SIGNS OF A QUIET HEART: (MY HEART IS YOURS - BOOK 1) Page 5

  “Whose fuckin’ heart do you think Rocky got?” Tyler’s question was laced with sarcasm, although a hint of a half-smile was beginning to form on his lips.

  Rocco chuckled, shaking his head. “My dad’s, most likely. He was one mean son of a bitch.” Father and son shared a laugh and a hug. Tyler’s paternal grandfather had died of a heart attack when Tyler was a toddler. There were no clear memories of him, except vague sensations of fear. For the first time, Tyler wondered what kind of demons his father might have had to endure during his own childhood. Although he was still feeling rather confused, Tyler couldn’t help but notice the sparkle in his father’s weary eyes; the unmistakable gleam of the twenty-something-year-old boy who still lived in his soul.

  “Tyler ... you are a good son; the best any man could ask for. I love you. I’m extremely proud of you, and my advice concerning the beautiful blonde: just enjoy the ride, kid. It only happens once in a lifetime.” Tyler thoughtfully pondered his father’s sage words.

  “Hey, Pa? Could you run the triple-B theory by me one more time? I got a couple of questions.” Both men got up and walked toward the kitchen, arms locked around each other’s shoulders.

  The exhausted class boarded the bus and headed back to school. It had been a long day. Mia and Toby sat in front, as Robbi went to the back of the bus for a final head count and to praise the children for their wonderful behavior. She then went up to the front and plopped down in a seat across from Mia, who was sitting next to Toby.

  “You two were great today. Thanks for all your help.” They continued to chat about the party until eventually the bus pulled up in front of the school. The kids gathered up their belongings and exited the bus, joining the rest of the children who were busy finding their parents or school buses, as everyone headed home for the weekend. Daisy stopped to give both Mia and Ms. Bennett a goodbye hug before departing. Toby then walked in the direction of a line of small school buses, with Daisy in tow. Robbi had asked him to accompany her, making sure she got on the right bus every afternoon. She was one of the few kindergarteners who had to ride the bus to and from school since a parent was not able to do it. Robbi watched the two of them until Daisy boarded the bus. Before she turned to head back to her classroom, she had a sudden revelation.

  They have exactly the same hair color.

  Robbi had only been in the room for a minute or two when she heard the classroom door open. She turned from the blackboard to find Toby standing there, looking a bit uncomfortable. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but was struggling to find the right words. She started the conversation.

  “Hey, Toby, what’s up? Why aren’t you heading home? Everything all right?” There was genuine concern in her voice.

  He stammered, “Um ... Ms. B, I ... um ... just wanted to thank you for today.”

  “What do you mean, Toby? I’m the one who should be thanking you. What you and your family did for the kids today was amazing. Why would you be thanking me?”

  He bit his lower lip, and then took a deep breath. “My uncle told me what you said about me, about my work with the kids. And then he hugged me and told me how proud he was of me, that he loved me.” He was struggling to hold back tears. “My own fucking father never said he loved me, not once.” Toby turned to face the door as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Robbi walked slowly toward him, wanting to place her hand on his shoulder, but before she could, he abruptly turned back to face her.

  His voice was full of anger. “My father always called me a fuck-up, and you know something, Ms. B? He was right. I’ve been a fuck-up my entire life. But when I’m in this room, with you and those kids? I’m not that guy anymore. I’m someone completely different, someone better, and that’s what I want to thank you for.” Before she could say a word, he took two quick steps forward and suddenly he was hugging her. She panicked somewhat, as she carefully returned the hug. His lean, youthful body and the manner in which his shaggy hair tickled her cheek caused a flashback to another school many miles away, another too-young TA, another embrace which resulted in heartbreak.

  Careful. I can never go down that road again.

  The hug ended as Toby released her and stepped back. There was an awkward silence for a half-second, and then a thought popped into her head. “Toby, I’ve been meaning to ask you something all week, but kept forgetting. What was that sign you made to Daisy last week when Mrs. Blanchard was visiting? Remember the one that calmed her down so fast?” She put her index finger near her nose, trying to mimic what he had done. “Was it like this?”

  He shook his head vigorously and good-naturedly laughed at her. “No, Ms. B, that means ‘boring’. Here, let me show you.” He carefully took her hand in his and adjusted its position so the finger was horizontal against her nose, instead of vertical. He then moved her hand gently in a downward motion, softly brushing the tip of her nose. “There you go, that’s it.” He let go of her hand rather abruptly, as if embarrassed. Robbi had to take a strengthening breath to calm herself, but not before another painful memory invaded her mind. She quickly pushed it away.

  “Toby, what does this sign mean?”

  His expression became thoughtful as he looked down at her. “It means ‘pretend’ or ‘fake’. Daisy was scared shitless of Mrs. Blanchard; she didn’t realize it was all an act. I mean, you have to admit, she can be one scary bitch on occasion. It was the only thing I could think of on such short notice. I was so afraid Daisy was going to cry.”

  Robbi giggled. “Well, it was a genius move. You know, you really are doing a great job here, especially with Daisy. I think we make a good team.”

  “Thanks.” He whispered the word so softly she almost didn’t hear him. He turned to leave, but changed his mind as he faced her again. “Ms. B?”

  “Yes, Toby?”

  “I saw you and Uncle Tyler, um, like ... chatting and stuff.” His eyes were on the floor as he paused, and she held her breath for what seemed like a very long time. His haunting eyes returned to hers as he continued. “I just want to tell you I think it’s cool. You know, the two of you. I’m okay with it.” He paused to gather his thoughts, and then continued. “Uncle Ty has been alone for as long as I can remember. I don’t mean alone exactly. He has plenty of friends and girlfriends; well, not exactly girlfriends. You know what I mean, more like dates, one-nighters; no one ever near his age. Sometimes he’d hit on girls who were only a few years older than me. It was kinda fucked up. He’s not really like that anymore, but I think he’s still lonely. He puts on a happy face when he’s out, but I see him at home. I love him a lot. I want him to be happy, and I think he needs a friend right now.”

  “Thanks, Toby. I appreciate you telling me that. I just met him today, but I liked him very much. I have a feeling we will be friends.”

  “Cool, Ms. B. And you won’t tell him the stuff I just told you about him, right?”

  “Absolutely not. This is just between you and me.” Another pause, another held breath, and then suddenly, a crooked grin slowly crept across his face.

  “One more thing, Ms. B.”

  “Yes, Toby?” She purposely used her stern ‘teacher’ voice; she discerned what was coming.

  “I’m sorry I said ‘fuck’ in front of you, more than once. Uncle Ty says we Italians tend to curse when we’re very emotional.”

  “And ‘shit’, and don’t forget ‘bitch’,” she added, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Toby, you know the rules.” Robbi was actually extremely strict about cursing in the classroom, and Toby was well aware of that, having already been reprimanded by her on one very embarrassing occasion. He actually looked a bit uneasy, so she finally decided to let him off the hook. She took a very deep breath, and then shrugged as she looked around the classroom. “Well, since there are no children here at the moment, I suppose you are forgiven.”

  He sighed, and then grinned. “Thanks, Ms. B. So, see ya Monday?”

  “Yes, Toby, see ya Monday.”

 
He smiled that crooked smile again, then turned and walked rapidly out the classroom door and down the hall. Robbi yelled out after him. “And don’t be fucking late again.” Although he didn’t turn around, she swore she heard him laugh.

  “Beware how you give your heart.”

  – Jane Austen

  Robbi’s regular after-school routine was to go immediately to the gym, then home. The school was in the Mission Bay area, and she lived in North Beach, where there were two conveniently located Crunch Fitness clubs. The drive was less than ten miles, so she usually arrived by 3:30 p.m.

  This was her favorite time of the week, Friday afternoon at 3 p.m., when she could leave her prim and proper ‘teacher persona’ behind and relax. Some things you just did not wear as a teacher. She grimaced as a revolting vision flashed from her previous school; the French teacher in a tight, semi-backless mini-dress, sporting inch-long fake nails, four-inch stilettos, prancing around the teachers’ lounge. A complete attention-whore, she would loudly snap her gum while uttering the dumbest comments in her grating, high-pitched New Jersey accent. In Robbi’s circle of friends, she was infamous for her spot-on imitations. “Let’s have cawfee and tawk.” Robbi snorted with laughter so hard that the gulp of water she had just taken spritzed out her nose. She made a mental note: no snorting tomorrow night at dinner with Tyler. Her breath hitched in her throat as a warm feeling flowed through her belly, and below.

  Tyler. Holy shit! Dinner tomorrow. Tyler!

  Grabbing her gym bag after finding a parking spot, she entered the club and headed to the locker room. She often wore leggings to school and a sports bra under whatever top she had on, so all she had to do was don her sneakers, which were in the bag, and grab her two best gym buddies, Kindle and iPod. She needed the first for amusement while on the bike and treadmill; the second was mandatory for drowning out the inane conversations people insisted on having at five hundred decibels on their freakin’ cell phones. Ugh, they’re freakin’ annoying. Yesterday I had Rage Against the Machine’s “Killing in the Name” on top volume, and could still hear some fake-boobed, whiny bitch yapping on her cell to her dopey boyfriend.

  Moron. Why doesn’t everyone just text? It’s fast, easy, and quiet. Keep noise pollution to a minimum, people.

  Robbi abruptly hit the stop button on the treadmill; her thirty minutes of cardio were just about done, but that wasn’t the reason for the sudden halt in her workout.

  I’m supposed to text Tyler. She looked at her phone; the time said 4:10 p.m. She hadn’t seen him in two hours, and wondered why it felt more like two days.

  I miss him. Wait ... what? I just met him. Oh, God, I’ve officially entered the crazy zone.

  Robbi finished her workout with thirty minutes of weights and another thirty on the bike. She pulled the newspaper out of her gym bag to check if there were any games on TV later. Although Robbi loved all team sports, hockey was her favorite. As a child, she had taken figure skating lessons for a few years, so she had an innate appreciation for the players’ incredible skating skills. Her team was the San Jose Sharks, the only NHL franchise in NoCal. SoCal had two teams: the Anaheim Ducks and the Los Angeles Kings. BOO and DOUBLE BOO! The Ducks had won one Stanley Cup championship and the hated Kings had two. Robbi’s poor Sharks had never even been to the Finals. They were a relatively young team, only twenty years old, so their time would come soon, she hoped. Compared to some NHL teams, which were almost a century old, her Sharks were just pups. The current season was winding down and it appeared all three Cali teams were poised to make the playoffs. Yeah, SoCal bitches! Bring it on! She quickly scanned the games scheduled for that night and found two: an NBA game, Warriors versus Nuggets, and Kings versus Sharks, both starting at 7:30 p.m.

  She grabbed her phone and sent a quick text to her new gym-friend, Charlotte, aka Charlie. They had met the month before, striking up a conversation on adjacent recumbent bikes. They clicked when introducing themselves; they both had boys’ names. Charlie liked to go barhopping and knew all the hot hangouts in town.

  Robbi: GNSE 7 @ PT Pick U up?(Girls’ Night Sports Edition, Pete’s Tavern)

  Charlie: No GNMH?(Girls’ Night Man Hunt)

  Robbi: Sharks game!

  Charlie: See U @ 7.

  Robbi was just about to put her phone away when the temptation to text Tyler overwhelmed her. She successfully fought it off, knowing she would appear too eager if she did not wait, at least until after dinnertime. Suddenly, an excellent idea popped into her mind. She would ask Charlie to help her compose the text later at the bar. Charlie was an accomplished flirt and knew exactly what to say. Robbi was still holding her phone when it buzzed.

  Tyler? Maybe Tyler is texting ME!

  She quickly came back to reality when she remembered she had not given him her phone number. Duh.

  Charlie: Sam, new chick @ work said North Star Bar jumpin’ on Fridays, hot bartenders! She’ll be there, too.

  Robbi: Sam. Her name is Sam? AYSM? (Are you shittin’ me?)

  Charlie: See ya @ 7

  Although the bar was crowded, the girls got seats easily. Most men will gladly give up their seats for two beautiful women. Robbi always preferred to sit at the bar; it was closer to the TVs. She was a certifiable, card-carrying, rabid sports-a-holic. Charlie only pretended to like sports to meet men; bartenders were good for free drinks, and although she flirted her ass off with them, she would only date rich, older, straight-laced business types. Robbi knew she was somewhat of a gold-digger, but cut her some slack because of her upbringing. Her parents were very wealthy and ‘old world’; she could only bring certain men home to meet them. Her mom’s favorite guilt-trip line was ‘Charlotte, I want grandchildren before I die.’ This probably was not an exaggeration; her mom was in her late sixties, and dad early seventies.

  They always garnered plenty of male attention whenever they went out together, especially Charlie. Robbi enjoyed hanging out with her, but they were not, by any stretch of the imagination, best friends. At times, Robbi even felt tiny pangs of jealousy. Charlie’s mother was Japanese, giving her a very exotic appearance. Her blunt-cut, medium-length dark hair and almond-shaped, chocolate-brown eyes always stood out in a crowd, and her dramatic eyeliner only emphasized her beauty.

  Robbi was confident in her own skin and knew she looked damn good for her age. Charlie was rather short, had a boyish figure, sans curves — B-cup at most — and was barely thirty. What she lacked in God-given sexiness, she made up for in the way she dressed: a combination of stripper and call girl, but high-end. She had tamed it down for the night, wearing a tight denim skirt, but was still sporting her signature platform four-inch stilettos. We’re in a sports bar, for fuck’s sake. Robbi was comfortable in her snug, slightly ripped stretch-jeans, her favorite San Jose Sharks tank top, and platform wedge sandals. She loved wearing high heels, even though she was quite tall. There was nothing more empowering than getting up from a seated position and towering over a man; especially one who had been acting like an asshole. Robbi had been tall since eighth grade. It had certainly not been fun back then, but now she loved it.

  Charlie was also kind of a slut, always sleeping with what she called ‘a potential husband’ immediately in order to, in her words, ‘hook them in with my magic vajayjay’. Robbi did not need to know exactly what that meant, and Charlie had never elaborated. Thank God! Robbi knew they made a strange pair; they were such polar opposites, both physically and morally. The friendship worked for two reasons: Charlie was fun to be around, and they had never been attracted to the same man. This was vital where female friends were concerned; the number one rule of the girl-code. Robbi longed for the friends she had left in New York; frequent phone calls, emails, and texts somehow didn’t help when she needed a ‘bestie’ to barhop with.

  Robbi had been watching the pre-game commentary, then turned to Charlie during the commercial break. Two young guys were already chatting her up. Damn! Men always had a thing for the Asian chicks. She felt a hell of a l
ot better when she noticed both of them were shorter than she was.

  Charlie unceremoniously dismissed the guys by sweetly purring, “Will you boys excuse me? My girl and I haven’t seen each other in forever, and we really need to catch up.” They strolled away, but not before one of them slipped her his business card, which, after giving it a quick glance, she tossed carelessly on the bar. Catching Robbi’s raised eyebrow, Charlie rolled her eyes.

  “That was Patrick T. WhoGivesaFuck, MBA from USF, graduated ... wait for it ... last year!” There was another eye roll there, for effect, as if to stress how truly beneath her the guy was. “You know what that means?”

  Robbi knew very well. “That he’s young.” And probably dirt poor.

  Charlie smirked and added, “And has no job. And if he does happen to have a job, you can bet it’s a shitty one!”

  Robbi nodded in agreement, and then decided the subject needed changing. Charlie could talk about herself one hundred percent of the time; Robbi was hell-bent on cutting that down to at least seventy-five percent. She began. “I kinda met a guy today.”

  Charlie’s eyes were huge and her pencil-thin eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. “I want details, bitch — NOW!”

  “Well, I met him at the pizza restaurant where I took my class today. He’s my TA’s uncle, and pretty damn hot. He asked me to dinner tomorrow night. Oh, and I have to text him soon to give him my address and stuff. I figure I’ll do it after the first period. You’ll help me with the text so I don’t say anything dumb, okay?”

  “Of course, honey. I’d do anything to get my girl laid.” Robbi had to laugh; it had been a while and Charlie knew it.

  People’s cheers indicated the puck was about to drop. The bartender came over and got their drink orders, apologizing for the long wait. His name was Tag and he had a heavily tattooed, muscular, Tyler-type body. He was not quite as tall, but had broader shoulders than Tyler. Sigh! Tyler. The similarity ended there, however. Tag had short, spikey blond hair, startling deep green eyes, and, in addition to numerous earrings, had a lip and tongue piercing. He was cute, but Robbi was not a fan of face piercings of any kind.