Slightly Imperfect (15 page)

She sank silently into her own keen memory. Coby's murderous rampage had altered lives other than hers. Ernesto Viera, who doted on Tommy, lived only briefly after his death.

"Go on," Coby urged quietly. "I care, so tell me."

"Christian has nothing, of course. It falls to me to see that Ariana and Alexander are taken care of... financially."

"Where does it say that?"

"The twins should have the financial security Pierce gave you and me, when they're old enough to need it."

"What did that get Pierce? A slap in the face and no children. I'm in a mental hospital and you're striving for independence."

"Oh, Coby." She drew her bottom lip into her teeth, wrapped her body with her arms again. "This is so painful. We don't need to be talking about this.
You
certainly don't."

"We need to talk about it, and I've been through it for the last five years. I've examined every aspect of our lives, lifted every rock and looked under it. Pierce loved us. He showed it by what he did for us. Especially what he did for me when I was born. But who the hell knows what that was?" He shrugged derisively, his smile conspiratorial.

She granted him a tolerant smile.

He resettled against his chair. "Just because he didn't kiss you goodnight or hold you or play ball with me or attend my high school debates doesn't mean he didn't love us."

"I know. The consensus of my therapists in Europe, as well. I suppose they all read the same books."

She had survived her childhood years by getting love from Coby, allowing him to absorb Pierce's slack. Gradually, they had crossed into an unhealthy state of demarcation, mutual addiction, and couldn't find their way back. Her finding Tommy had wrecked the relationship and the lives of those around them.

"What I'm saying," he began again, "is if you're having problems, financial or otherwise, ask Pierce for help."

Zac Abriendo's face, so like Tommy's, materialized in her mind, resting gently, unobtrusively in her consciousness. Zac had quickly, effortlessly, marked Pierce as the villain in her life.

"I've met someone, Coby. Someone Pierce is never going to understand." Gerald Fitzpatrick's face took the place of Zac's. "This probably wouldn't be a good time to try to reestablish Pierce's and my relationship."

"What kind of someone?"

"Zac Abriendo. He's going to help me with Marcus."

"Jesus, Tori! Christian's body isn't even cold."

She cringed, repulsed by the expression.

"A figure of speech," he offered, but his eyes took on a slightly mad glaze. "What the hell kind of help do you need with Marcus that I can't give you once I'm home? Who is this guy? What do you know about him?"

She plunged ahead, hoping. "I met him in Europe, but he lives in Ramona. He'll be good for Marcus—he's Mexican."

"And good for you?"

"We're friends."

Coby's eyes rolled, then refocused on her.

"He's going to teach Marcus Spanish, spend time with him in order to impart Hispanic culture to him."

"History repeats itself." His voice rose. His fist came down on the table.

The man in white eyed them appraisingly, missing nothing.

"What
do
you know about this guy? You have to be careful who you let hang around the twins."

Thoughts of Zac's gentleness when he'd held Ari and Alex just the morning before allowed her to dismiss the implication, but she trembled at Coby's tone. "You're scaring me."

"Goddammit, you're scaring
me
, Tori."

"Don't do this. You promised me you wouldn't."

"What? Love you? Love your children? Care what happens to you?"

"You promised you would let me live my life."

He fell back in his chair as though she had punched him, awareness dawning.

"I love you, Coby. A part of me belongs to you and no one will ever infiltrate that—or get any part of that love. But I'm not
in
love with you anymore, and you don't have a hold over me." She ingested her own words, tried to find strength in them. "If you want a sibling relationship, then we agree. We can have that. I'd like to share my children with you. All of them. Not just the ones I named for you or who look like you. But Marcus, too." Their eyes met, riveted. "That's the way it's going to be or no way at all."

She prayed the words were true, that he would believe her. She prayed for the strength of her conviction.

"I have an appointment with your doctors before they release you. I'd like to be able to tell them you're well—that you've lost that sick obsession you had. The one I've lost. I'd like to tell them that, but I think you should know, as of this moment I'm not sure I can."

"Maybe I should stay in the hospital," he said quietly. "Stay in that hell hole until you're convinced, Tori."

He spoke so softly that she'd had to strain to hear above the other diners? conversation, the rattle and clank of silver against china, above the pounding of her heart in her ears. The subtle threat of rejection held sickening familiarity. "Maybe you should convince me."

His smile never touched his eyes.

She rose slowly, shouldered the little Chanel bag hanging on the arm of her chair. When he stood, pushing back his chair in a show of interception, she smiled sweetly to foil his keeper. After stepping close enough to kiss his cheek, she walked out of the restaurant, bleeding, wounded by his eyes digging into her rigid back.

* * *

Victoria sat on the side of the motel bed and stared across the room at the mirrored likeness of a blond woman holding a phone receiver against her cheek.

"This is Zac Abriendo. At the tone, go for it."

The mirrored image smiled. "It's Victoria... in Kerrville. I'll be back tomorrow." Having adhered to the urge to call him, she was suddenly not sure why it had been so imperative, not sure if she was sorry or relieved she had gotten his machine. "Can you have dinner with us tomorrow night? Would you... Leave me a message?" She hoped her decision not to give him the number of the motel, her room, had nothing to do with Coby. She fell into a too-lengthy silence. "Good night, Zac."

Replacing the receiver, she stared at the woman in the mirror, wondering if she knew her or her intentions.

She extinguished the light and sank into solitude, but then she rallied to switch the light back on and dial hurriedly. Eagerly, she waited out five rings.

"It's the middle of the night here," Andrea clipped.

Pre-dawn, actually. Andrea's voice, even throatier, more provocative than normal, conjured visions of sinister activity. Andrea's past revelations supported the images.

"It's Victoria."

"I suspected as much." A smile traveled the wires. "Is everything all right, darling?"

"I suppose." >

"Oh, God."

"No," she rushed. "Everything's all right." On the surface. "I'm in Kerrville visiting Coby. I just wanted—"

"To talk to me. You want me to reassure you about Coby. I wish I could, Victoria. Unfortunately
I
don't have a photogenic memory. My memory took ugly pictures, and I still recall the tawdriness of it all."

Victoria laughed softly. "I'm so glad I called."

"Where are the twins? And Marcus? Where is that freighter person?"

"Zac Abriendo." His face came to mind. Dark. Beautiful. Kind.

"That one. How far has he infiltrated the chaos of your life, love? Is he there with you now? It
is
bedtime, isn't it?"

"Of course he isn't here."

"Not 'of course' at all. I detected breathlessness when you spoke his name."

"You imagined it." Hadn't she? "It's exactly as I told you in Portofino. We've developed a friendship built around Marcus. Zac's a wonderful—"

"There it is again. Hushed
and
breathless now."

"I was going to say Spanish mentor."

"Of course. I have but one question. What does Coby think of this sacred platonic relationship you are having with this man who looks exactly like Tomas Cordera and is feeding all your latent ghostly longings?"

Coby's disgust flashed in her mind's eye. "It isn't like that, Andrea. I don't even notice the resemblance now. Zac is his own person. It's wonderful to have a friend who shares my interests in Marcus and—"

"You choose not to tell me how Coby feels about this. Your concern for my peace of mind is touching."

And her own peace of mind was impoverished. "Goodnight, Andrea. I love you."

"Goodnight, Victoria. I love you
and
your
naïveté
;."

* * *

Zac had never heard Victoria's voice on the phone. "It's Victoria... in Kerrville."

Nice. Really nice.

"I'm coming back tomorrow." A short pause in which he could feel her thinking. "Can you have dinner with us tomorrow night? Would you... leave me a message?"

The second, elongated pause gave him time to reason whether or not he could, or should, forego his philosophy class. And time to recall giving her his school schedule, which she had chosen to ignore.

"Good night, Zac." A bit tentative. Hushed.

Yeah. He'd find a make-up class somewhere along the way. He dialed her number, got her voice mail. "Hi, Victoria. Thanks for the invitation. I'm fishing tomorrow afternoon. I'll bring fresh shrimp—cooked. I hope you drive safely. Those children are attached to you."

He was finding that increasingly easy to understand.

* * *

"Whose beer is Maggie drinking?"

Zac's voice, even though dropped an octave, echoed through the empty rooms of the prototype Fischer's Landing apartment, competing with a power saw on the floor below.

Jan looked up, smiling wryly. "Why do you ask?"

"Right." Caught.

"That's Ian McCumber. We've contracted with him to refurbish all the cabinets in the project."

Zac had seen the man hand Maggie a sweating beer can, then say something funny enough to make her spew beer all over both of them. Then he blotted the stuff with the back of his fingers along her cheek while Zac's skin crawled up his spine.

"And he works dressed like that?" He'd deal with beer on the job later.

"It's hot in here, Zac." Jan kept smiling.

Ian wore brief, khaki hiking-shorts, mountain boots, squashed down socks and a tank top with a Cozumel insignia. A bandanna curtailed his healthy blond hair, and Zac thought he probably spent every non-working hour lifting weights and lounging under a sun lamp. He had a gringo tan the color of Zac's mama's flan.

This guy's aim wasn't to win a cabinet-making contest.

"It's really hard isn't it?" Jan interjected.

"Is he gay, too? Like Ben?"

"Ask Maggie. She had dinner with him last night."

"Where?"

Jan laughed outright, then looked abashed.

If Allie were still alive, if Zac still had a viable connection to Maggie—like marriage—he would walk right over to the guy and put a stop to it. Somehow. He had no claim to Maggie. His guts roiled.

"I know it's hard, Zac," Jan said softly. "When Luke and I were apart those few months, and he started dating, it was awful."

Zac turned his back on the two of them, made a play of examining a rotted windowsill. "I don't want her to make a mistake. I hope she knows this guy and what he's all about."

"How can she know?"

He braced himself, recognizing the tone.

"Even the people we know best can change and let us down. Life's like rolling dice, Zaccheus."

"Got it Jan." Silence fell and he stared out the window at the trash-strewn parking lot, the tranquil bay beyond. "I'll come by later this afternoon to see what got done today." He flapped his clipboard shut. "Come on, Delilah."

She snapped to attention, wagged her stub of a tail, and nuzzled Zac's hand.

"I'd better get Delilah out of here before I slip up and give the kill command."

Jan hugged him. "See you, Zac."

"Yeah."

* * *

Victoria opened the door and stepped back. She was in workout clothes. Leotards, aerobic shoes, a ponytail and headband. No makeup. Rail thin, but much shapelier. He was overdressed, he realized, in crisp jeans, boots, a collarless, white-linen shirt.

"Hi, Zac."

"
Buenas tardes, señora."

She smiled vaguely, so he handed her the iced shrimp.

When she tiptoed to kiss his cheek, he moved his face just enough to meet her mouth. She handled it well, but he caught her as she settled back.

"Wait." He kissed her again, lightly still, but flicking his tongue across her lips, his mouth applying the gentlest of tugs when they parted. She appeared disconcerted until he said, "I knew you'd taste like that."

One brow shot up, and his interior quickened.

"Good. Like Corona. Corona Extra, no less.
Sopapillas
and honey and angel food cake. Champagne and shrimp. All my favorite things."

She laughed.

"Just enough to remind me I'm hungry. How long before dinner?"

"We'll have the shrimp, and I have champagne. Then I'll call the dining room to bring dinner up while I'm showering."

"You really don't cook."

"I never find time. It isn't my
forté
. The children are being bathed and detained while we... share a few minutes alone."

A marked change in the wind. "Tell me about Kerrville."

She crossed the room to an alcove carved into a mirrored wall, appointed with crystal glassware and heavy carved decanters boasting warm-hued liquids. As she poured champagne from a pre-opened bottle nestled in a silver ice bucket, Zac conceded the bar to be the most elaborate he'd ever seen. His mind's eye pictured Tomas Cordera.

Victoria handed him a glass, clicked hers to his, and slid the iced shrimp onto a parsley- laced silver tray. Cocktail hour was evidently her
forté
, the result of yacht travel.

He clicked glasses again. "To Portofino." Enjoying her smile, he reminded her, "Kerrville?"

"I went to see Coby." She settled into a chair near his, crossed her legs, and swung one tennis shoed foot. A jaunty act not backed up by her mossy-somber eyes.