Touched by Angels Page 0,78

head. "You tell me."

"Well . . ." Baffled, she wasn't sure what had happened. "Emilio wasn't in class this afternoon."

"Yes, I know."

"There was an important test."

He shrugged as though to say that was of no importance to him.

"Is Emilio ill?"

"No."

"Then where was he?"

"Running errands for me," Roberto informed her briskly.

"You mean to say you knew he was purposely skipping classes and you let him?" Anger swelled inside her, but she did a good job of maintaining her composure.

"Yes. Emilio announced this morning that he didn't feel like going to school, and I told him the choice was his."

This was a discussion they'd had in the past, and they'd always ended up arguing about the importance of education. Nothing she said would change Roberto's opinion, and certainly nothing he said would alter her feelings.

"I want to talk to Emilio," she said, unwilling to be drawn into a verbal battle neither one of them could win.

"He isn't here," Roberto continued stoically.

"When do you expect him back?"

He didn't hesitate. "I don't know."

Brynn could see that discussing Emilio would be a losing proposition. She looked past Roberto, hoping to gain perspective on what was happening between them.

"How was your day?" she asked in an effort to put the conversation back on an even keel.

"Busy." He glanced over his shoulder as though to say there was plenty left for him to do and her silly questions were keeping him from his chores.

Brynn wasn't sure what to do or say. She could play cute word games and dance around the issue, but that would solve nothing. They'd done all that before.

"If you've got something to say to me, Roberto, I'd appreciate it if you came out and said it." She stiffened, knowing instinctively what was on his mind.

A flicker of surprise flashed in and out of his eyes. He hadn't anticipated her being this direct, she guessed. Normally she wasn't. Whenever it was possible she avoided confrontation, but she'd learned that in dealing with Roberto, she was better off taking the offensive.

From the first time since she'd arrived, he hesitated.

"Let me say it for you, then," she offered. "You've come to some monumental decision about us."

"Brynn - "

"Let me finish," she insisted, forcing herself to sound light and airy, as though his attitude didn't affect her one way or the other. "You've decided that it'd probably be best for us not to see each other again. Am I right?"

His jaw had gone white. "Something along those lines, but I don't think now is the time to discuss it."

"It seems to me this is as good a time as any," she responded with a flippant air. "You know what they say about there being no time like the present."

"Perhaps, but - "

"Why, Roberto?" she asked simply. Her chest tightened, and this time she couldn't hide the pain in her voice. "Did I do something unforgivable? Something so terrible that you can't find it in your heart to forgive me?"

"No," he said harshly, and briefly closed his eyes. "For what it's worth . . ." He stopped himself, then started again, his eyes as gentle as she'd ever seen them. He didn't want to hurt her, that much was evident.

"Whatever it is," she whispered forcefully, "we can work it out."

He shook his head. "I never intended to become emotionally involved with you. We're both intelligent enough to realize we're all wrong together." He clenched the muscles along the side of his jaw, and when he spoke his voice was filled with regret. "I blame myself. Matters should never have gone this far."

"What am I supposed to do? Forget I ever met you? When I bump into you on the street, do you want me to turn and walk the other way?"

"No . . ."

"I've never been the type of person who can turn my feelings on and off at will. Tell me what it is you want from me. Just tell me and I promise I'll walk out that door and it'll be as though we'd never met."

For a long time he didn't answer her.

"I'm waiting," she told him. "I'm not a difficult person to talk to, Roberto. At least others don't seem to have a problem. Tell me," she said again, more emphatically this time, "what is it you want."

His hands clenched into fists. "I want you to leave New York," he said, his voice strained. "You don't belong here. You and all this nonsense about teaching these kids to wish for the impossible. Try filling Modesto's