Only Uni (24 page)

“What’s what?”

“Too late to look innocent. What’s going on?”

Griselle was gnawing on her lip again. Oh, great. She was in on it, too. Trish hated being the odd man out.

Griselle was easier to lean on. She directed a sharp look at her. “What’s going on?”

“Uh . . .” She glanced nervously at Spenser, who bounced Matthew gently.

“
Spill, Griselle
.”

Spenser saved her. “Matthew’s my son.”

“What? Shut
up
!” Trish felt the floor drop out beneath her. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Or maybe that was actually the bottom of her stomach. “You’re — married?”

“Was.” His mouth tightened a fraction — so slight, she almost didn’t notice it. It was more like a hardening of his jaw, even as he smiled and joked with Matthew.
His son.

Trish would never in a million years have suspected Spenser of having a child. Then again, she was constantly realizing she didn’t know him very well. The way he cradled Matthew made him seem older and somehow softer, showing his tender side. It made him even more handsome . . .

“Now you spill.” His eyes had become fierce — Simba protecting his lion cub. “Why’s he bleeding?”

“Uh . . .”

Trish looked at Griselle, but she’d backed off a couple steps. “It was your idea, Trish.”

“Traitor.” Except it was true.

Matthew had started to squirm, so Spenser let him down. He straightened and crossed his arms, drawing himself up to his full height. Trish didn’t exactly have a pair of stilettos on that could help even out the height difference.

“Well, you see, we had them all bring their pets to Sunday school.”

“Gee, I’d never notice.”

She glared. “Don’t be a smarty-pants.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Right. Well, Sara brought her hamster, whose name is Hammy. Was Hammy.”

“Was?”

“Well, first let me say, the hamster was evil.”

Sara let out a wail. “No he wasn’t! Hammy was a good boy.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “Hammy had teeth like a Black and Decker chain saw.”

Griselle nodded so hard, her hair bobbed. “That’s why some of the children have bites. Trish, too.”

“You do?” His brows knit.

“It’s nothing.” She shoved her hand behind her back. The “nothing” had started to throb like a
katana
sword wound, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. “Anyway, we were trying to protect the children.”

“You didn’t protect Matthew very well.” His eyes had become fierce again.

“Hey, I told him not to pick up Hammy.” Trish shoved a hand to her hip. “It’s not my fault he didn’t listen. And he obviously didn’t get bitten very hard if he swallowed — uh . . .”

Spenser closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose with forefinger and thumb. “Let me guess. He ate the hamster.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get to him in time. I was tripping over kids — ”

“He’s got the fastest hand-to-mouth in the west.” He shot a pained look at his child.

Matthew laughed at his dad. “Yum!”

Ewww.

Spenser scratched his head. “Hamsters aren’t poisonous, are they?”

“I don’t think so.”

He sighed. “I’ll take him to the ER.”

Matthew perked up. “Nurse Betty!”

Trish raised her eyebrows at Spenser. “Matthew knows the ER nurses by name?”

“More importantly, they know
him
by name.”

Poor dad.

Griselle had started calming the children down, and Matthew came up to his father. His brow had clouded. “Daddy, I don’t feel so good.”

Trish and Griselle’s eyes met across the room, mirroring each other’s panic. “No! Not here!”

Spenser grabbed Matthew and took off. Trish ran to shut the door behind him, but not before Bobby finally squeezed through.

“Freedom!”

Trish scowled at the taillights in front of her. Her neck felt stiff, and she hunched over the steering wheel. Traffic never ceased to amaze, even on a Sunday — accidents in both directions on 85. A band of ruby lights ahead stretched alongside a chain of diamonds to her left.

In all the rush of the disastrous show-and-tell, she’d forgotten to find out who the church admin was so she could get her roommate want-ad put up on the bulletin board. She considered calling Spenser — no, he was probably at the emergency room with his orally-fixated heir.

Aiden? He’d know. She didn’t have his number on her cell — she didn’t think she had his number, period. She plugged in her Bluetooth wireless headset and commanded up Lex’s number.

“Hey. I need Aiden’s number.”

“Why?”

“Don’t sound so suspicious. Remember, I’m a new person — ”

“Okay, okay. You’re becoming devoted to God — ”

“
Wholly
devoted to God.”

“Wholly devoted to God. So why?”

“I need the admin’s number from church.”

“Oh. Here’s Aiden’s number.”

Trish dialed and got his voice mail. “Hi, it’s Trish. I forgot to find out the admin’s number. I need to post a want ad for a roommate. Can you call me back? I don’t have a church directory or anything yet. Thanks.”

The thought of another roommate like Marnie made something bubble in her stomach, but she couldn’t pay the rent alone and the lease had four months before it ended. If only she could screen applicants.
Please submit résumé and references . . .

Single career female needs female roommate for two-bedroom apartment in Mountain View, near Castro Street and CalTrain station . . .

Trish reached her exit and flew onto the off-ramp, but jammed on her brakes at the mass of red taillights. What was up? Another accident?

A fire truck roared past with no lights or siren. Great. More traffic, and it was over so she couldn’t even rubberneck the dramatic wreck.

Trish’s landlord surprised her by approaching as she turned into her parking stall. She hauled herself out of the RAV4.

He spoke without preamble in his heavy Taiwanese accent. “Your roommate, she smoke.”

Trish’s chest tightened as if someone pressed against it, trying to ram her breastbone into her spine.

He wasn’t finished. “She smoke much. Fire alarm!” His face flushed bright red and his breath heaved in his distress.

Trish hoped he wouldn’t have a heart attack right in front of her. “She’s moving out — ”

“Big fire! Living room all burnt!”

Oh no! Trish’s legs slipped out from under her. She sagged against the truck. The fire truck she had seen . . .

The landlord grabbed her limp wrist and slapped a folded piece of paper in her hand.

“You leave! Tomorrow!”

TWENTY

I
’m homeless. Mom is going to have a cow.

Then Grandma’s going to have a heart attack.

Then maybe Dad will have one, too . . . No, that’s really mean. Plus he’s been taking good care of Mom, and apparently not seeing any other women the past few weeks.

But regardless, Mom is going to have a massive cow.

A spasm twitched through the hand holding the pipettor, and Trish discharged cells all over the sterile surface of the cell culture hood. She grunted in frustration. She stopped herself from smacking her forehead with her other gloved (biohazard-contaminated) hand.

Trish reached for a paper towel and the bottle of ethanol, trying to focus on work, desperate to make yesterday go away. Marnie’s hysterical screeching, the charred, stench-filled living room, the eviction notice in her hand.

She had to find another place to live. Marnie and her furball had unfairly been able to move into her uncle’s home this morning (and even Walnut Creek wasn’t far enough away for Trish’s taste). Trish wasn’t so lucky. Her parents’ house in Morgan Hill lay an hour and a half away — a horrendous commute, and too small for her, besides. They didn’t even have an extra bedroom, so Trish would have to sleep on the sofa. When they bought it, Mom had protested the size, but Trish suspected Dad wanted someplace small after she moved out to
prevent
her from ever moving back in.

When Mom found out, she would freak. Coming off a heart attack, even though she was doing better according to their last phone conversation — not a good idea. Even if she were healthy, Mom would lament and Trish would never hear the end of it:
How can I ever face my friends at the Buddhist temple when they find out you’ve been kicked out of your apartment? Oh, the shame . . .

It was useless to reason that no one would find out unless Mom told them, but that was beside the point. If one person found out, the entire tight-knit Japanese community would know within forty-eight hours.

At Mitsuwa, the Japanese market:
Did you hear about Marian Sakai’s daughter? She got thrown out of her apartment.

At Gombei, the Japanese restaurant:
Did you hear the news? Marian Sakai’s daughter burned down her apartment.

At Shuei-Do, the Japanese mochi shop:
Did you hear? Marian Sakai’s daughter got arrested for arson.

Uncle Charley would call and demand, “What’s this I hear? Marian’s daughter broke out of jail?”

Maybe Trish could put off telling her parents until she found a new place.

Focus.
She had to stop thinking about Mom. She needed a roof over her head. Where could she go? Her company sat in the middle of an old, wealthy residential neighborhood of Palo Alto where she would have to search hard to find a cheap apartment. She could look further north or south, but she had to limit her search area or else face more than a one hour commute each way.

Wait, rule number three — she was not going to forget rule number three again.

Where can I call to reserve a moving van?

Rule number three — persevere. Rely on God.

Oh, reminder to self: go through the Receiving dock and find cardboard boxes.

Okay, let’s persevere. Wasn’t there more than that . . . ?

I wonder if I can borrow Jenn’s new truck instead of hiring a moving van.

If she persevered, she would achieve undivided devotion to God. She would regain her chastity. She would be a better person. She would get her MDiv. God would send the perfect man to her.

Okay, granted, her love life seemed pretty trivial in comparison to her homeless status. Trish blew out a gusty sigh. Maybe she ought to read her Bible.

She finished seeding the cells. After sliding them into the incubator, she left the lab and headed for her office. She had stowed an extra Bible in her desk drawer somewhere.

She alighted on 2 Corinthians chapter four. “We have this treasure in jars of clay . . .” Paul described strength and fortitude in trials, and how that power came from God, not from within himself. Perseverance meant relying on God’s help through the hard times, whatever happened.

Reading the verses calmed her. The niggling worry of moving van rentals intruded as she flipped the page, but it disappeared as she read a few verses down.

Paul described his trials as “light and momentary troubles.”

She needed to put things in perspective. She faced homelessness, not being fed to the lions in Rome.

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.” Translation:
Stop having hysterics, babe, and trust in God.

Okay, Lord, I’m going to actually rely on you this time — woo hoo! — unlike that whole miserable Marnie thing. Thanks for these verses. They make me feel better.

Please give me wisdom about what to do now. Please help me not go all crazy about stuff that isn’t important. Oh, and help me to have the right attitude.

And please, please, please help me find housing.