Love's Challenges Page 2

  Some of the kids’ comments made me laugh. Others made me think. Mostly, I sat quietly listening as between the two of them, Roberto and Brendon managed to devour a whole chicken, consume a bowl of mash potatoes, and demolish the last of the huge bowl of green beans I’d prepared.

  I’m not sure how long the conversation would have lasted if Bree’s cell phone hadn’t gone off. She politely excused herself; my eyebrows rose at the impressive display of manners even her critical grandmother couldn’t have faulted. Then she ran off.

  I rose and began clearing the table.

  When Roberto stood to help, I was appalled. “You’re a guest. I can handle this.”

  “Didn’t you tell me to make myself feel at home? Well, at home, I clean up after partaking in such wonderful meals. After all, dishes don’t clean themselves.” He arched an eyebrow, clearly waiting on me to refute him.

  Sheer courtesy demanded that I argue with him. Guests do not clean, but my mother’s words regarding relationships came back to me and caused me to hesitate. “Start off as you mean to continue,” she always said.

  A man who didn’t mind helping with the housework? And I was trying to discourage him? Uh no, don’t think so.

  So I shrugged and said, “Okay. I appreciate the assistance.”

  He gave me a gorgeous smile full of even white teeth. For a moment, the beauty of it transfixed me, and then I forced myself to snap out of it.

  “Brendon, let’s help your mom. Between the three of us, it shouldn’t take but a moment.”

  My son jumped to his feet and began to work.

  He not only cleaned but motivated others in my household to do so as well? I think I’m in love. I snorted and inwardly chuckled at the foolishness of my thoughts.

  With three hands helping, the work went amazingly fast. As I put the last dish in the cabinet, a glance at the clock revealed it was almost eight.

  “Good job, Brendon. Your mom trained you well.” Roberto clapped him on the back and my son preened at the praise, grinning and standing a bit taller.

  “It’s getting late. If you have any homework, better go get it done, that way the rest of your weekend will be free,” I told him.

  “Alright. I’m glad you came over for dinner, Brother Ortega. It was fun,” Brendon said.

  “Call me Roberto.”

  My son looked to me for permission. I didn’t have a problem with kids calling adults by their first name if they were invited to, but it might become an issue with the other youth of the church as they wondered what made my son so special that he got to do what they couldn’t. “That’s fine, just make sure you call him Brother Roberto when we’re at church.”

  Brendon gave a great big grin. “Thanks, Roberto,” he said, testing out the name.

  Roberto and I shared an amused look as my son walked off toward his room to do his homework.

  “I’d better be going. It’s getting late,” he stated and started for the door.

  I trailed behind. “Thanks for coming over. This was nice,” I confessed.

  At the door, Roberto surprised me by pulling me outside with him and shutting it firmly behind us. I was sure he was going to kiss me and equally certain I wasn’t going to allow it. After my fiasco with Jonathan, I’d promised God and myself that from now on I’d do things His way, which meant complete and total celibacy until after marriage. I’d learned the hard way that I simply wasn’t strong enough to handle touching and kissing without it leading to trouble, so my best bet was to avoid all of it.

  While I was mentally preparing my ‘hands-off’ speech, Roberto tugged me by the hand over to his car and spun me around so that my back was against the front fender. Then he loomed over me, standing so close that the tips of our toes touched. His dominant behavior caused me to question my no kissing rule, sparking a hot internal debate between my conscience and my flesh. Personally, I blamed my reaction on all of those romances featuring alpha heroes that I loved to read. After all, who didn’t love a strong, dominant male? Within reason, of course.

  “Now that I have you alone, what happened today?”

  Caught off guard, I stared stupidly. “Excuse me?”

  Roberto widened his stance and crossed his arms of his chest, causing his muscles to bulge. Right then he appeared as large and immovable as the massive oak tree in my front yard. “This morning when I called wanting to discuss a relationship between the two of us, you blew me off. Then at three-thirty, not even nine hours later, you call with a dinner invitation. Something had to have happened to change your mind. What was it?”

  Feeling small and hunted, I settled more firmly against the car, increasing the space between us and defensively hugged myself. “I didn’t blow you off,” I muttered, looking everywhere but at him.

  “Nina, look at me.” When I didn’t, he moved even closer, so that his feet were positioned on the outside of mine and used a large, calloused finger to lift my chin, gently forcing me to meet his gaze. “I need to know what brought about this sudden change of heart.”

  Start off as you mean to continue. The words floated through my mind. If I wanted openness and honesty between us, it had to begin with me now, in this moment. My gaze drifted from Roberto’s intent brown eyes to his salt-and-pepper hair styled short, visually tracing the nicely trimmed sideburns leading to the well maintained moustache and goatee he sported as I gathered my words.

  “A few years back, there was a man I was engaged to that hurt me very badly. Part of it was my fault. I made mistakes with him that led him to believe he could treat me any kind of way and I’d take it.” I sighed, uncrossed my arms and planted them on the car behind me.

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  “No!” The answer burst out of me. “It just took me awhile to forgive him, and even longer to forgive myself for allowing the relationship to continue for so long,” I continued in a much softer tone.

  He took one of my hands and held it in his, playing with my fingers. “I can understand that. So what changed?”

  “He sent an email apologizing for the things he did while we were together.” Despite the seriousness of our conversation, every cell in my body was focused on where our hands joined.

  “He wants you back.” His eyes drilled into mine.

  I shrugged. “That’s not an option.”

  “But if you’ve forgiven him…”

  I was already shaking my head before his words trailed off. “Forgiven, but not forgotten. I don’t think I could go back even if God commanded me to, which He won’t.” Of that, I was sure. I’d spent a lot of time on my knees—before, during, and especially after the disastrous relationship that almost destroyed me.

  “You said ‘think.’ So, I’m insurance that you won’t be tempted to give him another chance?” Roberto dropped my hand and stepped back.

  I caught his hand between my own and tugged him close so that the heat of his body engulfed me again. “I honestly don’t know what this,” I motioned between the two of us, “is, except for an attempt not to let fear rule my life. You are a good man, or at least you seem to be. I’ve been fooled before, enough that I no longer trust my judgment where men are concerned.”

  My gaze dropped to his hand cradled between mine, absently noting their contrasting colors as I confessed, “In the deepest part of my heart, I want love, marriage, someone to call my own. I can’t have that if I spend all of my time pushing men—you—away out of fear of being hurt.”

  He brought his free hand up to cup my cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I met his stare. “You can’t promise that. Love hurts. The deeper the love, the greater the hurt.” And I had a feeling that Roberto had the power to do great damage to my heart. If he were everything he was presenting himself to be, I would fall and fall hard. I pushed that thought to the back of my mind to review later and focused on what I wanted to say.

  “The email I receive forced me to take a good look at myself, my life. It made me examine my heart. Though I’d f
orgiven, I realized I was still punishing myself and would never completely heal until I allowed myself to move on.” This next part was the hardest, and I had to force myself to continue. “I don’t know exactly what you want from me, or if I can give it to you, but I’m willing to try.”

  Roberto leaned forward and gave me a kiss that I felt right down to my toes. We didn’t touch anywhere but his left hand on my cheek, his right hand that I still held and our lips, which he gently placed against mine. There was nothing carnal about it, but the emotional impact rocked me to my soul. When he pulled back, I felt tears burning my eyes.

  “I want everything, but I’m willing to go slow and give it time.” Then before I could gather my wits, he escorted me to the house and gently pushed me inside. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I stood gazing at the closed door, fingertip touching my lips, with the knowledge that my heart was in deep, deep trouble ringing inside.

  Later that night when the house was quiet, before going to bed, I took out my prayer journal and poured out my heart to God. I told Him of my fears of having my heart broken again, questioned if inviting Roberto to dinner and all that it implied was the right thing to do—something I should have done before I issued the invitation—and asked for His guidance.

  Once done, I felt at peace and had the inner assurance that as long as I did things His way, He would keep me. Again I was reminded that there was no hurt He couldn’t heal, and that if I got off course with His plan for my life, He was more than capable of getting me back on track.

  As for this budding relationship with Roberto, He was suspiciously quiet. There was no definite sense of “Yes, this is My will for you.” No reassurances that I’d done the right thing. I was just going to have to play it by ear, and pray every step of the way while doing so.

  Saturday, my first thoughts upon waking were of Roberto and the night before. I halted them before I could dwell on them too deeply, grabbed up my Bible and did my morning devotions. If I didn’t steal a few minutes at the beginning of each day to spend with God, chances were I wouldn’t get the opportunity or be too tired later to do so.

  The day was busy as usual. There was shopping for groceries to be done, laundry to be washed and put away, and yard work to be done. I’d recently begun taking a beginner’s ballet class on Saturday mornings. Partly to get in shape, but mostly because I thought the lyrical-styled worship dance was beautiful and I wanted to learn how to do it. Our church had a dance ministry and if I ever got over my fear of performing in front of people, I’d join and put what I was being taught to good use.

  All day long as I ran around doing this and that, my mind kept trying to analyze Roberto’s every word and action. I wouldn’t let it. Every time my thoughts drifted to him, I’d yank them away. A long time ago I’d learned an important secret about women in general, and myself in particular. The way to a woman’s heart was through her mind. We thought ourselves into and out of love. Everything he did and said, we went over and over it again and again in our minds, sometimes adding deep meaning where there was none, while the man went blithely about his business, many times not giving us another thought.

  I wasn’t going to fall into that trap this time. It was what it was. I wasn’t going to sit there and wonder why he’d said this or that, or what this statement could possibly mean. I would take each day as it came. If he called, he did. If he didn’t, well, I had plenty of things to keep me busy.

  I reminded myself that no man showed their exact nature when they were involved in the chase. It was something I called the Jekyll/Hyde syndrome, the front men put on that led a woman to believe they were all they pretended to be until a woman was well and truly caught. Then their real nature comes out.

  When their true character emerges, women flounder, confused. We excuse their bad behavior as them just having a bad day, an off moment, and let it go. Then it happens again and again, increasing in frequency, and we’re lost, wondering what happened to that sweet, kind and considerate man we fell in love with, patiently waiting for the “real” him to reappear. Not realizing this is real, and the other is the lie.

  I learned my lesson the hard way. Right or wrong, fair to Roberto or not, I wasn’t taking anything at face value. Time would reveal all truths and until then, I was reserving judgment. In Proverbs, God warned us to guard our hearts and I determined that until the time was right, mine was going to be locked up tighter than Fort Knox where the US gold treasury was stored. After all, my heart was just as valuable, if not more.

  Roberto’s call came that evening as I reclined on the bed in my room, relaxing with a book. “Hello. How was your day?”

  “Fine.” It’s amazing. In the course of our knowing each other, Roberto and I have had numerous phone conversations. They were mostly about church business but with a bit of personal stuff thrown in as well, and I’d never had a problem talking with him. Now that we were dating, I found myself tongue-tied.

  “I really enjoyed myself last night.”

  I flipped the book over to mark my place and readjusted myself on the pillow. “It was nice.”

  “So when are we doing it again?”

  “Uh…” Caught off guard, I didn’t know what to say.

  “How about I pick up pizza and bring it over Friday night. That is, if you don’t have other plans?”

  “Okay,” I answered, voice a bit faint.

  “Nina, did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You’re not saying much. You’re usually more talkative than this. I feel like I’m interrupting.”

  I rushed to assure him. “I’m sorry. This is really…I mean, I’m not sure…” I took a deep breath. “It’s awkward. I’m off balance and don’t really know what to say,” I confessed in a rush, trying to get the words said before I chickened out.

  “I’m still me, and you’re still you. We’re friends aren’t we?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  I thought about it. Friend is not a word I use lightly. I have many acquaintances and people I’m comfortable around, but I really wouldn’t call them my friend. To me a friend is someone who has stood the test of time. I can depend on them in a crisis. Someone I know my secrets are safe with and they have the same trust and confidence in me. So while I was friendly with many, I considered few my friend.

  “Maybe I spoke hastily. I thought we were friends, at the very minimum.” His words interrupted my thoughts and I realized he sounded a bit hurt.

  “I was thinking. You’re my brother in Christ, a fellow member of House of Prayer, and someone I’m friendly with. I trust you with my kids, but I can’t say I know you well enough to consider you my friend.” Then I proceeded to explain what I considered a friend to be.

  When I finished, he said, “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For giving me a goal to work towards. I knew you were guarded and but I didn’t realize how much. I’m beginning to understand that no matter how long we’ve been acquainted, I’ve barely touched the surface of who you are,” he explained.

  “I think that’s true of most people. We all have different aspects of ourselves that we reveal, depending upon who we’re dealing with. That’s why we’re one way at church, another at work, still another at school or in the community, and completely different at home with our family,” I mused.

  “So you’re saying we pretend?”

  “I don’t think it’s a pretense. It’s all us, only different sides of our character. We instinctively respond to the expectations, and in some cases the limitations, people place on us. For instance, in order to keep my job, they expect me to behave in a certain manner. Their rules govern how I interact with my fellow coworkers and management. It’s the same thing in church. As Sister Wallace, I’m expected to behave a certain way. At home, I’m free to be myself. My kids see all of me—the good, bad, and the ugly.”

  “That’s what I want,” Roberto stated, his voice suddenly intent.

  “What?”

/>   “I want to know you like your family does, to be closer than an acquaintance, and more intimate than a friend.”

  Did he realize what he was saying? The closeness he was asking for was usually something granted only to family and lovers. My breath caught and mentally I withdrew. “I’m not sure…”

  “I don’t mean right this instance, Nina,” he interrupted. “I know you have a lot of walls, but I’m putting you on notice. One by one, with the help of God I plan on knocking them down.”

  His boldly stated intent left me speechless.

  “It’s getting late and I still need to prepare for service tomorrow. Get back to your reading. I’ll see you tomorrow in church.”

  I made some type of sound that he must have taken as goodbye. He hung up and slowly I did the same.

  Part of me was relieved. The other part was miffed. I didn’t want him breaking through my walls.

  Those ‘walls’ as he called them served a purpose, a very important one. They kept me from getting hurt. Every time I let a man in, he hurt and disappointed me and the walls came back up thicker than before. At this point, I honestly didn’t think I had it in me to let anyone else inside.

  I waited all day for this?

  Troubled, I went back to my book. At least there I was guaranteed a happy ending.

  Chapter Three

  Sunday morning there was the usual rush to get everyone ready and out the door to make it to Sunday School on time. One of the many ministry hats I wore was that of Sunday School Secretary. It was my job to pass out offering envelopes to all the classes and track teacher attendance. After it ended, I counted all of the money, tracked each classes’ attendance and offering on a spreadsheet for the quarterly attendance and offering awards.

  It was a job I enjoyed, even though it meant I didn’t get to sit in class and be taught. Also, more often than not, I joined the morning service after the worship portion was already in progress. This morning was no different, although this time I managed to make it inside the sanctuary at the end of the first song. Much earlier than usual.