A Time to Gather (11 page)
Indio spoke first. “Erik?” Her voice was more of an exhaled puff.
Erik’s smile kept slipping out of place. “Uh, we have some, uh, surprising news. Nana, you might want to sit back down.”
Claire made eye contact with him. Sorrow flowed through her, a steady stream of regrets mixed with words meant to heal. But she understood that they would not be spoken today. The meeting was not about him or her.
The stream pooled in a corner of her heart. She closed it in, shut it off, and hoped the dam would hold.
C
hasing after suspects would have been easier. In the dark through city streets, on foot, blindfolded. Having a tooth pulled without benefit of a numbing agent would have been a treat by comparison.
Rosie sighed to herself. She didn’t have a choice. She was stuck witnessing a pain she could not begin to fathom rip its way through a family.
She watched the woman who stood nearest the door they had entered. On the ride up into the hills, Rosie had asked Erik for names, and so she figured this was the mother, Claire.
She wore stylish glasses, comfortable-looking khakis, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, no makeup. Her hair was chin length, brown going gray. She was of average height and weight, in her low fifties, attractive in an understated way that money made possible.
Her face spoke volumes. In light of Erik’s performance the previous night, Rosie imagined Claire’s forehead creases and sad mouth expressed a mother’s pain at her son’s humiliation. As the woman’s gaze passed over Rosie and landed on Tuyen in her oh-so-obvious Vietnamese dress, something shifted. A light went on.
According to Erik, Claire had never met BJ, the missing guy. But his mother had the appearance of an intelligent woman. She was probably bright enough to put two and two together. She would have heard the crazy stories about MIAs being spotted alive, and she would have wondered now and then about BJ’s fate.
Claire turned and touched Max’s arm as she walked past him. The grandparents, Ben and Indio, and the other sister sat down on the couch. Lowering herself to the floor, Claire sat at Indio’s feet and placed a protective hand on the
older woman’s knee.
Like she knew.
Tuyen held a large, padded envelope. Erik took hold of her elbow and drew her gently a few more steps into the room. They both looked over their shoulders at Rosie and the twins. Glances were exchanged, half nods given. They had all agreed Erik should be the spokesman. It was time now.
“Uh, everyone. Dad, Nana, Papa, Mom, Jen. This is Tuyen.” He paused. “Tuyen Beaumont.”
Dead silence. And then a whimper from Indio.
Rosie shut her eyes momentarily. The unspeakable agony of not knowing for thirty-five years what had happened to her son was wrapped up in the older woman’s soft cry.
“Uncle BJ was her father.” Erik added the unnecessary explanation.
“Was?” Ben croaked out the word.
Tuyen moved a step away from Erik and bowed slightly toward the others. “I am pleased to meet my grandparents and my uncle.”
Rosie’s heart thumped in triple time. She ached for the foreigner as she spoke in her thickly accented, gentle voice the words she must have rehearsed for years.
“My father killed when I am child. I very sorry for your loss.”
Ben moaned a long, low cry.
Indio wailed, a soul-shattering sound. Before it ended, before she could take another breath, she was rushing across the room and scooping Tuyen into her arms.
Wordlessly, the short, round woman of obvious Native American descent and the tall Amerasian in her beautiful traditional dress held on to each other, tears flowing unabashedly from both.
Rosie sank onto a chair near the door, suddenly overcome with gratitude that she was there to see such an incredible sight.
Danny tapped her arm and held out a box of tissues. She helped herself to a handful.
Several moments of quiet sniffles passed. After a bit Indio introduced the others to Tuyen, filling in their relational names for her. Papa Ben, Uncle Max, Cousin Jenna, Aunt Claire. Although everyone’s cheeks were damp, only Claire clasped her in a big hug as Indio had.
Max suggested they all sit back down. Indio ushered the girl to the couch. Claire offered to make tea.
Across the room, Tuyen caught Rosie’s eye. “This is my friend.”
Rosie met their puzzled looks with a little wave. She really needed to get out of there. “I’ll help with the tea.”
Claire gave her a slight nod and they walked together through the door.
The woman turned to her. “I’m Claire Beaumont.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Rosie Delgado.”
“How do you know”—she hesitated, no doubt getting used to not only the newcomer’s name, but her existence as well—“Tuyen?”
“Erik, Danny, and Lexi introduced us.”
“What?” She stopped in her tracks. “How did they . . .”
“Mrs. Beaumont, why don’t you sit down for a moment?” Rosie spotted a bench and led her to it.
She took the opportunity to glance around the place. It was a lovely old hacienda with white stucco walls and a red-tile roof. From the living room they had stepped directly outdoors onto a covered verandah. It surrounded a courtyard on three sides.
They now sat facing it. Dried-up flower beds and a broken fountain filled the space. She remembered the Rolando Bluff Fire of the previous fall. On the ride up the long driveway, she had noticed evidence of it having swept through the Beaumont grounds. It must have hit even inside this courtyard.
“Mrs. Beaumont—”
“Please, call me Claire.”
“All right. Claire. I’m here because Tuyen asked for a police escort.” She shrugged. “At this point I don’t know why.”
“But how did my children . . .” Again, her voice trailed off. The woman seemed to be in a daze. No wonder, given the circumstances.
“Tuyen tracked down Erik at the television studio last night. She made her police request, and he called the station and asked for me because, um . . .” Did the mother know about the DUI? Or the domestic disturbance call? If not, Rosie sure didn’t want to be the one to unload those surprises on the poor woman at that moment.
She continued. “Because we had met on a previous occasion. I patrol his neighborhood.”
Claire raised a palm. “Enough said.” She sighed. “I always wondered if BJ had survived, and if so, for how long. The details were sketchy about him being shot down. Then there were all those reports of MIAs being spotted.” Another sigh. “Well, the etiquette books never covered this one, did they?”
Rosie smiled. “Tea is a good idea.”
“I’m not sure, but my mother-in-law always makes tea. In the middle of the big fire here, she was making tea.” She placed a hand over her mouth, holding back a cry. “Dear Ben and Indio,” she whispered. “I feel so bad for them. They’ve been through too much, and now this.”
Rosie blinked back her own tears.
Dear Lord. Help us.
“Claire, the best thing you can do for them right now is hold yourself together. We’ll make the tea, and you will all get through this day. Everything will be okay.”
Claire removed her glasses and pressed a sleeve to her eyes. After a moment she nodded. “Thank you.”
“No problem. It’s just part of my job.” She grinned. “Boiling water is what I do best.”
L
exi couldn’t even lose herself in the fantasy of how to capture the moment on canvas. The whole scene was just too bizarre to compare to any known occurrence in her life. It was worse than anything. It was more devastating than the wildfire. Uglier than her parents’ breakup. More confusing than their reconciliation. In a different solar system from trying on little black dresses.
Knees pulled to her chest, she sat on the rug, leaning against the big stone hearth, a pillow cushioning her back. She fought down nausea one minute and tears the next. She imagined telling Zak about it, and then remembered he wasn’t her friend anymore.
By the time her mother and the policewoman served tea, it all seemed so ridiculous she wanted to laugh out loud hysterically to drown the noise in her head.
“Tuyen.” Her dad leaned forward in his chair, speaking in a gentle voice. “Will you tell us about your life?”
Typical Max; he had taken charge. Not that anyone else seemed capable at the moment.
The ripple effect went round and round the room. Nana whispered her favorite phrase, “God is good,” about five hundred times. She and Tuyen held each other’s hands until their knuckles were white. Papa blew out one breath after another until Lexi asked him if he was all right. She got a fierce scowl in reply. Erik and Danny had gone totally quiet, rearranged chairs, and twiddled their thumbs. Jenna kept shaking her head as if to knock something loose in it.
“Tuyen?” Max prompted again.
She lifted her gaze from the padded envelope on her lap and looked at him.
“Maybe you could start with your birth. When were you born?”
Lexi held her breath and traded panicked looks with Danny. Here it came, the worst part. She wanted to press her hands over Nana’s ears and make loud noises.
Tuyen said, “I was born in 1980.”
It took less than a split second for them all to do the arithmetic. Lexi knew they were finished when Nana gasped, Papa put his forehead in his hands, and her parents went bug-eyed and slack-jawed.
“Seven
years?” Nana cried.
Max held up a hand. “When . . .” His voice was hoarse and it faltered. “When was your father killed?”
“Nineteen eighty-two.”
Lexi lowered her face to her knees, unable to watch the fresh wave of anguish roll through her family. She slipped her fingers into her ears, but that scarcely muffled the laments.
At least the worst was over. Now they knew everything. Uncle BJ disappeared, but he hadn’t died. No, he had lived for nine more years.
Nine
. And none of them were aware of it! He obviously was involved with a woman. He became a father. And then he died.
Yes, the worst was over. That was the final blow.
As far as Lexi knew, anyway.
W
hat about your mother, Tuyen?” Max asked after things had quieted again.
Lexi lifted her head. From the expressions on their faces, her family appeared in a suspended state of shock. At least the tears had slowed or stopped altogether.
“My mother die with my father.”
Nana touched Tuyen’s cheek. “Oh, my. I am so sorry. You poor, poor child. You must have been only two years old. Who raised you?”
“My grandparents. My mother’s parents.” She leaned into Nana’s hand and closed her eyes for a long moment.
Lexi noticed the large, unopened envelope still lay on her lap. She kept a protective hand over it as she had in the car on the ride to the house, but she was definitely more at ease than she’d been. Strange to think that they’d met less than twenty-four hours before.
Nana said, “Did they tell you about your parents?”
Tuyen nodded. “My father come from the sky. My mother see parachute, and she find him. He is hurt. Very hurt. Burned.” She traced a finger down her left arm, across her chest, over the left side of her face. “His leg wrong.” She reached down and made a twisting motion at her shin. “My mother take good care of him. She hide him from Communists. He get well. My grandparents don’t like, but she love him.”
A silent minute passed as that news sank in.
Max said, “Why didn’t they leave? Why didn’t he bring you to see us?”
“My village too far away. Far, far. Up in mountains. Enemy all around. Someone betray them. They kill them. My grandmother hide me.”
“In 1982?”
“Yes, 1982.”
“Do you remember your mother and father?”
Tuyen shook her head, but her face softened. “She was beautiful. He was tall. I have blue eyes like him.” She pointed to her eyes. “You want see photo?”
“You have a photo?” Max nearly shouted in surprise.
She nodded eagerly and reached inside the envelope. “My grandmother say more Americans in village before I am born. They have camera.”
“What happened to those other Americans?”
She shrugged. “Some go to Cambodia, not come back. Some die with my father.” She pulled things from the envelope. “See? Benjamin Charles Beaumont Junior and Niang Tam.”
As one, Lexi and her family swooped to the couch and surrounded it. Tuyen held the picture gently between her fingers and smiled.
The color photo was bent and cracked, the finish grainy. Lexi guessed it had been taken with an old Polaroid Land camera. Two people stood in it, a jungle scene as backdrop.
Uncle BJ almost did not resemble the pictures Lexi had seen of him. He was tall, like Papa, but he sort of tilted, as if one leg was shorter than the other. He was no longer handsome. Dark slacks and a baggy short-sleeved white shirt hung from him like rags on a broomstick. And he was burned, scars obvious on his arm and one side of his face.
Nana began to weep again, very softly. She whispered, “My son.”
Lexi wished she could run away and hide for a very long time.
T
uyen must have sensed they needed awhile to absorb each new thing she revealed. Whatever else she had pulled from the envelope, she kept hidden from their sight.
They all lingered in silence for a time, each dealing in their own way. Lexi noticed how close her parents sat together on the love seat, their hands entwined. Jenna had squeezed onto the end next to their mother. Danny and Erik alternately sat on the hearth and paced.
“Excuse me.” The policewoman spoke.
Lexi had forgotten she was even in the room.
Officer Delgado sat in an armchair near the door, apart from the semicircle of seats around the couch. She looked at Max. “Do you mind if I interrupt?”
He shook his head, still with a dazed expression.
“Tuyen,” Delgado said, “I am curious. Why did you want the police to come here with you today?”
“Because I am afraid. My grandparents always hate Americans. They say Beaumont family will hate me. They say Beaumont family will hurt me. Grandparents die, I come to San Francisco. Police protect me in San Francisco. Help me find my father’s family.”
“I understand.” Officer Delgado spread her hands. “Well, I think the Beaumonts are kind people. They will not hurt you.”
