Chasing Stars (13 page)

Can someone pinch me? Am I being punked?

“Anyway, I had something else prepared for today. But the miraculous beauty I saw this morning made me change my mind.” He strums the guitar’s cords a few times. “So bear with me. Here is ‘What if We’ by Brandon Heath.”

Silence reigns in the room. Will closes his eyes and, his voice deep and husky, breathes on the mike. I thought I had my share of surprises for the day, but apparently, Will has the talent to keep confounding me.

The vibration of his raspy voice rings on my insides. The lyrics are simple, but profound. He strums the cords with familiarity, as if he lives for that very purpose. His voice tears my soul open—exposing the good and the ugly. It renders me speechless.

I’ve said before, tears are stupid. But, against my will and for whatever reason, I am blissfully unaware as tears run freely down my cheek. There is the shot of the year. But, I don’t care.

Will opens his eyes, his voice a low rumble, “Give me the eyes to the ones forgotten.”

It undoes me. I look back into his eyes, and see he is singing to me. There is so much emotion on his face; it is as if he reaches out to me. I want to believe that he feels all the emotions I see on his face, I have never seen someone so willingly display such vulnerability before, and it touches me deeply.

I wipe the tears when the song ends. I don’t want people gawking. Oh well, a church should be judgment-free zone right? That’s what they advertise anyway.

“Thank you,” Will says.

Dan is back on the pulpit. “Thanks, son…” He continues to speak, but his voice fades. Instead, I tune into Will sliding back in his seat and reaching for my hand.

Confused. No, I cannot fetch the words to describe me at this moment. The rest of the reunion, or whatever they call it, passes in a blur. I have so many questions for Will. Is this a bad joke? These people certainly know his marital status. Is it Reality TV? If so, there must be a ton of hidden cameras. Such a bad joke, it has to be reality TV. Damn it, Will, how can you confuse me like this? Only God can clarify what the hell I am doing in a church with a married man. A cult. That’s a feasible explanation.

I feel the warmth from Will’s tight grip and my concerns dissipate.

“Thanks to those of you visiting with us, we truly hope you have had a blessed service and come back soon,” says the preacher pleasantly, with his eyes fixed on me.

I offer my best smile, but it feels superficial. I can do this, I repeat to myself and try to convince myself. Jeez. Meeting the Queen of England was easier than attending church with Will.

Will stands up and grins at me, “Come on, let’s go downstairs where there is food. I am starving.”

I follow him and am relieved when I notice he is dodging people for my benefit. Some people seem to recognize me, but are unsure. We go down a narrow staircase. The heady fragrance of food embraces us. I could almost be hungry.

“I hope Maritza made tacos for breakfast.” He skims his tongue along his lips, doing things to my insides.

“Will, I, uh…” Before I interrogate him, a ten-year-old girl zooms our way and hugs his waist.

“Will! You are here,” she says, her black hair draping over her skinny shoulders as she gaze up at him.

“Hey, Julia, I missed you.” Smiling, he lowers to her level and returns the hug.

“I missed you too.” She grins.

“How did you know it was me?” Will asks bemused.

“I can smell your scent, silly.” She stares in the wrong direction, indicating her blindness. Someone shoot me, please. This is getting better and better.

“Who is with you?” she inquires.

Before Will answers, she frowns and continues. “It’s a woman. She used your shampoo and soap. Did you get married, Will?” There is a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“No, honey, I didn’t. This is Portia. Portia, this is Julia.”

I chuckle a little. But, in all honesty, I am afraid Julia is just going to smell the laughter bubbling inside my chest.

“Why did she shower at your house, then?” How can such a little thing be so perceptive?

“Portia had an accident with her clothes,” he explains.

Oh God, that sounded so wrong. Can I hold that laughter?

“Oh, my little brother had an accident in his pants at the Smiths’ wedding. Mom was so embarrassed.” Her little hand flicks toward me.

“Hi Portia, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am sorry about your accident. It’s OK. Will and I won’t tell anybody else.” I sense from her tone that she is admonishing Will for his indiscretion.

I smile, lower myself to her level, and hold her tiny hand. “Well, thank you for your discretion, Julia.” Her genuine concern for my reputation is almost overwhelming and a place in my heart snaps open. Commit me to that insanity ward, please.

“Gotta go, you know how Mom gets when she can’t find me.” She waves in my direction. “Bye, Portia, your secret is safe with me.” She speeds away, and I worry she will bump into something, but she maneuvers around people and dodges the furniture.

“Wow, was that the best you could come up with?” I smirk.

Will smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. He reaches for my hand again, letting me know that he had missed my touch.

“Sorry.” He smiles and for a moment, I think he is about to kiss me. That’s when the ridiculous bubbles of the la-la land that I have been enclosed in for the last hour pop.

Before his lips touch mine, he snaps his head to the side and a grin replaces the desire and tenderness I had just seen it.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says as he drops my hand and turns away from me. His arms wrap around her and his full attention is geared to the most beautiful, angelic face I have ever seen. Obviously, she is his wife.

Anger seizes me and tumbles my soul. I have never experienced so much disappointment and sadness. The feelings I have navigated through life to avoid. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Can I mentally say the F-word on church grounds?

Will hugs her, and then, at arm’s length, he gazes at her pregnant belly.

“Hi, Will.” She smiles.

“Look at you, bigger every time I see you.” I roll my eyes. His hand flattens on her tummy. I almost gag.

“How is the morning sickness?” he continues as if I don’t exist.

“Do you really want to get me started, Will?” She says, her eyes flick toward me and her smile dies.

“Oh, sorry, honey,” he grins. “Let me introduce you to Portia.” He beckons my way. “Portia, this is Melody.”

“Nice to meet you, Melody.”

Jerk. Sick bastard, how can you put me in such a position? What an asshole. Still convinced this is reality TV, I scan the room, for the hidden cameras.

“You can call me, Mel. I am Will’s sister.” She must see the confusion and desperation on my face and adds that tidbit of information to her introduction. Her smile is not friendly, but I don’t care. Did she say sister? I glance at his ring and remember the picture on his cell. Nothing makes sense.

“I am famished. Did Maritza do the tacos?” Will asks.

“When does Mom deny you anything?” His arm is over her shoulders and she leans on him as we stroll to the cafeteria.

I wonder if they serve screwdrivers or even wine. I sure could use one right about now.

My arm drapes over Mel’s shoulders and I glance at Portia. She looks confused, almost angry. With my free hand, I reach for hers. She lets me. Relief travels through my body. That’s a good sign, right? I should have told her that our destination was a church. I know it was a tacky move, but I was afraid that if she knew she would not agree to accompany me. Yes, I ambushed her. Sort of. Something is bothering her. Regret? Oh, well. We will eat and I’ll get her back to the city.

“Maritza makes the best tacos in this galaxy. Want to try one?” I ask hopeful.

“Yeah, sure.” I turn to Mel. “How about you?”

“No, thanks, I already ate.” She rolls her eyes. “You know Mom puts food down my throat at every chance.”

“Five tacos and two coffees, please.” I pay for the order.

“Hey, Will, I’ve got to go. Tim is calling me in an hour.” Mel’s eyes come alive at the mention of her husband.

“OK, gorgeous.” I hug her. “Tell Tim I say hello and to stay safe.”

“I’ll see you around,” she says to Portia.

“See ya!” Portia waves her hand.

“Are you all right?” I get the tray and lead Portia to a table.

Her serious eyes peek from her furrowed brow. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it.

What was I thinking? Imagine, a church service followed by breakfast in a basement. My sorry ass is lame, I realize. “You look uncomfortable. We can leave,” I offer.

“No, it’s just…” She looks at her twisted hands for a moment. A flash of awareness crosses her face. “Will?” She retrieves the taco I hand her.

“Yeah?”

“Julia. She asked if you married me.” She pauses, bites her lower lip, and glances at my platinum ring.

“Oh God, no, you thought I was married?” I ask and my thumb fidgets with the metal.

“Well, yes,” she says seriously.

“Oh, no, this is not a wedding band, it’s a purity ring.” I grin before biting the taco.

“A what?” she asks.

“A commitment ring. Basically, I am committed to abstain from sex out of wedlock, alcohol, and drugs. I’ve had this ring since I was sixteen.” I tell her between chewing.

“You’re not going to eat?” I point to her untouched food.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She takes a small bite.

“I had no idea you assumed I was married. Oh God, you thought Mel was my wife?” I feel bad; no wonder she was so uncomfortable.

“I, uh, saw the picture of the two of you on your phone screen.”

“Oh, I snapped that picture on her wedding day.”

“And the way you spoke to her that first morning we met.” She chews slowly. She adds on a low voice, “And your rejection…”

I reach across the table, caressing her face. “I am sorry, baby.” She leans her cheek on my hand and closes her eyes.

I make a tremendous effort to restrain myself from reaching across the table and kissing her puckered lips.

“One reason I avoided you is I am faithful to the commitment I made when I put on this ring. The other reason is because we live in two opposing spectrums.” I wave my hand in the air. “This is my life, Portia, one hundred and eighty degrees away from yours.”

She looks at me. “Oh, Will, I don’t think I ever loved the concept of a purity ring as much as I do right this minute.” She takes another bite. “Hmm, this is really good.”

I lean back and watch her devour the taco.

“I want you to meet Dan and Maritza.” I cross my arms over my chest.

She raises a brow.

“They are my adoptive parents,” I explain.

“I would love to meet them,” she replies.

I study her expression, but there is no hidden judgment or pity. God, I could kiss her just for that.

“You are very close to them, huh?” She sips from the coffee.

“They are the only family I have.” I clear the table and stand up. “Come on.” I wrap my fingers around her small hand.

“They will be here a while, talking to the congregation. Let’s head home.” I dump the trash in a nearby garbage can.

Outside, a cool breeze greets us. Portia shivers. I tug her hand and pull her close to me. My arm goes around her shoulders. I lean into her, inhaling the familiar scent of my shampoo. It makes me clench in places I’d rather ignore.

“I love the smell of me on you,” I say, remembering Julia’s remark.

“Is that so?” She looks up and meets my stare.

“Honest truth.”

We stroll across the parking lot, around the recreation building, and up a slope. I take a sharp turn and pull her behind tall bushes edging the front yard. My arms snake possessively around her waist. I revel at the softness of her breasts crushed against my chest, and every muscle of my body contracts.

I wet my lips. My gaze fixes on her parted mouth. My lips capture hers with an urgent hunger. Her hands enlace behind my neck, pulling me closer. My lips slide over her jaw to her ear. “God, you are beautiful,” I whisper before nibbling, teasing, and tasting her earlobe. I hear her growl and my body tightens in response.