By Scene Four, old dad was checking out again. Lexi could imagine his dress-slacks-covered backside in the picture. It would be a shadowy detail poised exiting the kitchen door.
Four scenes. A meager series.
Lexi scrambled now to keep up with her parents. They neared Uncle BJ’s memorial site. She recognized the bend in the path, the point where Papa had neatly laid rocks along both sides. There was the huge oak, damaged but not condemned to death by the fire. And then the outcropping of boulders.
“Tuyen!” Her mother screamed the name.
Even through the bobbing shadows Lexi could make out the letters chiseled out of the boulder’s face many years ago: Benjamin Charles Beaumont Jr.
A dark stain cut through the “Beaumont.”
M
oments stretched into eternal expanses.
Tuyen lay on the ground, a motionless heap at the base of the boulder. Max and Claire knelt beside her. Lexi held two lanterns aloft. Blood was everywhere.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Her mother cradled Tuyen’s head in her lap.
Her father yanked the laces from his shoes.
Unintelligible speech came from both, Claire’s in a begging tone, Max’s in sharp commands. Prayers and pleas, denials and urgings all mixed together.
Please God. Please God. Please God.
Max made quick work of tying tourniquets on Tuyen’s arms, and then he scooped her up. “Lexi, go in front of me. Quickly now.”
The scene embedded itself into Lexi’s mind with the permanence of a branding iron.
T
hey reached the barn behind the house at the same time the medics did, stretcher and equipment in hand. Spotlights blazed, illuminating the area.
Illuminating the deep reds that smudged her father’s cheek, her mother’s gray sweatshirt.
Lexi leaned against the corral fence. Claire and Max stood nearby, her mother in the shelter of her dad’s broad shoulders.
The two young men worked over Tuyen, their movements smooth, coordinated, confident, quick as lightning. They talked to each other and to her as if she were not unconscious.
Lexi spotted Nana in the distance, standing at the edge of the courtyard, but could not summon the strength to go to her.
“Okay.” One guy stood. “Great job on the tourniquets. Did you do it?” He looked at Max.
“Yeah.”
“You probably saved her life.”
“She’s going to make it?”
“Good chance of it. Want to follow us to the hospital?”
“Can I ride with?”
“Are you her dad?”
“Uncle. Sort of a stepdad. Her dad’s . . . dead.”
“Let’s go.”
As Lexi watched them leave—covers tucked neatly around Tuyen on the stretcher, Max beside her, Claire moving toward Nana—a memory presented itself.
She remembered being carried on a stretcher and transported to a hospital. If she allowed herself, she could recall details. But why?
With a shake of her head, she pushed herself away from the fence.
And then she felt something shut down, an essential something deep inside of her being.
It was almost as if she’d slit her own wrists and caused life to drain away until not one drop remained to keep her heart beating.
R
osie flew west along the freeway, heading back to the city. Erik’s vehicle was one incredibly cool ride.
The top was down, windows up, the heater on full blast, her hair loose and whipping wildly in the wind. The stereo volume was cranked to its limit, heavy on bass, the Gipsy Kings’ Latin beat rip-roaring across the desert. Stars were so dense the sky resembled a crocheted silvery afghan thrown across a black velvet canopy.
She smiled, still surprised that she’d found one of her favorite CDs in his collection under the seat along with the likes of Bob Marley, Motown, Alicia Keys, and Enya. Was Erik a closet nonracist and nonsexist?
Rosie suspected that he deliberately projected those false images of himself. He enjoyed goading others.
It was part of his self-destructive mechanism. If he pricked others enough, they’d not get close enough to hurt him.
“Lord, You’re laughing, aren’t You? You just had to break my own prejudices by hooking me up with a rich white guy. That’s funny.”
The 805 exit signs appeared. It was probably time to reenter the real world. She turned down the music and flipped open her cell phone. Two voice mails awaited.
As hoped, she heard Bobby’s voice first. “Just checking in.” Short and totally neutral in tone—a positive step up from his earlier growl that she get herself straightened out.
Lexi came next, her voice low and hesitant. “Sorry to bother you. It’s not about Erik. We guess since you haven’t called, he’s okay.” A long pause. “Mom wanted me to call. Tuyen.” A noisy breath. “She tried to kill herself. They think she’s going to be all right. Since, you know, you’re sort of involved with her, Mom thought you might care.” She left Claire’s number and the name of the hospital.
Rosie glanced at the dashboard clock. Lexi’s call had been recorded around midnight. It was now after two a.m. Knowing the Beaumonts, somebody would still be at the hospital, waiting through the night as a stranger clung precariously to life.
She flicked the turn signal and headed for an exit.
R
osie spotted Claire in a corner of the waiting room, a good sign that Tuyen was alive.
Erik’s mother wore her glasses and appeared to be reading a Bible. Her hair was disheveled, her light-gray sweatshirt inside out over a white turtleneck.
A few people occupied some of the scattered chairs and couches. Some of them dozed. Lights were too bright for the middle of the night. At least no television blared.
She walked over to her. “Claire.”
“Rosie!” The older woman stood and grabbed her in a quick hug. “Oh! It is so good to see you. So good.”
“Crummy circumstances.”
They exchanged sad smiles and sat in two corner chairs, a table between them.
Rosie said, “Is she okay?”
“Yes. Is Erik okay?”
“Yes. He got stitched back up no problem, and then he checked into rehab.”
“Oh!” Claire’s hand flew to her mouth. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“Amen. I can give you the number of the place. It’s best he doesn’t communicate just yet, but the couple who run things there will be glad to answer questions.”
Claire nodded, blinking rapidly.
Rosie gave her a moment to collect her emotions.
“Thank you,” Claire whispered. “When Lexi told me about tonight, about the condition he was in, I wanted to crawl in a hole. But she said you were with him and then I knew things would be okay.”
“God was in it. I was simply there at the right time when Erik asked for help. Is Lexi here?”
Claire shook her head. “She said between Erik and Tuyen she’d seen enough blood for one night.”
Erik and Tuyen.
Was there a connection? On Friday, just a few days ago, the two of them watched a movie together. He said it was Tuyen’s English lesson. The next day, Erik left the hacienda. Rosie tucked the thought away for later.
She said, “Tell me what happened tonight.”
“You sound like you look, on duty.”
“Occupational hazard. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. It’s not so much police duty I see as it is holy duty. I sensed it when you served us tacos and when you ate dinner in our home. You have a compassionate concern for others. It emanates from you like audible sound waves. That’s why I totally relaxed about Erik’s situation. Max feels the same.”
Rosie went speechless. The woman must be punchy from lack of sleep and the night’s trauma. Did she forget what Rosie had done to her son?
“And,” Claire went on, “you brought Tuyen to us and have taken Lexi under your wing. We’re awfully glad God brought you to us.”
“But I—”
“I know.” She reached over and squeezed her arm. “You shot him. Now get over it.”
Rosie laughed. “Okay. So what happened?”
Claire sighed. “It was awful. A nightmare. But I think angels intervened.” The story poured from her: Tuyen’s note, how they found her, what Max did, the ambulance, the timing of it all.
Claire said, “I convinced Indio to stay at home. She was looking every bit of her seventy-five years. Ben slept through the whole ordeal.” She sighed again. “Max is in with Tuyen. She’s still unconscious, but she’s all right. Physically anyway. I’ve been asking God how we can help with whatever it is that drove her to this.”
“Any answers?”
“I’m getting glimpses of an abandoned, fatherless child.”
Rosie nodded. “And then Erik left her.”
“Erik? What do you mean?”
“Uh.” She shrugged. “I’m just thinking out loud. Bad habit.”
She noticed Claire gazing at her with an open, almost childlike expression. It was obvious from her words and the Bible on the table next to her that she had a working relationship with the Lord. She was listening and seeking. Rosie figured she could muse all she wanted with Erik’s mother. They were almost, if not exactly, on the same page.
Claire smiled. “I just made a fresh pot of coffee over there. Can I get you some?”
Yup.
The same page.
R
osie sipped from a Styrofoam cup. “What did you do, bring your own freshly ground beans and bottled water? This is the best coffee I’ve ever had in a hospital. Or outside of one for that matter.”
“Thanks.” Claire sat again. She had carried the carafe and cups around the room, serving a few other sleepy folks. “It’s Indio’s secret concoction. Works even with well water.”
“Please don’t give any more away. I will want another cup.”
She smiled. “You were saying, about Erik?”
Erik. Where to begin? He was the type of guy she avoided. How on earth had he gotten under her skin?
That wasn’t exactly the place to start.
“Well, I’m wondering about the timing of events. He called me on Friday. He was watching
The Sound of Music
with Tuyen. I imagine a bonding time occurred between them. He was the one Tuyen sought out in the first place. Because of his help, she made it to the hacienda and met the family.”
“That’s true. He and Tuyen were enjoying each other’s company. I haven’t heard Erik laugh like that in a long time. He reminded me of when he and the others were little. He absolutely basked in his role as big brother. He was like that with Tuyen, carefree and funny. He taught her English phrases the rest of us wouldn’t touch. She taught him about cooking. I just learned he even gave her a driving lesson Friday night.”
“And then the next day he leaves. Abruptly?”
Claire nodded. “Tuyen didn’t know he was gone until I told her.”
“Has Ben come around yet? Does he accept her?”
“No, not really. He’s civil, but standoffish.”
“How about Max?”
Understanding crept into Claire’s expression. “The same.” She set her cup on the table. “In the father-figure slash male
department, I’d say Tuyen has had a bad time of it. The worst. Her dad. Two grandpas. One uncle. A cousin who took her under his wing. Or make that two cousins. Danny’s just busy with work, but to her it could appear he’s backed away as well. Throw in the men she encountered in her line of work and no wonder.”
“No wonder.” Rosie eyed the collar of Claire’s sweatshirt. Even with it turned inside out, a dark stain was visible. “Speaking of which, you and Max probably weren’t wearing gloves?”
She shook her head. “The doctor said he would test her.”
Another matter for prayer.
Lord, in Your mercy, hear our prayer . . .
Claire went on. “They said Max saved her life. Watching him with her now, so tender and concerned, vowing to take care of her, I’m wondering if she saved his life too. BJ was his rival but also his idol. He hasn’t wanted to believe Tuyen’s story about him. It gives BJ feet of clay. I think he might be ready to forgive his brother for being human. He might be ready to fill in for him with Tuyen.”
“Amen.”
“Amen.”
Definitely the same page.
L
exi recognized his little red truck as it tore into the far end of the parking lot, dirt swirling all around it.
Normally Danny didn’t drive with an attitude. She braced herself for more bad news.
And wondered how much more she could take after last night.
In spite of only a couple fitful hours of sleep, she’d gone to work. Determined to keep her mind far from family matters, she’d turned off her cell phone, driven the company pickup to a distant wholesale nursery, and spent the morning lost in the world of plants.
Danny’s truck kicked up gravel and skidded to a halt. He jumped out and stomped toward her.
“You could have called me!” He stopped before her, hands on hips. “Tuyen almost died? Erik’s in rehab? And you were there? And why aren’t you answering your phone? The office couldn’t even reach you.”
She tossed her handbag through the cab’s window.
And then she knew how much more she could take.
Not much.
She turned to him. “Stop yelling at me.”
“Lexi!” His voice screeched, his dark eyes nearly scrunched shut. “You could have clued me in at some point!”
“Stop yelling at me.”
His jaw jutted out.
“I was a little
upset
!”
“I would have come.”
“Yeah, right. You said we shouldn’t help Erik. But I had to. He told me he was bleeding. By the time I took care of him, it was over and Rosie’s partner was walking me to my car. I didn’t know she took him to rehab until Mom told me this morning. I didn’t know Tuyen was going to slice her wrists until I saw her note, which was about ten minutes before we found her, which was just in time.”
“Mom said twenty.”
“Stop being so literal, Danny! Everything has to be black and white with you! The point is there was no time to clue you in!” She burst into tears.
“Oh, Lexi.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I was talking about after the fact. Why didn’t you call me after? I would have been there for you. What a horrible night! And why on earth are you working today? You should be at home, recovering. Did you even sleep? Erik’s right. You bottle too much inside.”
He went on and on, Danny style, rocking her gently. She rested her forehead against his chest, trying to collect tears in her hands instead of his shirt.