Before I Do Amazon (20 page)

"If you do, tell him we miss him, and he can always come to my house."

"I will." She jotted down Carlotta's address and then ended the call. "Did you hear any of that?"

"I got the feeling your father is still dealing with alcohol issues."

"My aunt says he's sick, and they've done everything they can to try to help him. She doesn't think I should look for him, but she did give me the names of some of his favorite bars."

"What do you want to do?"

"I'd like to try to find him. I feel like I've come this far. I can't just fly home without giving it a shot. Maybe I could help him."

Nick frowned at that statement. "You can't fix him, Isabella."

"You don't know that. You don't know him."

"I know that if his family hasn't been able to help him, it's doubtful his long-lost daughter will be able to work a miracle."

"But I am his daughter, and I wouldn't be the amazing woman you said I was if I didn't try."

"Well, that's true," he said with a smile. "Are we leaving now?"

"I feel like it's now or never."

"Okay, but I'm going to see if we can get a car and a driver for this excursion."

"Good idea. I have no idea how far any of these places are."

"Or what kind of neighborhood they're in," Nick said.

She met his gaze and realized that finding her father might take her into places she'd never wanted to go. But Nick would be with her, and knowing that gave her courage.

* * *

Isabella's determination to find her father faltered after the first dive bar and got weaker after the second. But Nick kept her going. She had one more chance, and she had to take it.

Last on the list was La Puerta Blanco, located on the outskirts of the city, far from the tourist action. Isabella was more than happy to have Nick by her side when they entered the dimly lit bar. The bar was fairly empty; it was barely seven on a Saturday night. The crowd probably wouldn't arrive until at least eleven. If there was a crowd, she silently amended, noting that most of the patrons seemed to be well past their forties and many seemed to be alone.

There was one man sitting at the bar who drew her gaze. He sat with hunched shoulders, as if he wished he could disappear into his own body. His hair was pepper gray, stringy and drifted past his collar. He yelled something in Spanish at the soccer match being played on the television behind the bar. Then he asked for another shot of tequila.

She wanted to turn around and leave but there was something about his voice that was very familiar to her.

She was suddenly terrified—was this man her father? Did she really want to know for sure?

Her mother had told her she would be disappointed if she made contact.

Her aunt had said that her father was a broken man and it would be best for her to remember him the way he was.

"I don't know what to do," she murmured.

Nick put his arm around her. "Yes, you do."

She looked up at him, and his gaze held hers for a long minute. She saw both admiration and concern in his eyes, but he wasn't expressing that concern. He was letting her make up her own mind.

"Okay." She drew in a breath to calm her nerves and then walked up to the man at the bar. "Diego Martinez?"

The man turned his head in confusion. "Sí?"

Her heart thumped against her chest as she stared into his dark eyes. His face was familiar and yet not. His gray bearded cheeks were hollow, and his skin was pale. He looked like the ghost of the man she'd once known.

"I'm Isabella," she said.

He blinked in confusion. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. A moment later he was handing her a faded photo. It was the picture they'd taken together at her eighth-grade graduation. Tears filled her eyes.

"This is me," she said. "I'm Isabella."

He shook his head as if he didn't understand her. "Is she well? Is she safe?"

She licked her lips as a tear slipped down her cheek. He didn't recognize her. He didn't understand that his daughter was standing right in front of him. Her aunt had told her there was more wrong with him than an addiction to alcohol, and she could see that clearly now.

"Bella—so beautiful," he murmured, a far-away expression in his eyes. "Smart like her mother. But she danced like me."

"She did?"

"On my feet. She would put her feet on mine, and I would spin her around the room. She loved that so much."

The memory of that long-forgotten moment hit her square in the chest, squeezing hard at her heart. "She did love that. She loved you, too. She wants you to get help."

He shook his head. "I'm beyond help. Ask anyone. Ask Roberto here. He knows."

Isabella glanced over at the middle-aged overweight bartender who gave her an uncaring shrug.

"Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?" she asked her father. "Carlotta said you're welcome at her house."

Surprise flitted through his eyes. "You know Carlotta?"

"She told me where to find you. She wants you to come home."

"No, she doesn't. She told me to get out and never come back. Couldn't blame her. I stole money from her."

"She's forgiven you."

"I need another shot." He lifted his empty glass and pounded it down on the bar.

The bartender ambled over, refilled the glass, and then moved back to help another customer.

Her father threw back the shot and let out a sigh of appreciation.

She decided to make one last attempt. "I'm Isabella. I'm your daughter."

He stared back at her, and this time his gaze just seemed empty. Then he said, "Tell Isabella I love her."

"Okay," she said, giving up.

Her father got up from the barstool and headed for the men's room.

She looked at Nick.

He stepped forward and wiped a tear from her cheek. "You all right?"

"He didn't know me. He didn't understand."

"Maybe he did—somewhere in his head. Do you want to wait for him to come out?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm done here."

They walked out of the bar and got back into the car. She held it together for about two minutes, and then the tears came followed by the choking sobs.

Nick put his arms around her and let her cry her way back to the city. She didn't know where he told the driver to go, but eventually they ended up at a small market. The driver went inside and came back with a box of tissues.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose and tried to pull herself together. "Sorry about that. I got your shirt all wet." She gave him a watery smile.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear. "It will dry. Feel any better?"

"I actually do feel better."

"Sometimes tears are good."

"You've probably never cried a day in your life."

"Not true. I cried when my mother died. Not where anyone could see me, but there were a few tears."

"Everyone cries when a parent dies. That's understandable. But my father is alive."

"Not in the way you want him to be. He's sick, and your tears were an expression of grief for the loss of the man you'd held in your heart all these years."

"You're right. I don't know why he couldn't understand that he was looking at me—at his daughter."

"But he told you to tell Isabella that he loved her. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"

"I guess. But I wanted him to know he was talking to me."

"You know that he loved you and that he still does. That's what's important. That's what you have to take away from this."

"I wish I could help him get better."

"I'm sure everyone in his family feels that way. Some people can't be helped. I know you don't want to believe that, but it's true."

"I don't want to believe that. I should have stayed in the bar and tried to get through to him."

"You did try. He didn't want you to get through to him. You told him he could go to his sister's place, and he said he stole money from her."

"She didn't tell me that."

"Addiction is complicated and horrifically painful to watch anyone you love go through. I didn't have it in my family, but I had a friend in college who went to the dark side, and a lot of people have tried to help him and failed. It drives his family crazy to know that they can't fix him. I suspect your aunt has had a lot of years of pain because of your father's disease."

"I still want to see her," she said. "How horrible do I look right now?"

He smiled. "You look like you've been through a battle—but it was a battle you won."

"Did I?"

"What do you think?"

She thought for a long moment and came to the only conclusion that made sense. "I don't feel like I won anything, but I'm glad that I saw him. I'm sad that he's the way he is. I will talk to my aunt about him. Maybe there's something I can do to help her help him. I know you'll think I'm a fool for having any hope that he could be helped, but—"

"But that's who you are," he finished. "You're fiercely loyal to the people you love, and you'd do anything to help someone in trouble. Like I said before, you're an amazing woman, and tonight your father got to see that."

"He didn't know it was me."

"I really think that somewhere in his head he knew it was you."

She didn't know if she could believe that, but it made her feel better to think it was true. "Thanks for going with me, Nick. Hopefully, having dinner with my aunt will not be so emotional or dramatic."

An hour later, she knew she was half right. There was no drama at her aunt's house, but there were plenty of emotions. Not only was her Aunt Carlotta there, but her cousin Liliana, and her boyfriend, and her other cousin Enrique and his wife and their twin babies. They greeted her with warm, loving hugs and a few tears, but these were happy tears. The family that had once been shattered was coming back together.

Her father was a big topic of conversation. She learned more about her dad's jail term and his many failed attempts at sobriety as well as a late diagnosis of mental illness. Her aunt confirmed that her father did speak of Isabella but never seemed to understand that his little girl might be grown up by now.

It was sad to know that there seemed to be little hope for her dad, but it was wonderful to reconnect with that side of the family.

Dinner was a lively affair with lots of conversation and many stories about the past. She worried that Nick might be a little bored, but he gave no indication of it, and he was fully engaged with everyone in the room. In fact, he seemed to enjoy hearing about her early years and how she'd been as a little kid. No one else in her life had ever heard about her childhood in Argentina, and the fact that Nick now knew so much about her made her feel even closer to him.

She was beginning to wonder how she was ever going to say goodbye to the man.

But she had a few more days before she had to do that, so she was going to enjoy the time they had together and let the future bring whatever it was supposed to bring.

Chapter Sixteen

Nick waited in the lobby on Sunday morning for Isabella to come down. After the disturbing talk with her father, the emotional reunion with her family, not to mention the jet lag, she was probably exhausted. He hoped she'd have enough energy to dance later, because today was the big day.

Martin stepped off the elevator and gave him a nod. "Are you ready to go?"

"As soon as Isabella comes downstairs."

"What did you and Isabella do yesterday while I was taking care of business?" Martin asked with a dry smile.

"We walked around the city. I saw a lot of Buenos Aires. Then last night we had dinner with some of her relatives."

Martin raised an eyebrow at that piece of information. "You hung out with Isabella's family? You—the man who rarely spends time with his own family?"

He shrugged. "It was fun."

"That's another word you don't use very often."

"I was mixing it up with the locals. That's what Juan Carlos wanted, right? Last time I mucked things up by spending all my time in the hotel studying the financials. I won't make that mistake again."

"Good, because if you'd done all that on the last trip, we wouldn't be here now. We'd have a signed contract and would probably be breaking ground on the resort."

"Don't remind me," he said with a little sigh. "I'm very aware of how much time we've lost."

"So when you were mixing it up with the locals last night, were you also mixing it up with Isabella? Because she is one beautiful woman."

"Not in the way you're suggesting," he said quickly. "It's not like that—well, not exactly like that."

"You're into her, Nick. Admit it."

"I admit it," he said easily. "I like her, but it's complicated."

"Is it? Or are you just making it complicated? Isabella is attractive, warm, funny, smart…she's the whole package. What don't you like?"

"She's emotional. She thinks with her heart—when she thinks at all. Mostly, she just goes with her gut and leaps without looking. That's not who I am."

"Definitely not," Martin agreed. "But maybe that's all good. You don't want another version of yourself. You want a woman who challenges you. I think she does that."

"She also may be taking a job in the theater, dancing in some new musical. She could be traveling, on the road for weeks, maybe ending up in New York."

"Really? I thought you were trying to help her buy her studio."

"She has another option, one she should really take. I've seen her dance, and she could set Broadway on fire."

"So what happens next?" Martin asked.

"I don't know."

"You always know, Nick. Why not this time? What's different? And don't tell me you haven't given it any thought, because you always give everything a lot of thought."

"She's different—she's important. I don't want to screw it up," he said honestly. "I don't want to start something I can't finish."

Martin looked at him in surprise. "I've never heard you sound so serious about a woman before. Maybe she's the one."

His pulse leapt when Martin said the words aloud that had been running through his mind the last few days. Fortunately, he was saved from a reply when Isabella joined them with an apologetic smile. While her eyes were tired, she also looked happy to be up and ready for another adventure. She'd left her hair down and wore a floral dress that clung to her curves; her beautiful legs were bare, her feet accented by a pair of high wedge sandals.