A Soldier’s Family (12 page)

“’Lo.”

“Javier?”

“Yeah.”

“How dare you?” Celia yelled into the phone, then scolded him in Spanish.

A heavy breath came through the line. “M-Mom, what are you talking about?” Javier muttered something unintelligible in Spanish, too.

“Why does your voice sound like that? Have you been drinking?”

“No. I was trying to sleep.”

“With who?”

“What? No one. Mom, why can’t you just come upstairs and talk to me? My head hurts from you screeching in the phone.” A sigh followed the words. Words her mind riddled to figure out.

“Javier, where are you?”

“In the loft.”

“Here?”

“Duh, Mom. I hear you down there stomping around. I’m hanging up now. You’ve gone loco.”

Celia stared at the dead phone. Then started to giggle. Javier was up in his loft room. Not out partying. Sleeping off a headache, just like he’d told Manny.

How had she missed him coming up the stairs? It must have been when she cleaned the closet. She had to keep better tabs on him.

She stepped up the stairs and peeked into his darkened room. Soft music played from iPod ear buds stuck to his head.

“I’m sorry, Javier. Can I get you anything?”

“Yeah. You can get quiet and sane and let me sleep. I’ve got a long day’s work tomorrow and I don’t feel good.”

“Manny will understand if you need to call in sick.”

“No. Unless I have to call in dead, I’m working. I don’t want him to think I’m a lazy slacker.”

Celia doubted Manny would ever think that. “Okay. I’m going for a walk. You’ll be okay here by yourself?”

“I’m not four anymore, Mom.” Javier’s sleepy voice muffled into the pillow he pressed over his face and ears.

She longed to move it and brush hair from his eyes. Kiss his forehead like when he was little. She’d wait until he was asleep so as not to embarrass him. She inched back down the creaky loft steps with peace washing over her. Her son was here, safe and sound.

“Mom?”

“Yeah?” Celia turned.

Javier’s bed head peeked around the top of the stairs. “Maybe I could use a good-night hug. Just like you used to, when you sang me a song and everything. Only don’t tell anyone. And, by the way, what I said about hating you and it being your fault that Dad—” He swallowed. “I’ve been feeling bad about that and—”

At the eruption of her tears, his words faltered. He blinked his own tears away. “I’m sorry.”

She rushed the stairs and took him into her arms. “It’s okay, son. I forgive you. Unfortunately, I think you inherited my big mouth and tendency to speak before thinking.”

“Stop making excuses for me. Manny says I don’t have excuses, I have choices.” Javier hugged her back.

The strength of his embrace surprised her. His shoulders and back had filled out.

“That Manny’s pretty smart.” She sat beside his bed and started singing a Spanish lullaby. The distraught look coming over her son’s face caused her to laugh midstanza. He stared at her mouth as if tarantulas skittered across it.

“What?” Her smile faded.

“I don’t remember you singing that badly.”

“To any toddler, a mother’s voice is the sweetest thing.”

“No offense, Ma, but on second thought, no singing. Maybe I just need sleep.” Javier fell across the bed, thrusting the pillow over his face.

Celia tickled his ribs.

“Let off, Mom! Laughing hurts my head!”

She gave his ribs one more poke. “Okay, you big sissy. Get some sleep. If you need me, I have my cell phone. If you sneak out of the house, I’m breaking not one but both of your legs.”

“Yeah? Well, look at this.” He raised his sleeve and pumped his bicep.

“Wow. Impressive. Working out with Manny not only made you wiser, it pumped you up. I noticed that before.”

Apparently, so had half the girls’ volleyball team because lately she’d fielded calls from giggling girls every ten minutes. “Good night, son.”

“’Night.”

She didn’t budge. He lowered the pillow to feign a scowl at her, but she detected a grin peeking behind it.

“Go! You’re making it worse.”

“Okay, Mr. Macho, see you in an hour or so.”

“The only thing I’ll be seeing in an hour is the back of my eyelids.”

“Fine. I get the hint. I’m outta here.”

“Finally. Relief,” he muttered in dramatic tones into the pillow, eyeing her with mirth over top of it.

She headed for the door, missing these times together, wanting to drag it out but knowing he really did have a headache. It had been so long since they’d talked and joked like this.

She’d nearly made it to the door when he cleared his throat and made airplane noises. “Incoming!”

Thunk.
His pillow hit its mark on the back of her head.

She spun, wagging a faux scolding finger at him. “You’re supposed to be sick. What happened to that headache?”

“Getting worse by the second. Every time you open your mouth, in fact. Hey, is your face hurting, Mom?”

“No.” He looked so serious. Maybe he thought he wounded her when he’d thrown that pillow at her.

“Oh.” He grinned.

“Why?” she asked, suspicion mounting.

“Because it’s killing me.”

“You big goof.” Celia laughed all the way down the stairs. She hadn’t been working at night this week and had only been teaching during the day. She’d rescheduled her makeover clients to make time with her son. She and Javier had played board games together and talked more than they had all year. The bond between them strengthened with just that little quality time she’d set aside for him.

It only takes a little to mean a lot and I’ve give anything for one more minute with my son.

Manny had said that candidly one evening during dinner with her and Javier. How she wished Manny hadn’t lost his son. But wishing didn’t bring anyone back. If it did, Joseph would have been here a gazillion wishes ago.

Speaking of sons, she hated that she automatically assumed Javier had taken off tonight and deceived them. She needed to let Manny know Javier was home safe and sound. She also needed to try to trust Javier more, though he’d broken her trust before.

Maybe she’d been going about this the wrong way. In providing for his future, she’d missed the present with him. Sure Christmas was coming up and she wanted it to be nice for him, but could it be possible her son needed her presence more than her presents? Celia turned off the television and living-room lights, then flicked on the porch light.

Maybe Manny was right. Maybe she should quit her night job. She could still do her makeover-consulting business on the side. That, she could limit to weekends. She still had her teaching job during the weekdays. People came to her house for the makeovers, so it wasn’t as if she left Javier home alone to get into trouble. Or to leave without her consent, staying out late with who knew who, doing who knew what. She’d had no control over her out-of-control son. Until Manny crashed the scene. Literally.

Thank God for the grove of trees and the gust of wind that had blown all their lives upside down.

Maybe God hadn’t breathed the wind, but He had determined the forecast of its outcome. That Manny dropped into their lives had been no accident. There was a reason, if only to teach her to be a better mother to Javier by suggesting things such as backing away from her night job. Speaking of…

If she quit that, she’d only have to worry about Javier during school hours. Much as she hated to, Celia realized she needed to come to a compromise that would work for both of them. Manny had been right all along. He needed to know what a difference he’d made in Javier’s life. And hers.

Prepared to eat her humble pie, she threw on her coat and started down the street to Manny. She’d tromped three steps when the Montgomery house lights clicked off for the night. Celia stopped and sighed. She’d looked forward to eating a roasted marshmallow with him.

She went home and wrote an apologetic note stating she’d been wrong and hadn’t realized Javier was upstairs all along. She walked back down the street, scrawled Manny’s name across the note and taped it to Amber’s door.

Disappointment nipped at her heels all the way home.

“M
ark it down in the history books.” Manny stepped inside the primary-colored, snowflake-decorated classroom. Tempura paint smells mingled with Elmer’s glue, markers and chalk dust in the air.

Amber and Celia looked up from their desks. He eyed past them to the window where school buses dotted with children’s heads rumbled away from the curb.

“I was just leaving.” Amber’s obvious grin blared as she hefted a milk crate of craft items and hightailed it out of there. Manny stepped aside so she could pass.

“I’ll call you later, Amb.” Celia waved then straightened a stack of papers on her desk. “So what are we marking down in the history books?” She looked up

Manny moved closer to her. “I got your note. I can’t believe I actually have proof in writing that the perfect Ms. Munez is wrong.”

She rolled her eyes and flapped papers at him. “Ha, ha. Hey, you’re out and about. How’d you get here?”

“Joel dropped me off. You owe me a ride to rehab.”

She flashed a cheeky grin. “Is that so?” Even in her conservative teacher clothes she brightened the room.

“Yeah, and a trip to the grocery store.”

“You remember that, huh?”

He stepped closer. “I remember every single thing about you.”

She shuffled papers for the umpteenth time. He refused to break his gaze though hers darted everywhere but him. Could it be the feisty Ms. Munez was shy around him? Manny grinned.

She slid folders into her satchel, grabbed her mega-purse and breezed past him. She flicked the classroom light off.

And fled.

Manny stood in the dark, blinking. What just happened here?

“Last one to the car’s a rotten egg,” echoed from the end of the hall.

Gotten. Manny let his head fall back. Gotten and rotten. He laughed at the ceiling. “Rotten egg or not, I’ll endure the rap just to be able to spend an hour with her, Lord.” He put his crutches to the hall floor and followed the dust of her heels to the teachers’ parking.

She held her nose when he lowered himself into the seat.

He chuckled and jabbed a finger at the front windshield. “Drive. This egg’s about to be late.”

Friendly chatter filled the miles to Refuge’s rehab center across town. Celia unloaded his crutches while he extracted himself from her tiny car.

Inside, Manny pointed out the waiting area where people either watched TV or perused magazines. “You can hang here.”

“Actually, I want to go in with you.”

Manny gulped. He couldn’t very well refuse her since other family and friends accompanied patients and various rehab personnel. He didn’t want pretty Celia to see him weak and struggling, though he knew God was with him and should make him feel strong.

Before he could figure out a way to keep her in the waiting room, she brushed past him into the physical-therapy department.

“May I help you?” a receptionist asked her.

“Nah. I’m with him.” Celia dumped her satchel and purse in the corner by the desk and waited for Manny to sign himself in. They didn’t have a chance to sit down before a physical therapist approached. “Mr. Peena?”

“Pen-ya,” Celia corrected, holding the woman’s gaze.

The young girl eyed Celia with interest and waved them on with her clipboard. “Mr. Pen-ya it is, then. Let’s get started.”

Manny sat on the leg-press bench, hating that Celia’d see him sweat with pain. But he had to push himself or he’d never get strong enough to rejoin the team. It about killed Manny when Joel left every other weekend for training gigs at Refuge Air Base.

“Can you give me ten more?” the therapist asked minutes later, then added more weight.

No!
“Yep.” He pressed the weights and extended his legs. Outrageous pain in his hip made him want to puke.

“You sure he’s supposed to be doing that much?” Celia eyed the therapist with contempt.

“We’ll let pain be his guide.” The woman added another bar. “Five more?”

Manny mopped sweat from his forehead and did five more.

She upped the weights. “Again.”

She’s trying to flat out kill me.
“No problem.” Manny pressed with all his might, hating the telltale quiver in his thigh muscle. On five, he stood, hoping to bypass more of these. “What next?”

The machine clinked as the therapist added weight. “You’re doing so well with these, let’s try ten more.”

Let’s?
Seemed to Manny he was the only one sweating in agony here. He waited for Celia to look away before jabbing his therapist with an evil look. He lowered himself back onto the stool, dreading this. He swallowed, wondering if it would be vain to pray. He didn’t honestly think his leg would hold up for one more much less ten. But Celia was watching. He’d rather split a muscle than fail in front of her.
Please help me do the weights.

Ten reps later, Manny’s entire leg twitched. Standing, his breath caught. He could hardly bear weight on it as the therapist motioned him to the recumbent bike. He loped over. Celia eyed him with grave concern. He tried his best to lessen the limp. She climbed onto the bike beside his.

“Uh, that’s just for patients,” the therapist told her.

“So, I’m his labor coach. You got, like, twelve of these things in here and only four patients. What’s the big deal?”

The therapist shrugged. “None, I guess. I’m just a rule follower.”

“Look, miss, if you’re gonna get in trouble, she can go to the waiting room.” Manny slid Celia a firm look.

She stopped pedaling. “How can she get in trouble?” She eyeballed the woman. “Your boss here?”

The therapist shook her head and winked at Celia. “I am the boss. At least for this shift. Since he seems to do better with you here, we’ll let ya stay.”

Manny and Celia cycled twenty minutes before transferring to treadmills. Even at an incline, Celia’s constant chatter distracted him from how bad his hip hurt. His therapist turned up the heat on the treadmill’s resistance. Either to punish him for Celia’s mouth, or because he’d gotten the Queen Masochist for therapy today.

After doing several other exercise machines, the Dungeon Master led Manny into a smaller room off the main, big one.

Celia sat in the chair beside him. “What’s that gizmo?”

Manny positioned himself on the small table. “A TENS unit. It provides small jolts of electricity to my injury, which releases endorphins to help fight pain, and promote circulation and healing.”

Scrapes raked the floor as she scooted back a safe distance. “What if you electrocute yourself?”

“I won’t. She will.” Manny grinned at the therapist. Three seconds later, he blushed when she slipped the stimulation pad beneath his waistband and attached it to his hip. Celia averted her gaze, suddenly finding the Monet picture enthralling.

Could this get any more awkward?

“I’ll be back to unhook you in ten minutes. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” The therapist waggled her eyebrows at them, lowered the room lighting and shut the door, leaving embarrassed silence in her wake. For the first time, Manny realized how cramped the room was.

“You’re doing well, Airman Péna.” Celia tugged students’ folders from her satchel.

Manny laughed out loud, causing her to halt and stare.

“What?” Her hand, brandishing a red pen, froze midair.

“You nervous or what?”

“Who says I’m nervous?” She scowled at him but eyed the machine with penitent respect.

“I do. I think you’re embarrassed to be alone with me.” With every vibrating pulse, his surgical site numbed. Relaxed, he folded his arms behind his head. If Celia wasn’t here, he’d probably doze.

Plastic crinkled as she ripped open a pack of stickers, he assumed to affix to the papers.

“What, no comment?”

She lifted her shoulders. “I’m thinking.”

“I like it better when you call me Manny. It’s more intimate.” His ears heated. “Not that I mean intimate as far as
intimate,
just, I mean, wow, I’m doomed no matter what I say here, huh?”

“Nah. Even if you meant the other, I’m closer to the switch.”

Manny eyed the machine and laughed. No doubt if he tried anything, which he wouldn’t, that she would crank that thing up and zap a hefty measure of good sense into him.

At least they’d gotten to a point they could joke about what happened at the reception.

Thank You, Lord.

“Still feel like conquering the grocery aisles?” Celia asked while headed to the car after his rehab session.

“Actually, let’s wait until another day.” He grinned. “I confess, I’m beat today.”

She smiled and pulled out of the lot. “Do you always push yourself past the max, or was it just ’cause I was there?”

He eyed her. “You kidding me?”

“No. I really want to know.”

He swallowed. “If you hadn’t been there, I probably could have grocery shopped until the cows come home.”

She grinned. “I knew it. Trying to impress me, huh?” She extended a finger to poke his bicep. He flexed before she made contact so it would feel firmer to touch. He didn’t answer and hoped she wouldn’t press for one. He wasn’t sure either of them wanted to hear the truth on that one.

They pulled into Joel’s driveway.

Amber met them at the car. “Celia, why don’t you stay? I ordered pizza.” She eyed them with a hopeful expression.

Celia dug around her bag. “Let me call Javier. If he finds out I had pizza without him, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Javier’s already here,” Amber said. “He’s helping Bradley with homework, then they’re playing video games.”

A click sounded as Celia shut her phone. “Hope you ordered an extra pizza.”

Amber laughed then shut the door. Manny followed both women inside, heading straight for the medicine cabinet.

The price men paid to impress a gal. Mama mia, his leg hurt.

Hopefully all this effort would be worth it in the end.

On both counts.