Nobody's Hero (32 page)

He gazed into her blue eyes, filled with
trust and concern. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I can pack my
seabag in about twenty minutes.”

The next afternoon, he and Karla sat in the
mental health clinic’s waiting room, with Teresa between them. As
the minutes stretched out, Teresa reached for Karla’s hand. The two
had hit it off. Teresa loved Goth music and black clothing, too.
After about twenty minutes, his niece laid her head against
Damián’s shoulder and he put his arm around her and pulled her
closer. She’d been clinging to him, too, ever since he’d arrived in
Eden Gardens, the Hispanic community in Solana Beach where he’d
lived until he’d gone into the Marines.

Damián was so glad she hadn’t shut him out.
She looked so fragile. Nothing like the exuberant teenager he’d
seen less than a month ago at her sixteenth birthday party. Now
Teresa waited for the appointment with a social worker to discuss a
horrific attack on her person. His sister, Rosa, was a basket case
and had asked Damián and Karla to bring her to the neighborhood
clinic. Damián hoped to talk with the counselor about what he and
his family could do to help Teresa cope and move on. He needed to
get Rosa in here, too, apparently, and made a mental note to ask
the counselor about her seeing someone, too. But right now, Teresa
had a death grip on Karla’s hand and was looking lost and
vulnerable. She hadn’t cried in front of him, but just stared ahead
as if shell shocked. God, did he ever know that feeling.

“You okay,
querida
?” She looked up at
him and blinked, but he didn’t think she really saw him. “You’re
going to get through this, baby girl. You’re stronger than you
know. Just talk to the counselors and let them help you find ways
to cope.”

“I don’t want to go in there alone. Will you
go with me, Uncle Damo?”

“Sure, but if you need to talk about anything
you don’t want me to hear, just boot my butt out of the room.
Okay?”

No smile. No light in her eye. No fire.

Just a meek nod. That god-damned motherfucker
was going to suffer for what he’d done to Teresa. Damián would make
sure of it, because he planned to be judge, jury, and
executioner.

The door to the inner offices opened and
Damián turned to watch a brunette with shoulder-length hair step
through the doorway, glance down at the manila folder in her hand,
and call Teresa’s name. Her gaze flitted over him, then Teresa, but
came back to him again immediately. He felt as if he’d taken a kick
to the solar plexus, unable to breathe for a moment. Her hair color
had changed, but he’d recognize those big blue eyes anywhere, even
though they seemed happier now than they’d been all those years
ago. Her unpainted lips were a dusky pink and his balls tightened
at the thought of kissing her. Again.

Savannah.

As recognition dawned, Savannah’s eyes opened
wider and she clutched the folder to her chest. So, she remembered
him. He wasn’t sure she would at first. They’d only spent about
twenty-four hours together, what, eight years ago? But she’d been
in his thoughts or dreams every day for many years beyond that, and
still invaded his dreams from time to time.

“Uncle Damo? Are you coming in with me?”

He looked up to find Teresa standing beside
his chair, waiting for a response.
Madre de Dios
, he
couldn’t go back there and face Savannah again. He’d finally put
her memory behind him and moved on. Well, for the most part. How
would he be able to sit in the same room with her and not want to
touch her?

“Teresa? This way, please.” Savannah’s voice
was as sweet as he remembered.

“Are you okay, Damián?” Karla reached out to
squeeze his hand and he watched Savannah zero in on Karla and wince
before she masked her expression.

“Yeah.” Damián stood and took Teresa’s
hand.

He turned toward Savannah again. He didn’t
like to remember the day he found her, tortured and broken spirit
at the hands of two Japanese sadists at the hotel where he worked.
His gaze roamed her body from head to toe. Her legs were encased in
tight-fitting jeans and she wore a long-sleeved purple blouse. The
folder and her arms hid her breasts from view.

Good thing.

His body reacted to her in a way that was
totally inappropriate for the woman who would be Teresa’s
counselor. Then he remembered how much Savannah had wanted to
become a social worker. To help kids. He smiled. She’d made it.

Without him.

He needed her to focus on helping Teresa deal
with her trauma more than anything in the world. Putting his own
feelings aside, he walked with Teresa toward Savannah. For the
first time since yesterday, he began to feel things were going to
be okay. Savannah would make it better. She was a kind and gentle
soul. The perfect person.

For Teresa, at least.

Savannah led them down the long hallway.
Noise machines whirred beside each door so passersby wouldn’t hear
private conversations taking place inside the rooms. At the end of
the hallway, she opened a door and motioned them inside. Passing by
her, he caught a whiff of a flowery scent, but it was different
from the flowery scent he remembered. Inside the office, he saw a
desk with two wooden chairs in front of it, then a rocking chair
and a loveseat in a corner of the room with dim lighting.

“Please sit wherever you’re most
comfortable.”

Teresa made a beeline to the rocking chair
and began rocking, hugging herself to provide self-comfort. Damián
looked around and saw that the only other place to sit was the
loveseat and sat at one end. Savannah hesitated a moment, then sat
at the opposite end, as far away from him as she could get.

“I’m Savi Baker, a counselor here.”

Baker. So, she’d married. He looked down at
her left hand and saw the wedding band on her hand. No engagement
ring. Just a simple band. Damián didn’t want to think about why her
being married caused an ache to form in his chest.

“Please call me Savi. Teresa, who do you have
here with you today?”

“My Uncle Damo,” she whispered.

Damián reached out his hand to Savi, as she
called herself now. It would take him awhile to get used to calling
her anything but Savannah, after all these years. “Damián Orlando.”
She hesitated, looking at his hand as if it were an attacking
snake, before taking it in hers. He detected a trembling that told
him she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she pretended to be. After a
perfunctory handshake, she pulled her hand back.

Damián tried to focus on the conversation
unfolding, but his mind kept wanting to compare the old Savannah to
the new Savi. Not only had she changed in physical appearance, but
she seemed much more in control now. Her face had stronger lines.
Now she exuded confidence. Back then, she’d been afraid of her own
shadow. Yeah, she’d done well for herself, which made him happy,
even though he wished he’d been able to be a part of the journey
with her.

She definitely had a knack for putting her
clients at ease, but also for drawing out the ugly details of what
had brought them here in the first place.

Savi had Teresa smiling at one point, talking
about Father Martine. How did a woman from Rancho know about the
Hispanic community’s local parish priest? Surely she didn’t attend
San Miguel’s, his home church, although it certainly wasn’t
strictly a Latino congregation. But she talked about goings on
there as if she was familiar with the church and its members. Maybe
she just went there occasionally to keep up with the people served
by the clinic where she worked.

As Savi focused on engaging Teresa in
conversation, he watched her slowly coax his niece into sharing the
first details he’d heard about the rape. His admiration for Savi’s
skill soon turned to a rage Damián had never known as he listened.
He fought hard to mask his emotions so as not to halt the words
Teresa probably needed to get out. The need to crush Julio’s head
between his hands was so strong he could barely contain the beast
that fought to escape its fragile cage.

Control. He needed to maintain control.

Distance. He glanced over at Savi’s wedding
band again. Had she married her sugar daddy, or someone else? She’d
cut her hair, dyed it. He didn’t know her maiden name. She was a
Baker now. Judging by the gallery of photos behind her desk across
the room, she probably had a child. A Hispanic-looking girl looked
out at him with soulful brown eyes that reminded him of Teresa’s.
The photo in which she looked the oldest was her First Communion,
so she’d be at least seven years old.

While the photos appeared to be of one little
girl at various ages, Savi might have more than one child. Or the
photos could be of one or more nieces or other relatives, he
supposed.

Damián was happy for her that life had turned
out just the way she’d wanted, from what he could tell. Thank God
he hadn’t found her before shipping out to Fallujah. He wouldn’t
have wanted her to be saddled with a cripple like him. She deserved
a whole man.

Apparently she’d found that with her husband.
But her sugar daddy hadn’t been Hispanic, so she must have found a
new man soon after their day at the beach. Damián didn’t understand
why that bothered him so much.

Thirty-five minutes later, after hearing
Teresa tell more about what her father had done to her, rocking
faster as her turmoil built, thoughts about Savannah had been
replaced by anger and torment. When Teresa began crying, he
couldn’t stand it any longer and got up and went over to her.

“Mr. Orlando, you might want to give her some
space...”

Teresa got up from the rocker and came into
Damián’s arms. “Uncle Damo, he hurt me so bad.”

“Shhh,
bebé
, it’s over now. He’s never
going to hurt you again.” Damián held her as she gave into the
torrent of tears that probably had been stored up for days. “It’s
okay. You’re safe now.”

After a few minutes, the sobs became more
intermittent and Damián pulled away. “Let’s sit down so Mrs. Baker
can finish, baby girl.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Uncle Damo.”

“No, you’re a kick-ass warrior woman and no
one’s gonna mess with you ever again.”

She smiled up at him and Damián sat back down
on the loveseat. Teresa surprised him by curling up in his lap. He
felt Savi grow tense beside him and looked to find her casting a
disapproving glance his way.
Jesús
, did she think he’d do
something inappropriate with his niece? What kind of sicko did she
think he was?

Savi turned her focus to Teresa and began
telling her what she should do for homework, as she called it. He
needed to listen up, because Teresa probably wasn’t hearing
anything at the moment.

“And I’d like you to start keeping a journal.
Write about what you’re feeling at least once a day. If you feel
numb, write about how that feels. If you’re angry, sad,
content—whatever you feel—just describe it in your journal. If
something triggers those feelings, write what those triggers were.
Try to fill at least a page every day at first, if writing comes
hard, but don’t stress out over quantity. I just want you to spend
some time expressing yourself in your journal every day, Teresa.
You won’t have to share anything in there with anyone else. But
always bring it with you, because it might help you remember
incidents or feelings since the last time we were together. You can
refer back to it to see how you were feeling at a specific time or
a particular event.”

“Thanks, Ms. Savi.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to talk
about today, Teresa?”

His niece shook her head.

Savi got up from the loveseat and went to her
desk. “I want you to make another appointment for two days from
now, but I’m going to give you my card. If you feel things getting
to be too much, just call the number. If it’s after hours, the
service will get in touch with me.” She paused a moment, then
turned her card over, laid it on the desktop, and picked up her
pen. “Actually, I’m going to write my cell number on the back,” she
said, stopping to scribble on the card. She glanced over at Damián
and he saw what looked like worry in her eyes.

Shit
. She acted like he was going to
call and harass her or something. This woman had serious trust
issues. Well, she’d made it abundantly clear years ago she wanted
nothing more to do with him. He’d have no trouble respecting her
wishes and steering clear of her and her perfect family.

* * *

Karla worried about Damián. He’d been very
quiet since coming out of the counselor’s office yesterday. What
had Teresa revealed? And what was Damián going to do with that
information? When she was around him, she felt his rage barely
simmering at a slow burn. Maybe she should get him out of the house
for awhile.

He put a pan of enchiladas into the oven. She
wished she could cook well enough to help out. She’d see if anyone
liked tuna-noodle casserole.

She knew there would be time before dinner
was ready. “Damián, I’d like to see your neighborhood. Let’s take a
walk.” He looked at her with an
are-you-kidding-me?
expression that brought a grin to her face.

Teresa poured the rice into a pot and opened
a can of diced tomatoes with chiles. “I’ll work on the rice. Go for
a walk. I’m fine.” Teresa seemed to like to cook and had helped him
stuff and roll the enchiladas, too. It probably was good for her to
keep busy.

For the first time in days, Damián grinned
and a weight lifted off Karla’s chest. “I’ll be ready in a few.” He
went down the hall to his bedroom and she went to the room where
she’d been sleeping and retrieved her walking shoes. When she
returned to the kitchen, he was standing at the back door waiting
for her.