Manila Marriage App (11 page)

“Sixty-three. I theorize they assumed that's what a missionary would want to hear. And half of them took their answers straight off the internet. Try keying in the top five religious movies and see what you get. I never knew
The Ten Commandments
and
Ben-Hur
were so popular. It seems a great many women are mesmerized by Charlton Heston.”

I was tempted to tell him his resemblance to Charlton in
Ben-Hur
was uncanny—and the chariot scene was one of the most exciting races in cinematic history—but I didn't want him to think I was similar to those other sixty-three women. “What else did you like?”

“Your sense of humor. You had me howling when you answered the question of whether you were a widow with ‘Not yet, but I hope to be someday.'” He shook his head. “Would you care to know what finalized my decision?”

“Sure.” I was all ears.

“Do you remember the question asking you to describe yourself in three sentences or less?”

“Yeah. I remember. I was experiencing a self-indulgent, thoroughly immature moment.”

That comment won a chuckle from the manly man. “You wrote, and I quote, ‘You'll have to see me to believe me.' How could I turn down a dare like that?”

I don't know what gremlin had possessed me the day I typed those words, but Brianna had approved it, too. “But why did you advertise for a wife in the first place? I'm sure you know you're a catch. I would think your entire life you've had desperate women swarming all over you like honeybees on a sunflower.”

Timothy swallowed hard.

Uh oh. Something was up, and I had a feeling I wasn't going to like it. “Timothy?”

“Many reasons. I had one serious girlfriend in college, but she ended up being a gold digger. Consequently—and this may have been the wrong way for me to react—I don't trust women, as a rule. I know my father sure doesn't think much of females, and maybe I've let his assessment cloud my judgment, but it's how I grew up. Since college, I haven't bothered to date much because it didn't seem worth the effort. Now I'm thirty-five years old, and I'm lonely.”

Gold digger? What did he mean? Did she ditch him for someone wealthy? I was intrigued. Lonely? Yeah, I knew what that was like. And parents? My mother thought all men could walk upright under a worm's belly with inches to spare. It was possible I had issues of my own.

Timothy rested his elbows on his knees, guilt written in the slump of his shoulders. He blinked and exhaled. “You had a question on the subject of the board of directors. They would prefer their professors were married. They've made it clear I'll never get a promotion if I'm single. The way they figure it, they want the students to be concentrating on their studies, not wondering whether their professor is trolling for a spouse. Outmoded reasoning, I know.”

He paused and tugged at his shirt collar to loosen it. “Please, Shay, you have to understand. The only way I knew how to handle this was to use logic and search for a wife through advertising. It was the expedient thing to do.” His gaze darted around the room, his hands rubbing up and down his thighs. He cleared his throat. “The final reason I sent for you, specifically, was because of your computer degree. The head of our computer department retired at the end of last semester, and we need a replacement. Kind of killing two birds with one stone…”

His voice trailed off as I stared at him in disbelief. Wonderful. He didn't want a woman to love. He wanted a timid, plain-faced, priggish female who would bow down to the higher-ups, help him further his career, and manage the computer department. He was lonely? No wonder. What woman would agree to marry for those reasons? What about compatibility? What about chemistry? What about love?

Any foolish romantic dreams I'd dared to entertain flew out the window.

 

 

 

 

14

 

There'd been no note under the door in the morning. I hadn't expected one. The way Timothy dashed out of the apartment last night one would have thought a saber-toothed tiger was chasing him. Good thing he vamoosed when he had, because I was planning to claw him to pieces myself.

After he made his hasty exit, I crawled off the couch and grabbed my laptop. Adrenaline pumping, I composed a scathing e-mail to Brianna letting her know how misguided she'd been in the men department, citing both Blaine and Timothy. I spilled my guts on Timothy's duplicity and Blaine's obnoxiousness. I'd known about Blaine's shortcomings, but I'd been sucker punched by the missionary man. Weren't Christians supposed to be above reproach? Weren't they supposed to be honest and trustworthy? OK, maybe he'd been honest—a bit too much? As to trustworthy, he could have kept his mouth shut, and I would never have known his true intentions, but what a scam.

Or was it? He'd never once pretended he was looking for love.

Before I sent off my note to my sister, I did a complete rewrite and softened it. I knew she meant well. Still, I'd have to make sure she never stuck her nose in my love life again. I wanted to go home, or at least I wanted to get out of here. I weighed the pros and cons of flying home with Blaine, but nixed the harebrained idea in a hurry. I did have my pride. More important, being on a jet with Blaine for hours on end would be more than I could take.

I rummaged through my purse for Imelda's phone number, a much better option. I knew the scrap of paper was in there somewhere. After taking out every item, I found the number stuck to a piece of gum. Gum. It was a good thing the number was still readable.

Steeling myself, I gave her a call. No answer. I'd try again later and do my best not to sound pitiful. Restless, I dressed for a stroll around campus. Timothy was still teaching Dr. Kyun's theology class, so I should be safe from his lame excuses or pathetic explanations. When he'd left last night, he'd known he was in the doghouse, and I doubted he wanted to see me, either.

I didn't want to mull over the fact I also had a less than noble reason for coming here. I wasn't the traditional Christian woman he'd wanted, nor was I ever serious about wanting to marry him. But hadn't the pompous man deserved a shove off his high horse? No, I wouldn't give it another thought, especially now that I knew his true intentions.

As I tramped across the campus, I took a left where I always veered right and found myself in an unfamiliar part of the grounds. It was quiet here with most of the students in class. I absorbed the beauty of the abundant trees and foliage, the colorful flowers captivating me. I marveled as ephemeral butterflies with transparent wings circled, alighting with invisible feet on the blooms. I had landed in a tropical paradise. Continuing on, I hunched under low-hanging branches and sniffed with pleasure. Citrus fruit. The fresh scent permeating the air reminded me of Timothy's cologne.

The pebbled path snaked through the trees and ended at a low concrete block building with Coleman Apartments written over the entrance. I could see a few air conditioners in windows, so it must be faculty housing. Students didn't rate expensive cool air.

I was crossing the open area in front of the building when I heard a giggle. Jemma? A deep, dynamic voice followed as Timothy and Jemma sauntered out the front door, laughing and talking, his hand under her elbow. He'd make sure she didn't stumble over any imaginary obstacles. Perfect. He was ever the protector, wasn't he?

I glided out of sight and ducked under a nearby tree. At least my clothes weren't neon bright, and they didn't notice me. Timothy hadn't wasted any time, had he? Since I was on to him, he'd trick some other poor female. I was tired of this inhospitable country.

I retreated the way I'd come, pausing to stop at a secluded bench to bawl like a newborn who needed a diaper change. Why did I feel so utterly spent in mind, body, and spirit? All cried out, sniffling, I headed to my temporary home to take a nap. I had nothing else to do. It took all my willpower to make it up the stairs. On the way, I stopped three times to catch my breath. Blessed coolness awaited me at Timothy's place, and I plugged on. Why had I wanted to go outside in the first place? I was never going out again.

I took a few faltering steps into the apartment and fell to my knees. I had neither the ability, nor the desire to get up. Someone groaned, and I had the feeling it was me. Collapsing to the floor, I slid onto my side, cheek pressed against the chilly wood floor. Something warm trickled from my nose and mouth as I faded away.

 

~*~

 

When I came to, I wished I hadn't. The agony was indescribable. Vaguely, I was aware of Timothy carrying me to the bedroom and laying me down on the bed with gentle care. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn his eyes were wet.

Waves of nausea engulfed me, and I struggled not to vomit.

Timothy brought me a basin, covered me with a light blanket, and rubbed my freezing hands. He slipped a pair of socks on my feet, wiped my mouth, and smoothed the hair out of my face. “Your hands and feet are bright red, and you have a rash on your torso, I just pulled your shirt up a little to check. Why didn't you tell me you were feeling so awful? Aw, Shay. Why didn't you tell me?” His voice broke on the last word.

“Sorry.” It came out as a whisper and I didn't have the energy to say any more. I peeped under my blouse to see flat purple blisters on my stomach. Disgusting. A sudden fit of coughing wracked my body. I ripped the basin out of Timothy's hands and threw up, abdomen convulsing.

In between coughing and vomiting fits, I flowed in and out of consciousness. I heard Timothy talking to someone on the phone. The next thing I knew, he'd picked me up again, his strong arms around me, holding me tight to his chest. I was in the car. Oh, I really didn't want to throw up in his car! Groaning, I held on to the seat, the swaying motion making me woozy. My head thumped with the slightest bounce.

Timothy prayed for me as he drove. He implored God for another chance to take care of me. He cried out, pleading with Jesus to heal me and keep me safe from harm. He begged the Holy Spirit for my life.

I could hear my own voice in my head asking for God's intervention. I didn't know what else to say but “help,” but I could feel His presence for the first time in years.

 

~*~

 

Bright lights all around me, and heat. I was burning up. Weighed down. I had to get the blankets off me. So very heavy. I flailed, kicking and straining, shaking and sweating. So much pain. My limbs seized, my back arching. A shriek tore from my throat. Awful, all-consuming misery. God! God!

A prick in my arm and drifting, slowly drifting, dizzy with relief, floating away.

White coats. Doctor's voices in a cold room. Shivering. Murmurs. So many words. Words like shock, low platelet levels, dangerously low blood pressure, blood transfusion, liver failure, brain infection, seizures, mortality rate.

Mortality rate? Me? Were they talking about me?

Timothy. Where was Timothy? Timothy!

His hands gripped mine. His angelic face lingered next to my own, so very near. So very dear. His prayers reached my heart, his presence touched my soul.

His voice, “Please God, don't take Shay away from me. Make her well. Heal her. Tell her you love her, and hold her close. I've been so selfish and only thought about what was best for me. What can I do for
her
, Lord? Tell me how I can help her. Dear Lord, keep her safe, and take away the dreadful pain. Give her rest. In Your precious name, Amen.” He brushed my forehead with a kiss—soft, warm lips.

A door shut, and then I was alone.

But I wasn't alone. I wasn't alone at all.

Tears fell freely, making tracks on my cheeks.
“Lord, don't let me die. I surrender to You and give you my life. I remember when I was a child. You were there every second of every day and You still are. I know You love me. Please forgive me for being so stubborn. And God, please heal me for Timothy's sake. I think he needs me, and I might need him. Lord, I'm ready to go. But if I don't make it, comfort him with Your love.”

 

 

 

 

15

 

For the next few days, I faded in and out of awareness. When I woke, Timothy was there by my side. When I fell asleep, he was holding my hand.

I had something called Hemorrhagic Dengue Fever, the most severe form of the disease. My symptoms were typical, and there'd been a recent outbreak in the area. Dengue fever, in particular the type I'd contracted, was nothing to sneeze at, and a vile mosquito had caused it all. The best news, though, was that my illness was not contagious. Timothy was safe.

Now, I was in the “recovery phase,” but still hooked up to numerous monitors to ensure I didn't relapse. Pneumonia was a common complication, as was myocarditis, infection of the heart. Scary stuff. All I knew was, I'd never hurt so much in my life.

Timothy told me that by the time he'd transported me to Manila Makati Medical, my fever was 106 degrees. I'd been wheeled into the ER with a thready pulse, a blood pressure reading that barely registered, and cold, blue lips. Deep in shock, I was in desperate need of a transfusion. The doctors were amazed I was still alive.

It was a relief to be free from the ICU, safe in my quiet room. My left arm remained tethered to an IV, medicinal cocktails galore soaking into my veins. With the excellent painkillers a nice nurse shot into me on a regular basis, I felt almost human, again.

What I didn't understand was why I was receiving such excellent care. My high-tech hospital bed sat in a huge private room, which included a seating area for guests, and a spotless private bathroom. While lying on my comfortable bed, I could see a pleasant courtyard down below. When Timothy wasn't “on duty,” Nurse Merisol Flores, Meri for short, was on the job. She was kind, caring, efficient, and knowledgeable. I didn't have any idea what my health insurance covered, but I knew it wouldn't pay for this luxurious suite.