert nodded politely, but the woman simply wanted to adore Marissa.

It happened over and over as they made their way through the halls, up the stairs, down another hallway. Over and over people stopped, hugged her, kissed, asked after her health. It wasn't the obsequious bowing and scraping Robert had sometimes seen in the army when a four-star general showed up out of the blue, either. It was something else. They loved her. Young and old, the people who ran the programs and the people who presented them. They felt free to approach her, not awed, as he would have expected.

She secured the use of an empty office to make phone calls, and gestured for Robert to make himself comfortable while she rounded the desk, tossed down her purse and picked up the phone. “It might take me a little while,” she said. “Feel free to wander around or whatever. We can get some supper when we're finished.”

Oddly unsettled, Robert paced the office, peering at the books stacked in a tumble on the shelves—this must be a fund-raising office, since there were dozens of materials on how to write and apply for grants and special services. Degrees on the wall confirmed his guess. Idly he moved toward a series of framed newspaper articles, hearing behind him Marissa make small talk with various officials. No one was busy when Marissa Pierce was on line one, he noticed. They all took her calls, pronto.

Amazing. He felt a stab of admiration and another of something else—maybe discomfort?—at the easy mantle of power that lay on her shoulders. He'd never have guessed it.

The framed newspaper articles were matted nicely and showed the progression of the center, starting with one on the upper left, a photo of a group of people in hard
hats breaking ground. Foundation Center Begun it read. The photo was blurry and showed a smear of smiling faces. Other articles, most without photos, chronicled the progress.

It was the last one that stopped him cold. It showed a picture of a beaming Marissa—in that devastating blue dress she'd been wearing the first time he kissed her—with a giant pair of scissors in her hand and a symbolic ribbon between the blades. Benefactress Blesses Building it read. Nice bit of alliteration, he thought with a grin, leaning closer to read the article.

And his heart sunk.

He turned around to look at her hard. She'd put the phone down, scribbled a note to herself and seemed to feel his attention. “What?” she asked, obviously picking up something from his expression, because the word was defensive.

“This whole place is your doing?”

“Not at all,” she said with a frown. “You see all these people in here.”

“Yeah, but none of them had the money to make it happen, did they? The seed money, you called it, I think.”

She frowned, pressing her lips together, smoothing a lock of hair from her face. “Right.”

He didn't know why he felt betrayed, but the emotion was unmistakable. “Twenty-five million dollars isn't
seed
money, Marissa.” He swore. “How rich
are
you? Tell me the truth.”

She folded those clean white hands neatly on the desk blotter and met his eyes without a single hint of expression on her face. “One hundred and seventy-five million,” she said calmly. “Feel better now?”

If a knife had cut him from neck to belly, he could
not have felt it more deeply. He closed his eyes, a little dizzy, and sat down in the chair. “God.”

“I told you you didn't want to know,” she said, and stood briskly. “The good news is, I've got a lead. Let's go.”

 

Crystal was cranky and restless on Thursday morning. Her back was achy, but not in the labor-pain way, but from lying around so much. She wanted to get out, do something, see real people instead of movies on the screen. And she was a little depressed, too, thinking of her uncle off with her teacher, maybe falling in love. Would there be room for her after that?

She was slumped in the kitchen, working on her homework when Louise called to her. “Crystal, darlin', can you come here for a minute?”

Crystal winced, threw down her pencil and lumbered into the room, holding her belly where the baby was sliding a foot in one long, slow kick all the way down her left side. She rubbed it hard, trying to make him stop. “Quit, baby, that hurts!”

Louise stood at the window, her arms crossed, a funny expression on her face. “There's someone here,” she said. “I don't know who it is, but you might.”

Something hot and scared went through Crystal, and for a minute she was frozen, her hand hard on the foot of the baby. Her breath had sailed away, and she couldn't quite get it back. Louise looked at her. “Come look.”

Crystal eased up to the window, afraid to see, afraid not to. Robert's truck was parked in front, and she saw him get out on the driver's side and stretch, followed by Marissa. The passenger door opened, and out stepped a figure with dark hair. No, not just dark.

Her heart caught. It was the blackest hair she'd ever seen, shining the way it always did in the sunlight. He wore his leather jacket, the one his mother had saved to buy him for Christmas, and it made him look strong. With a noise she wasn't even sure came from her, Crystal turned and bolted for the door, yanking it open, running down the walk, tears streaming out of her eyes. It felt like her heart was exploding, burning up her chest, and she had to stop, just short of him, to cover her mouth, try to pull it together.

It was only then that she remembered that he had not seen her pregnant, and might not like it, and she put her hands on her belly, hiding it, looking up to see how he would take it. He was standing very still, only a few feet away, and his chest was moving hard like he'd been running. One hand covered the side of his face, and he looked scared and sad all at once. “Mario?” she said.

He held out a hand, his mouth moving, but no words came out. And she catapulted forward, touching the damage that made his eye crooked, damage from a beating that had nearly killed him. It marred his face, dragged his eye down, but he was still her Mario, her only only one, and she couldn't stop the wild swell of emotions in her any longer. She took that precious face in her hands and kissed it, kissed the mouth and the nose and last the ruined place.

He made a harsh, deep noise, and she knew he was trying not to cry as he crushed her to him. “I was in the hospital a long time,” he said. “And when I got out, I couldn't find you.”

And they were both crying. Laughing, crying, kissing. His hand on her tummy, questioning, and she nodded, and more tears. And then they just slumped together, her
head on his shoulder, and she knew everything would be all right.

 

All three adults were misty-eyed to varying degrees, Marissa noticed, trying to blink away her own tears. Louise was unabashedly weeping at the window, blowing her nose on a blue tissue as she watched, and as Robert and Marissa came in, she gave them a beneficent smile. “They're gonna be just fine,” she said.

They all three watched the pair at the foot of the drive. The young couple touched each other's heads, as if to ascertain the reality of the other body, their hands tangling. Crystal pulled him down to sit beside her, and held his hand in both of hers, listening intently as he talked. Her face blazed with such happiness, Marissa could hardly believe it was the same girl. “Her knight in shining armor,” she said, thinking of the way Crystal had always stared out the windows at school.

“Where'd you find him?” Louise asked.

Marissa stiffened a little. Robert looked at her and said, “Denver. We looked in Albuquerque, but his mother hustled him out of there after some gangbangers nearly beat him to death.” His mouth went grim. “Literally.”

“I have a few connections in Denver,” Marissa supplied mildly. “They helped us find him very quickly.”

“A few connections,” Robert echoed quietly, not meeting her eyes.

Her mouth tightened. “I'm beat. Need to get home. Can you take a few minutes and drop me off?”

He nodded. “Be right back,” he said to Louise.

On her way to the truck, Marissa paused to hug Crystal. “Come see me as soon as you can, okay?”

Crystal caught her hand. “Will you come to dinner?
Please please please? Not today. But…Saturday, maybe?”

Marissa looked at Robert, who gave a dense little shrug. “Sure,” Marissa said. “Take care, Mario.”

The boy stood to shake her hand. “Thank you, Ms. Pierce. I don't know how I'll ever repay you.”

“No need,” she said. “Just take good care of them.”

“I will,” he promised.

She waved and climbed into the truck with Robert. The former ease between them, fostered by a meeting of hearts that took place away from the world, had shattered once the world intruded, but it seemed desperately unfair to her now.

Marissa had seen the walls going up, shooting up, the whole time they were in the offices. And there had been nothing she could do to stop them.

Now she said, “I guess I can safely assume that whatever we discovered back there in Albuquerque is going to stay there, huh?”

He dipped his head, sighed. “Marissa, it's just ridiculous for us to even think about a real relationship. Even if it's never true, the only thing anyone's going to see when they look at me is a man using you for your money.” He shot her a dark look. “And I'm not entirely convinced that you aren't slumming to some degree. It just doesn't make any sense—why would you keep dating guys like me, when the whole world is open to you?”

“Guys like you?” she echoed. “I don't date anyone like anyone else. I've had one simple rule from the beginning—a man had to see me. Not the money, not the fat, not anything external. Me.”

That stopped him for a minute. Then he shook his
head. “It doesn't matter. It's not about you, it's about me. It's too much. It makes me uncomfortable.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “You're afraid. You're afraid that it can't be real if we're from such different worlds.” She paused. “You're afraid that I'll betray you.”

He swallowed, staring hard out of the window, and she knew she'd struck the truth. And how could she possibly address that? Defeated, she said only, “Fine.” As he came to a stop outside her house, she let herself out of the truck and slammed the door, stomping up the walk, wishing for the yards of hair she used to have so she could flip it haughtily.

“Hey, princess,” he called.

She turned, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Thanks for your help.” He lifted a hand and drove away.

She wanted to throw something at him. “Aaargggghhh!” she cried, and Victoria came out of the house, her mouth quirked. “Told you.”

“I know,” she said darkly, and raised her miserable eyes to her sister's face. “Don't you get sick of it, Victoria?”

“Yeah, sweetie. I really do.”

O
ver the next few days, Robert kept his mind off Marissa by staying busy. He told Tyler he'd attempt the window, pay suspended until it was finished, and Tyler was gratifyingly pleased. They ordered the materials straight away, and Tyler insisted upon turning over a studio area in the Forrest Construction complex for him to work on it. He spent his evenings working out small representations at the kitchen table, a piece here and there, tiny replicas of this corner or that section.

It gave him room to think about Mario and Crystal. After dinner the first night, the two had presented their case: hands laced together for courage, they asked Robert to help them get married. It floored him at first, and he'd not been able to give them a definitive answer. He needed to think about it. They were disappointed, but respectful. A point in their favor, actually.

Now that he'd had a chance to observe them, it was plain they were more than teenage lovers who'd grown
infatuated with each other and thought it was the real thing. No Romeo and Juliet here. They talked all the time, about all kinds of things. He heard them murmuring, laughingly arguing, planning, dreaming. They watched movies together, took short walks when Mario discovered Crystal needed to build up her strength. He helped her with her homework, and together they designed and carried out a science experiment in the kitchen so that she could pass her class.

But Robert remained torn. Crystal was only sixteen. Mario was eighteen and a high school graduate, and he'd been working to help support his mother while he saved money toward college. If they got married now, chances were very good neither one could afford to go to college, and that would be a tragedy.

But how much worse a tragedy if the family was torn asunder? He wanted to talk about it. Wanted, specifically to talk to Marissa about it. She'd have good insights. He trusted her judgment.

He did not, however, trust his will to be aloof with her. Not yet. In time he'd get over this hormonal overload, forget about her and find someone appropriate. Whatever shook out with Crystal and Mario, it was plain to Robert that he was taking on more of a family than he'd ever anticipated. It gave him a wild, stunned sense of happiness, but Marissa had so much more going for her. She could do anything, go anywhere. Why would she even want to be here with them?

 

Louise was just heartsick. All her planning and scheming had come to nothing—and just when she was so close. There was a small victory in getting Mario back to his Crystal. As devoted a pair of young lovers as she'd ever seen, and they had plenty of good sense to see what
they had, unlike some adults she knew. If more adults had that kind of sense, Louise would not be required to meddle nearly as much.

But Crystal told her that Robert and Marissa had not even spoken on the telephone since they'd returned last week, and in fact, Marissa had called at the last minute to cancel dinner plans Saturday night, saying she had a cold.

Too much pride. Both of them.

She'd just see about that.

 

Marissa did have a cold. A miserable, headachy, dismal virus that kept her in bed for three days. It was almost welcome, since it reflected her internal misery so well. She took an almost gleeful satisfaction in it, and let Victoria take care of her with chicken soup made from scratch and endless cups of herb tea. The two of them hibernated together in her bedroom, safe from the outside world, in a way they hadn't done in years and years. Victoria spilled the tale of her disastrous love affair with an actor whose name was very familiar. Marissa spilled her woes over Robert. They shared the little things that had formed the past couple of years—Marissa's crusades for programs to benefit the poor, her drive to get into the high school as a teacher, the excitement of owning her first home. Victoria shared her travels, her process of creation and the possibility of one of her screenplays being directed by a very hot director.

It was soothing and peaceful. “Why don't we do this more often?” Marissa asked late Sunday evening. “Just plan a retreat and meet every few months, so we can heal and rejuvenate? There's no one in the world who understands me the way you do.”

“We should,” Victoria said. “It's true for me, too.
Maybe that's part of what makes it so hard to find the right guy. It's hard to measure up to a twin.”

Marissa nodded, but her heart yelped. She'd found the right guy. He just wouldn't let himself be that man.

The phone rang—Louise calling to invite them both to a dinner at the country club, in honor of Crystal and Mario's reunion. “I have a couple of real nice fellas lined up for you both to meet.”

“Louise,” Marissa warned, “don't do it. You know better. I'll tell Alonzo.”

“Pish,” she said dismissively. “He only minds when I do it in an underhanded way, and I'm not. I'm being very up-front with you. There are two nice, young, single men with excellent credentials and I'm hoping one or the other of you will hit it off with one or another of them.”

Marissa grinned. “All right. I guess that's legal.”

“Tuesday, seven o'clock. Black tie.”

“Black tie?” Marissa said. “What are you going to do about Crystal and Mario and Robert?”

“Don't you worry about that. I've got them covered.”

“Okay.” She put the receiver down and fell back on the bed. “We are summoned,” she said to Victoria. The phone rang again and a stab of knowledge, awareness,
heat
blistered through her. She picked up the phone. “Robert!” she said, and then tried to smooth it, but her voice just dropped to a smoky register. “Hi.”

“How did you know it was me? Caller ID?”

Marissa closed her eyes, focusing everything on that voice, touching her ear, and felt the purest, most pointed longing she'd ever experienced in her life just to be standing next to him for five minutes.

And then she realized what he'd said, and her gaze flew to Victoria in alarm. “Uh, yeah,” she said, dis
tracted by the sorrow in her sister's face. But even that couldn't pull her away from the sound of Robert on the phone. Him. The one. “How are you?”

“All right. You?”

“Bad. I have a terrible cold. It only seems fair that you should have it, too.”

He laughed, the sound coming out before he could stop himself, she was sure. “Sturdy stock, I guess.” A pause. “Listen, I don't want to intrude, but I'd really like to talk to you about Crystal and Mario. Friend to friend.”

Liar, she thought. But she said, “Sure. When?”

“Whenever is convenient for you.”

“Now is good.” She heard Victoria sigh heavily behind her. “Want to get a latte or something?”

“That'd be great.”

When she hung up after arranging the details, Victoria was standing by the window, her back to Marissa. “Your heart is going to be shattered in this, Reesy.” The childhood nickname only came out at dire moments. “I feel it.”

“You feel the danger of that possibility,” Marissa said, getting out of bed. “And I won't deny that exists. But I'm not willing to throw away the possibility of joy because there also exists a possibility of pain.”

Victoria still didn't turn. “You knew it was him.”

Marissa paused, thinking of the night he'd come to her house and she'd run down the stairs thinking that Victoria had come. “I know.” And in spite of herself, she felt a flutter of terror. “It happened before, too.”

“The first day, when I called you and you had just talked to him at school, I was scared enough that I knew I needed to come visit.” At last, Victoria turned, her arms crossed over her belly. “I'm scared I'll lose you
to him,” she said, and a tear shone in her eyes. “And then I won't find anyone to match you.”

Marissa flew across the room and threw her arms around her sister. “Oh, honey! This is different from what you and I have. It feels really good. You'll see, I promise.”

“If he hurts you, I'll kill him,” she said.

“No, you won't,” Marissa said with a smile. “You'll be too busy feeding me chicken soup.”

 

Robert waited for her at the café they'd agreed upon. It was a bright spring afternoon, the ground sloppy and wet from recent snow, but promising verdant green any second. He ordered his latte and sat by the window, tapping a spoon against the table, peering out anxiously for a glimpse of her. The woman in front of him turned around at the noise he was making, and he put the spoon down. “Sorry.”

At last she arrived, one minute not there, the next standing in the doorway, slightly windblown, looking for him. Her cheeks were flushed, as if she'd hurried, and she wore a simple white shirt with jeans—an outfit that doomed him as she caught sight of him and waved, then started toward him, her breasts moving seductively beneath—

He winced and wiped his face. Not that it helped all that much. He smelled her before she sat down, a soft greeny note that made him think of pines and margaritas and sex. It was earthy, he realized, not the rich-cosmetic smell he'd always thought. Not perfume and lotions and potions, just the essence of Marissa—charismatic, quirky, sexy, strong.

His heart ached.

“Hi,” he said, and there was roughness at the edges.

“Hi,” She sat down and folded her hands in front of her, those bottle-blue eyes bright. Her nose was red and she was stopped up, her voice a little croaky. “What did you order?”

“I got you a real latte, not-skinny, since you've been sick. Do you mind?”

She smiled, flashing those perfect rich-girl teeth. “Thank you.” She sipped it. “So, what's going on with Crystal and Mario?”

He took a breath and just said it straight out. “They want to get married.”

“Ah. I see.” Her face sobered, taking in all the implications. “And what do you think?”

“I don't know. I can't make up my mind. They're so young—they hardly know anything about themselves yet. How can they know they'll still love each other twenty, thirty years down the line?”

She nodded seriously.

“On the other hand, people used to do it all the time, didn't they? Love, make the commitment and then stick with it, through thick and thin. They have a baby coming.”

“That's true.”

He looked at her across the table, at the light falling over her poreless skin, casting white crescents over her glossy hair, and his entire world narrowed. He didn't hear the other patrons or the noise of the espresso machines, couldn't smell the rich aromas of chocolate and coffee, only Marissa. Only her eyes, burning blue like a bottle he'd found at a Salvation Army store and put on a window for some tiny touch of beauty in his life. “I don't know what to do,” he said, and wasn't sure which dilemma he was talking about.

She placed her hand over his. “Do you want me to just listen, or do you want my opinion?”

“I want—I trust—your opinion, your insight.”

A flicker of sadness there in her eyes, quickly doused. She leaned forward, meeting his eyes earnestly. “I keep thinking about the way they greeted each other. It was—” she looked around, as if the word she sought was in the air above them “—like everything you ever dream about romance, but also about love. They weren't seeing the flaws. They were seeing each other, totally, and they were so grateful to have that one thing in their lives that was right.”

He felt a tightness in his throat and he nodded.

“They are young. But their innocence was stolen a long time ago, and I think they're always going to be each other's helpmates, married or not. So you might as well let them make that public commitment, let their baby be born to parents who are married and love each other and have said they're going to stay together forever.”

He ducked his head, hiding emotions that just roared out from somewhere. Her hand was still over his, and he moved his thumb to touch her fingers, seeking the refuge, the strength he'd found with her that cold, sad night in Albuquerque. And somehow it gave him the space he needed to take a breath, raise his head and smile. “Very wise.” He hesitated, then let the rest come out. He didn't talk about his mother, not ever, but it seemed germane here. Important. “When my mother was pregnant with me, she was madly in love with a guy who just left her to fend for herself. What kind of difference would there have been in her life, in my life, in Alicia's and Crystal's lives if there'd been a kid like Mario, standing there—” He cleared his throat, looked
out the window, continued. “Just standing there, loving them?”

She didn't reply. Knew even that—knew that he needed the moment of her silence to reassemble his control. Her hand stayed steady on his own.

“Thanks,” he said at last.

She smiled gently. “Sure.”

For one long, aching moment, he looked at her across the table and wanted to just put everything right. All he would have to do was lean over the table and kiss that precious, sweetly flavored mouth. He felt his mouth parting, felt the yearning for it like a grasping hand, but he didn't have the courage to do it. In his imagination, he saw Jake Forrest standing on a cliff and the land giving way beneath it. He saw the promise of order and honor in the army disintegrate under the force of a war that punished the innocent. He saw his mother—

“I'm sure,” he said quietly, “that Crystal will want to tell you herself.”

“Okay.”

He drained the rest of his latte in a single gulp and put the cup down, realizing she was just gravely looking at him, a sad smile on her face.

“What?” he said.

“You just don't get it, do you?” she said, and stood. “Never mind. Don't answer that.” And she left, swinging those bodacious hips as naturally as some siren. More than one male head turned to watch, and Robert wanted to sock every last one of them with a solid right to the jaw. They didn't know her. They had no right.