Slightly Imperfect (7 page)

She nodded. The tears that slipped down her bronze cheeks burned his own face, as surely as if he had shed them. He waited, taking deep breaths, waiting for the constriction in his throat to ease. Finally he said, "The fact I blamed you for Allie's death will probably haunt me forever. It wasn't your fault. You did the best you could by him. I know you would never be careless as far as this street was concerned. I'm the one who let him down when I didn't show up that night." The hated vision broke through. "I've woken up in the middle of so many nights and thought of him sitting there on those steps, with his little rounded shoulders and his sad eyes, waiting for me. I'll see that for the rest of my life—and that puppy running into the street. I should have asked you before I let Carron get that puppy for Allie, but I put her first then, too. It cost us our son." He swallowed, eyes stinging. "Can you ever forgive me?"

He waited an eternity. The sensation of coming home leaped in him when she spoke.

"I forgive you." She placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him. She was tiny and warm, soft and muscly, familiar, yet ever new.

She sat back, giving him a Madonna smile. "I've hurt you, too, Zac. Let's forgive one another enough to last a lifetime, no matter what separate courses our lives may take."

* * *

"Well, Zac." His older sister, Concepcion, eyed him reflectively as she stood at his mama's kitchen sink, rinsing off dishes, placing them in a turquoise plastic drainer. "Did you have a nice cruise?"

He pulled her into a bear hug, getting a minimal response. He let go. "Actually Connie, it wasn't a cruise, but thanks for asking."

She continued retrieving dishes from the soapy water, rinsing, placing.

Zac deemed his homecoming anti-climactic. "Mama's gone to bed already? It seems early." Still light outside. "Is this a normal routine or did she have a premonition I was coming home today?"

That pulled a stingy smile from Concepcion. "Mama's your biggest fan, Zac. Like always. She's driven us crazy with those postcards and cheap presents you sent. She wears herself out taking care of Papa all day. Carmen and Jan and I take turns bringing supper over and she goes to bed as soon as she eats. Just make sure you're here when she wakes up in the morning."

"Got it." He couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"And you'd better get rid of that cat."

"No way. Samson and I are a team." He crossed to the back door, stared out the screen, holding Samson close, relishing the melodious purr that vibrated both their bodies. The screen was a bit rusty. Before Alejandro's accident, just over a year ago, he would never have permitted a screen to rust. He would have rubbed it religiously with machine oil to ward off the Gulf Coast humidity. "I'm waking Papa up, Connie."

She rattled dishes noisily.

"I can't wait until morning to see him."

No answer other than sensed disapproval.

"Are you going to throw your body in front of the door to his room?"

"No, Zaccheus. If I did, the commotion would wake him and he'd resent me for trying to keep you from him. Just like always."

They faced in unison as she stood drying her hands on a frayed towel.

"He can't talk very well, and he can't walk, but there's nothing wrong with his mind. You're still his baby—all he lives for. I guess your year on that freighter was well spent."

The reception he'd gotten from her left room for doubt.

He went down the dark, cramped hall to his and Luke's old room where Concepcion had told him they kept his father now. The moment he'd heard that, he made a self-commitment to change it. His father belonged with his mother. They would die without each other.

A small night-light revealed Alejandro in a large recliner, new to Zac, half sitting up, a pillow behind his head, a sheet over his legs. The room sweltered. More air conditioning and a ceiling fan in order here. Somehow. Some goddamned way.

"Papa?" Zac called softly from the doorway.

His father's hand fluttered, raised, lowered to his lap.

Zac crossed the room to squat beside the chair. "Are you awake? It's Zac."

"Zaccheus." Alejandro's voice was strong, hearty.

Zac's heart soared.

Alejandro did a fair job of lifting his arm, considering he'd been a vegetable when Zac had last seen him. Zac helped. Lifting the arm just enough to get beneath it, he pulled in close to the chair, slipping his arms around Alejandro's waist. That was a shock. His father, once rock hard, had gone slack.

"
Mi hijo
." Alejandro's body shook, convulsed with instant, silent dry sobs. Through some sheer, surprising strength, he got his hand into Zac's hair, his old fingers curling, pulling impressively.

Zac's arms tightened, his own body shaking, his hot tears wet and merciful. He relived again fragments of the pain he had carried since Luke rousted him from Carron's bed, all those months ago, to tell him the
Ramona Dos
had exploded and his father had suffered a stroke. Now the pain eased somewhat.

* * *

"So, Papa, that's the story."

Zac had sat on the floor, as close as possible, holding his father's hand, sharing recall of the past year. He had turned on a brighter light in order to see Alejandro's eyes and judge his reactions. Although his speech was halting at times, he was alert, responsive. God was kinder than Zac deserved, but the deserving one was Alejandro.

"I spent my thirty-third birthday in Singapore and all I could think of was that caramel cake Mama bakes me every year. I saw a lot of the world, but I didn't see anything better than Ramona." Zac smiled. "I think I remember you telling me that when I was about eighteen. As usual, you were right."

He could see that Alejandro, nodding and smiling complacently, liked being right.

"You were right about everything, Papa. If I had only listened to you—that first day when you found out about Carron." The warning in Alejandro's voice, the concern in his face that day, reflected now in Zac's mind. He hadn't wanted to hear it then. "If I had been with you the day of the accident, instead of with Carron, the
Ramona Dos
would never have burned. You'd still be a whole man—"

"No,
niño
."

While Alejandro's rigid insistence surprised Zac, his strength and the conviction in his tone proved encouraging.

"I tell you again, Zaccheus. You are not God. Some things are out of your hands."

"I'm not God. But I sure as hell know how to fix a fuel leak. I told you I'd fix it the night before the
Ramona Dos
blew, and I let you down. I'll spend the rest of your life making that up to you—and to Mama." To everyone affected, he vowed silently. The far-reaching task loomed insurmountable at the moment, but he had only been back in Ramona a few hours. He would find a way.

Alejandro pulled his gnarled hand from Zac's, lifted it, and Zac leaned forward to receive a facial caress. He wanted to cry again, but there was a limit to how much solace a grown man was entitled to seek.

"I think you should know—I'm not sure why I think this. Maybe it's selfishness, but I want you to know I really loved Carron. It wasn't just rooting around—
machismo
." The curse of the Mexican male. "Maybe it was at first, but not for long. You didn't raise me like that, no matter what I accused you of in my blaming phase.

"I loved Maggie and Allie too, and when I found out Carron was so sick, that she was dying, things went a little crazy." His mind went into a tailspin as he relived feeling trapped, believing he must stand by Carron even though he had wanted the affair to end months before he discovered her impending death. He took a deep breath, bringing himself back. "I tried holding it together, but I couldn't. I put her first because I was naïve enough to think I could change her dying. I thought I could make her love me enough to stay alive."

Alejandro ran one rough-nailed finger across Zac's cheekbone and caught an escaping tear. Zac grasped the old brown hand. He splayed the fingers and sank his face into the calloused palm, gathering strength, absorbing the love in his father's touch. Zac lifted his eyes back to those warm, ebony pools that welcomed him.

"I went straight to Maggie today and asked her to take me back. Not because I thought you would like that, or it was the right thing to do. I've wanted her every moment since that freighter left the Houston dock." He let the past year, the cold empty bunk and lonely ports, run through his mind. Then Portofino crossed his memory screen followed by feelings he was unsure of how to categorize. "Maggie said no. That hurts, but I respect her for it. I'm afraid that part of my life is over." She had seemed resolute, at peace with it. "She forgives me. I need to know you forgive me, too. Then I can start to live again." He searched Alejandro's eyes. "Will you forgive me, Papa?"

Zac wasn't to endure even a moment's uncertainty.

"I forgave you, Zaccheus, for everything you will ever do, the day you were born." He stared in the middle distance, then moved his dark gaze back to Zac's. "If Allie had lived you would have understood that someday."

Another part of Zac began to function again. One by one the pieces were falling back in place to complete the fragmented puzzle he had become.

"You are a young man,
mi hijo
. A good man. You deserve many sons and daughters so that you may feel what I feel now."

"You just gave me a blessing." Zac's smile erupted from his gut, coursed through his body, engulfing his face.

Alejandro laughed. "Neither am
I
God,
niño
."

He was, at the moment. When Zac announced, "Here's the plan," interest flicked across Alejandro's face. "First of all, we're going to fix a room big enough for you and Mama to be together, and get a bed big enough for the two of you. You've seen the kind I?m talking about on television—mechanical controls so you can sleep sitting up on your half of the bed—or whatever you need. And Mama can do anything she likes on her side. You have to be together. Do you agree?"

Alejandro nodded and smiled, his brown-parchment skin crinkling around his eyes and mouth.

"Then, we're getting a boat. The
Ramona Tres
. I'm going to fish again, just like I was conceived to do, just like you taught me. You'll go with me." Grinning, he nodded toward the gleaming-steel wheelchair parked in a corner. "You can sit in that chair in the sun and watch me, Papa. You can tell me when I'm not doing it right. We'll eat
Chorizos
and
tortillas
until we're fat. We'll drink beer all the way back to the dock so we'll be in a good mood when the customers come for our shrimp. We'll be merry Mexicans and they'll love us, and buy it all." Zac quieted for a moment. "But do you know what the most important thing is right now?"

"Tell me."

"I need your truck." Zac pictured the Toyota four-wheel Alejandro had gotten just before his accident, the only new car he had ever owned. Now, it sat in the drive. Useless. Zac laughed contritely, admitting, "I'm penniless and walking."

"Then how do you plan to accomplish all these wonderful things,
niño
? Even in a red truck?"

"I don't know how, Papa." Blatant truth gripped him. "I just know I will."

Zac gazed across Gerald Fitzpatrick's comfortably cluttered desk, feeling displaced in his Levis and tee shirt in the presence of the man in the pinstriped suit. After learning from Luke of Zac's return, Gerald had called the Abriendo home that morning. Zac had all ready left to look for a job, not gotten Gerald's message until late afternoon. Now he looked into eyes, the exact color of Carron's, china-blue, and just as penetrating.

"No, sir. I haven't been dodging you. I've just been caught up in being home." His words emerged with an even quieter timbre than the hushed mahogany grandeur of the surroundings. Lying to eyes like Gerald's proved difficult. "Well, maybe I have been dodging you." Zac smiled. His cheeks singed. "Luke said you wanted to get in touch, and Maggie told me you asked about me. I guess I would have gotten around to calling."

The eyes measured him.

"I'm not usually rude, sir." He swallowed, hoping Gerald would understand. "It's just... now that I'm home, everywhere I turn I'm reminded of Carron's death. When I look at you, she's all I see."

Gerald nodded. "I went through that already, son. It'll take a while to get over the brunt of it. The merciful thing is, after a while it's like looking at everything through a gauze lens, and it doesn't hurt so much. Carron's mother is still having a hell of a time."

That surprised Zac when he considered how severely estranged Carron and her mother had been. He guessed a death under those conditions could cause even more grief, given the guilt factor.

"At the rate she's drinking—on top of the bone marrow cancer—she won't last long," Gerald added.

The drinking had been the problem, all right. For Carron.

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir." He watched Gerald attempt to shrug it off, rifling papers, lining files up haphazardly. "Was there something you wanted? Particularly?" Rude, but his question was out there, the culmination of all the mind searching that had prepared him for this visit. Or hadn't.

"Several things." The sun from the big bay window laced Gerald's hair with pink and white slivers as he settled back in the massive leather chair. He got his feet halfway to the desktop and seemed to reconsider, ending up bracing his elbows on the chair arms.

Zac wondered if maybe their meeting was as awkward for Gerald as for him.

"I wanted to see for myself how you were doing. You had a lot of losses all at once, Zac. Your father's stroke, the boat, your son." He hesitated. "Carron." He held up his hand when Zac made a move to speak. "I know you cared about her—no doubt in my mind. I wanted to look you in the eye and tell you that—that I'm sorry I gave you a hard time about being in it for the money. But most of all I wanted to gauge how you've come through it all." He eyed Zac closely. "You're a survivor. I can see that."

Zac managed a smile. "Yes, sir. I'm almost beginning to feel like one."