The Sheikh's Virgin Bride(98)

Sunday morning came and went, however, as did the afternoon and the evening. I found myself checking my phone every few minutes, to no avail. Finally, at well past midnight, I fell asleep, exhausted. After having left several messages on Lucy’s phone, I’d determined that something must have happened to her phone—or her.

The next day, I woke up early, guzzled some coffee, and sped to work. As soon as I sat down in my office chair, however, I noticed it. The office conjoined to mine was empty; Lucy wasn’t there.

A quick trip round the office revealed nothing. When I asked about Lucy, Donna stared at me as vacantly as ever.

“No, she didn’t say anything about being sick. In fact, I haven’t heard anything from her, today.”

Mahir was similarly unhelpful.

“Maybe she had a late night and slept in.”

With a shrug, I stormed back to my office and threw myself into my work with an intensity designed to distract me. By the late afternoon, there had still been no word from Lucy—on my phone, or through Donna. By now, I was worried.

Until, just as I was storming up to Donna to command her to find out what had happened to Lucy, I got a text.

I’m sorry, but I have to do this.

It was from Lucy. No explanation, just a “sorry” for whatever “this” was. It couldn’t be, that couldn’t mean—she wasn’t actually quitting work just to avoid seeing me, was she? And for what? Because I’d possibly asked her to be my girlfriend too soon? No, there was no way. That couldn’t be it.

Still, all that night, my calls and texts went unanswered. Tuesday, she wasn’t in her office either, while Donna dully informed me that “Lucy’s sick, and doesn’t know when she’ll be better.” So, there was nothing to do but wait.

Wednesday I waited. Thursday and Friday I waited. By Saturday, I was tired of waiting, leaving voicemails Lucy probably never listened to and sending texts she probably never read. By Sunday morning, I had a plan.

Please, Lucy, if you meet me, I swear I’ll leave you alone. I swear, was the text I sent her. And, a few hours later, my patience was rewarded.

Okay. Where?

Cherrytree Recreation Center, tonight at 6.

And, at 6 p.m., in front of Cherrytree Recreation Center, there she was. Lucy, looking pretty in her purple dress, though not happy. When she saw me, her face brightened and then clouded again.

“Hello, Khabib.”

I stood there for a second, wanting to guess it—what was wrong, what had caused her to act so strangely these past few days. Far-off children’s cries sounded, the wind whooshed, but I could see nothing on Lucy’s flawless face—nothing at all. I took a step forward.

“I’ve missed you.”

She avoided meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know this has been…sudden. But everything that’s been happening lately, I feel like I got caught up in a whirlwind I had no intention of being in. I just need some time.”

I took her hand.

“Do you think I meant for this to happen? For me to fall for you?”

She pulled her hand away, but I wouldn’t let her.

“Please, Khabib. Let me go.”

There was a shudder in her voice, something of a plea. I released her hand.

“Anyway, that isn’t why I asked you to come here. I was wondering if you’d like to help me with something important,” I said.

Lucy sighed.

“Khabib, I…”

“You don’t even know what it is I want you to do, yet.”

She looked at me expectantly, and I gestured at the building behind us.

“I volunteer here. Help kids in need. They’re always happy to have more volunteers. I thought you could join me. Then, afterwards, you can go on your avoiding-me-way, same as before.”

Already, she was shaking her head.

“I don’t know…”

Her gaze stopped over my shoulder. I turned to see what she was looking at and saw it was Abigail, staring with her dark-circled eyes through the fence.

“Okay.”

Lucy walked past me into the building without another word. To call the staff of Cherrytree Recreation Center happy to see another volunteer would have, admittedly, been a stretch. Although, to be fair, these tough women probably didn’t get happy for much, if anything. Nonetheless, after everyone had filed in, they herded a couple of children off with me and Lucy, then shuffled off to deal with their own groups of kids.

As we walked outside with our group of kids, into the small fenced-in plot of grass, Lucy turned to me.

“What exactly is this program for?”

“Troubled youths whose parents don’t want to deal with them. It’s sort of an afternoon daycare provided by the city.”

Lucy nodded, her eyes on the same little girl as before, who was shuffling along miserably.

After a few minutes of dutifully chasing the delightedly squealing other kids, Lucy and I sat on the grass beside Abigail, who was busy in the sandbox, her little hands forming what looked to be a sandcastle. As Lucy helped her, using a neon pink rake to move some sand over, she turned to me.

“So, you said these are all troubled kids?”

I nodded.

“A lot of these kids have been through a lot—not just bad parenting. That neglect translates into every part of their lives—on the schoolyard, especially. A lot of them deal with bullying on a daily basis.”