C
laire prayed for further proof. Lexi’s sense of a safe harbor would lay in her consumption of food.
They sat at the cozy kitchen table, Claire, Max, Ben, Indio, and the young women. Tuyen resembled a spooked deer, Lexi a sated kitty.
“Okay,” Lexi said, “first I have to tell you about Friday night. But Mom, you’ve got to promise you will not freak out.”
“Why?” Claire set down her fork. “Why would I do that?”
“Lexi, don’t worry.” Max’s voice was tender. “You’re here with us, safe and sound. No one is going to freak out over something that might have happened to you three nights ago. Okay?”
Her brows went up as if in surprise at his words. She gave a half nod. “Okay. So, Rosie had this brilliant idea to identify that guy who gave Erik the drugs.” She described the implementation of that brilliant idea, which concluded with Lexi’s need of a safe house.
Brilliant? Claire could think of more appropriate adjectives, but swallowed them along with the mental tone now rising to freak-out levels.
Max sat back in his chair, a calm expression on his face. “Rosie and her partner really thought you might be harassed by this guy?”
“They see such crazy things.” She popped a bite of broccoli into her mouth and shrugged.
Indio said, “Lord, protect Lexi from demented people.”
“Amen,” Claire said. “So that explains why you were with Esteban Delgado last night when you called?”
“Right. Nana, you’ve got to meet this guy. You would love to cook with him. I have a new recipe for
chimichangas
. Anyway, back to Erik.” Her voice faltered when she said his name, but she pressed on. “I was at a coffee shop downtown with this journalist, Nathan Warner.” She went on to explain the reason for the interview, speaking in between bites.
Bites from normal portions. Not her usual huge ones.
Max smiled and held up his water glass. “The legend lives on! A toast to our resident heroine!”
Lexi grinned.
Indio said, “Is this Nathan good-looking?”
“Nana!”
“How about Esteban?”
“Indio,” Ben growled.
“He’s okay.” Lexi winked at her grandmother.
“Which one?”
Lexi laughed. “So in the middle of the conversation with Nathan, Erik called.” She described what happened after that, which concluded with her leaving him bleeding and more or less passed out.
Max said, “What was Rosie going to do?”
Lexi shook her head. “She didn’t say. Her partner said we can trust her, though.”
“Yeah. I believe that. And she’ll call when it’s time.”
Silence filled the table.
Lexi pushed her plate away.
No second or third helpings.
“I’m stuffed and I don’t want dessert. Papa, how about a game of canasta?”
Ben gave her a thumbs-up.
Claire breathed a prayer of thanks. Lexi felt safe. God was indeed filling that tall order.
T
uyen watched the Beaumonts smile and laugh, and she once again sensed a curtain draw shut between her and others.
She was not a Beaumont. She never would be a Beaumont. Her father’s name was not hers.
The fear that had pursued her for as long as she could remember smothered her now. With increasing clarity she understood she was destined to live on the opposite side of that curtain. It was how she had always lived. In her homeland she existed separate from her mother’s parents, separate from everyone in the village, separate from Vietnamese nationals. In San Francisco she existed separate from Americans.
A despicable castoff.
And now her final vestige of hope died, killed by one blow after another at the hands of the Beaumonts. It felt as if she were being entombed.
Lexi, the cousin she hoped would one day befriend her, had not even greeted her directly tonight.
Max and Papa Ben, the ones who never made eye contact with her, turned compassionate faces toward Lexi. Papa Ben put an arm around her shoulder and they left the kitchen to play a game.
Claire tried to show concern for Tuyen, but it fell short. Always her own children were first in her conversation, in her choices.
Nana’s warmth had cooled since her phone call to Beth Russell. There was, too, her question. Were Tuyen’s mother and father married? Her confusion grew more pronounced at the negative answer.
Danny, who at first visited every day, had not come to the hacienda in many, many days. His presence at the family dinner last week was not personal to her.
With Jenna there had never been even a slit in the curtain between them.
The fatal blow, however, hit Saturday night. Erik left. He left sooner than he said he would. He did not say good-bye as he promised. He had not called her as he promised. Not one word from him to her, in spite of the camaraderie they’d shared.
A despicable castoff.
It was time for Tuyen to leave, once and for all, the world that was not her home.
L
exi peered over the cards in her hand at her grandpa. They sat in the sala at the huge dining table,
the replacement for a smattering of small tables. Before The Fire, she and Papa had played their perpetual game of canasta at a small table, Samson curled at his feet, Willow on her lap. Now the furniture felt all wrong. Not even the dog and cat had shown up.
“I miss the small tables in here.”
Papa snorted. “I miss a heapful more than a lousy table. And it ain’t necessarily made up of things, if you get my drift.”
She got his drift, all right. That was exactly what she’d been telling her mom. “I know. Life before The Fire was good.”
Papa laid his cards down, spread his hands against the table, and leaned toward her. His expression was the one used for warnings about snakes and mountain lions. “Alexis Beaumont, that was not my drift.”
Only once in her post-toddler life had Lexi crossed him. It happened at the time of The Fire, when he’d behaved as if struck with a sudden case of dementia, making him totally irrational.
Obviously that was not the case at the moment. She kept her mouth shut.
“Life before The Fire was like always,” he growled. “It just was. Good and bad, easy and hard. God blesses us with it all mixed together. The good stuff makes us feel happy for a while, but it’s the crap that shows us what kind of people we really are. Exposes those black spots on our hearts, the ones He’s in the business of healing.” Papa’s jaw went rigid.
“Th-then what did you mean? What do you miss from before?”
He blinked, loudly sucked air in through his mouth and held it as if trying to keep control. “I miss not knowing my eldest son went back on his word. Turned into a man I would not recognize.” He blew out the breath.
“But, Papa—”
“God could have let me die without that information.”
“But the circumstances—”
“Circumstances! Hogwash. That’s situational ethics. No such animal.” He pushed back his chair. “I’m going to bed.”
“Do you see a black spot? On your heart?”
The glare in his eyes dimmed. His jaw went slack. “Don’t know. Don’t much care at this point. I’m just a tired old man. My Maker can clue me in when I see Him. Finish the job then.”
Lexi watched his retreating back as he left the room. His formerly broad shoulders were rounded under the plaid flannel shirt that appeared a size too large.
She sank back in her chair, feeling like a tired old person herself. The day had held too much. Too much good and bad, easy and hard. Dawn’s first rays had fallen on her giraffe painting, a promise of good things to come. And come they had—first at work, then with Nathan Warner. Both invigorated. The difficult stuff—Erik, Rosie, choosing to go to the hacienda—served her well. They somehow created hope.
Until reality sank in.
Being with Max wore on her. Responding to the dad who hadn’t paid her attention in twenty-some years frazzled her. Her mother listened to her, but still she seemed distant, entwined in her new life as hacienda hostess, occupied with the care of Max, Papa, Nana, and now Tuyen.
Nana wasn’t her old self yet. Papa had been—for about twenty minutes.
If Papa was right, it was all designed to reveal some black spot on her heart. But she already knew what that was: like Erik, Lexi was such a mess.
I
n the parking lot near the hospital’s ER entrance, Rosie sat on squishy, pearl-gray leather behind the wheel of the silver convertible. Top up. It was a late-model Mustang, one powerful piece of equipment. If given the opportunity, she would consider paying a large sum of money in order to drive it, open it up out on a desert highway. Top down.
She traced her finger around the steering wheel and spoke to the man sprawled in the passenger seat. “I’m sorry I called you a waste of oxygen.”
“I think that was ‘pathetic waste of oxygen.’”
“Yeah. Whatever. I apologize.”
Silence filled the car again. The clock read ten fifteen. They’d spent hours inside the ER getting Erik repatched up. He was good to go. The question remained as to where.
He shifted, reached over, and turned the key in the ignition. “It’s freezing.”
“You could have asked me to do that.”
He flipped on the heater. “Rosie, I did ask for help.”
She rubbed her forehead. He wasn’t referring to the heater.
“I got arrested in Santa Reina on purpose. I needed an excuse to call you. I told you I didn’t need a lawyer. I said I needed Maria. I said, ‘You’re the only one who can help me.’”
So upset about his arrest, Rosie hadn’t heard his thinly veiled cry for help.
Upset about his arrest? Get over yourself, Delgado. You were upset
because he called Felicia. That’s not even upset. That’s jealousy.
“Tonight,” he said, his voice low and quiet, “I asked Lexi for help. I shouldn’t have done that. She’s not well herself.”
“Beaumont, just come out and say it. I’m listening now.”
For a moment he didn’t respond. “I need help. I don’t know who else to ask. You’re the only one who talks to me straight and at the same time seems to give a hoot.”
Rosie shut her eyes.
“I’m . . . scared. I’m in serious self-destruct mode. The last thing I remember was tearing my place apart trying to find another bottle. Have no clue how I hurt myself. Have no clue what day it was. Or is. The blackouts have gotten worse.”
She looked at his profile. He stared straight ahead, his shoulders hunched, as if talking to some unseen confessor.
“I had such good intentions. Forget you along with my family—I can do this by myself. That lasted all of thirty minutes. I came home to my agent’s message that all the feelers he put out for jobs got the same reply—something along the lines of ‘in your dreams’—and then he more or less fired me as a client. Okay, I can take a hint. Nobody in news broadcasting is going to hire me.”
He paused. “Things got fuzzy real quick after that. I ran out of booze at some point. I left to buy more and tripped over a copy of that ridiculous rag
Snapshot USA
tucked under the welcome mat. Guess what page was earmarked?” He turned toward her.
Her throat constricted. She shook her head.
“You got it. My two former best friends, full color, arms locked, grinning like they won the biggest lottery in history. ‘San Diego’s Hottest Couple Sizzle.’ Tiny insert photos, one of yours truly and one of an ambulance. They didn’t really get a shot of my ambulance, did they?”
She shrugged.
“You’re mentioned, too, by the way, but not by name. Fortunately they totally missed the part about you and Lexi and your partner being at the bar with the sizzling couple.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Thank God.” She swallowed and coughed, trying to relax her throat muscles.
“You are such a Maria, and I mean that respectfully.” He gazed toward the windshield again. “So, I give. What’s next?”
“You tell me.”
“I-I . . .” His eyes closed. Tears glistened on his lashes. “Do they teach you how to torture at the academy or do you just come by this naturally?”
“Tell me what you want, Erik.”
A long moment passed. “I want to check myself in. Somewhere.”
“Okay. Somewhere. I assume money is no problem. Which means you could go anywhere. Maybe you want to dry out up in Malibu. You know, at one of those really nice, posh places where all the big names go.”
“That’s me: big name, posh to the nth degree. Wouldn’t consider anything less than first-class all the way.”
“It’s hard work, no matter where—”
“Revolving-door rehab is the only way to go.” Sarcasm overtook his earlier defeated tone. “I’ll join the parade of people who get fixed, suffer relapse, and repeat the whole cycle again. Why, the headline guarantee alone is priceless. And it sort of maps out my future, don’t you think? I’ll know where I’ll be six months from now. Well, not specifically. I’ll either be on the mend or relapsing.” At last his voice ran out of steam.
“I just wanted to make sure you were aware of all the options.”
“You think I haven’t thought about this?”
Rosie inhaled deeply. “I have another option in mind, one you might not know about. It’s very small, very private. Its only guarantee is that the experience will be the most painful you’ve ever had. It’s two hours from here, in the desert. I can take you right now. If you’re ready.”
He covered his face with his hands and nodded. At the first sound of a sob, Rosie shifted the car into gear.
E
rik unbuckled his seatbelt. “From the looks of this place and considering how fast you drive, I’d say we’ve landed on the other side of the moon.”
Smiling to herself, Rosie turned off the engine.
The nighttime desert did not resemble the busy community they’d left behind. It wasn’t only the bleak landscape that separated the two, however. Inside the lone ranch-style stucco house before them lived a couple who danced to a tune not many people could hear.
“Talk about desolate,” he said. “What am I getting myself into?”
“The rest of your life, Erik.” She met his gaze.
They hadn’t talked much during the two-hour drive. He’d recovered his composure and remained silent, dozing off and on. She focused on driving and praying. To talk about his decision to seek help could have led him into talking himself out of it.