But it was so hard.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’m a gold-plated fool.”
Rafe made the declaration aloud on December fifteenth, more than a week after his confrontation with Helen.
“I’m a thick-headed, gold-plated fool,” he immediately amended, because only a thick-headed jackass would take so long to come to his senses.
Hmmm. A gold-plated fool. That gives me an idea.
He headed for the shower with a determined step, ready to set his life to order.
Hallelujah! a voice in his head said.
Why had it taken him until now to realize that he and Helen had been given a special gift in their time-travel experience? A celestial nudge had sent them to the past to discover the meaning of love. What he needed now was a celestial kick in the ass for his stupidity in almost losing it.
Hallelujah! the voice said again.
For days, he’d walked around like a zombie, feeling sorry for himself, barely living. He’d gone to work, carried out his legal practice like a robot, and come home to an empty apartment, refusing to talk to anyone — even his mother who kept leaving messages on his answering machine. All her little sermons harped on the same topic; “Ra-fa-el San-ti-ago, you are going to hell for having that vistorectomy operation. You better go to confession. Do you hear me, Rafael?”
Rafe couldn’t dwell on the explanation he’d have to give his mother now. He looked at the wedding band on his finger. He had a mission, and its name was Helen.
Damn, he loved her, and she loved him. He knew that, no matter what she said. So what did anything else matter?
He didn’t even care about her being pregnant with another man’s child. Well, actually, he cared, but he could live with it. The baby would be Helen’s child, and he would love him, or her, like his own.
The important thing was that he was miserable without Helen. He couldn’t face a life without her. He was sure — at least, he hoped — she was miserable, too.
How could he have been so dumb?
He called her right away, before he lost his nerve, but got no answer. The same thing occurred throughout the day, and the next morning. He even drove over, but there was no response to his repeated knocks on the door.
A neighbor came out and informed him that Helen had moved out temporarily, and her mail was being forwarded. Rafe’s eyes narrowed with resolve. She couldn’t hide from him. He’d set Antonio and Inez to work sniffing out her whereabouts. In the meantime, the U.S. mail would forward any messages. Or packages, if he paid the forwarding postage in advance.
Rafe grinned. He had some serious shopping to do.
Helen was staying at her father’s home in San Clemente until the wedding. Her father and Elliott had been right to talk her into moving. The visits from Rafe’s family had distressed her terribly, turned her into a virtual basket case. She needed some calm before she started her new life, both as a wife and mother.
Then the packages started to arrive.
The first day, she got a small parcel, forwarded from her address. It had no return address. Opening it hesitantly, she found a Rolex box. A Post-It was attached with only one word, “Remember.”
Rafe.
But why would he send her a Rolex watch? She flipped the lid, but didn’t find a watch. Inside was a black felt-tipped marker.
And she remembered Rafe saying that one of the first things he would buy on their return to the future was a marker. To connect the “dots” across her body. A sexual fantasy.
She tried to be angry, but she had to smile at his creativity. No romantic roses or boxes of candy from this rogue. He knew just how to shake her heart.
The next day, she got a letter. It contained a copy of a receipt from the House of Transcendentalism. Oh, my heavens! Rafe had signed up for meditation classes.
That made her smile, too, because she knew how wretched he would be.
The third day, another parcel came. This one contained a book. A book? Rafe had sent her a coffee-table edition of Alberto Vargas paintings. A Post-It note stuck out of one page on which he’d written, “See what I mean?” Helen blushed when she saw the gorgeous, redheaded nude pinup Rafe had circled.