A Time to Gather (18 page)
“No, it wasn’t. Fist-fighting with his friend and threatening others with a toy gun is not mellow. I did see him wasted once—”
“Really?”
“Arrested him for a DUI. That’s how we met the first time, not that he remembered.” She shook her head. “Gracious and charming and witty. I’m not saying that in an admiring way. It was my impression that’s his personality no matter what.”
“It is.”
“Does he ever use drugs?”
“Drugs? I don’t think so. But then, would I know? We’re not all that close.”
“But you were out with him last night, in a bar downtown?”
“I don’t usually do that. I’ve never done it with him. I don’t even drink. But . . .” But Danny had been such a snot. “But . . .” How to explain that one to a stranger?
“That’s okay. We’re not supposed to be talking.” Rosie smiled and her dark eyes twinkled.
Lexi couldn’t help but smile back. It felt so good to talk about things. “But to tell you the truth, Tuyen has disrupted everything. And we were already upset about other stuff. Now Papa’s always scarce. Danny’s on my case about this and that. Erik lost his job—Why did you ask about drugs?”
“Oh, you know, that would explain his bizarre behavior.”
Lexi felt her eyes widen. “It would.”
“On the phone you said some guy was hassling Erik about Felicia?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Did he know him?”
“It’s hard to tell with Erik. Everybody knows him, and he’s one of those people who never meets a stranger.”
“What did this guy say?”
“He called Erik a moron and bought him a drink. People act plain weird in bars. Why they even talked to each other, I have no clue. The guy said everybody knew Felicia Matthews and Brett Abbott were together, had been for ages. They argued. Erik got louder and louder, more and more out of control.”
“Would you recognize this man if you saw him again?”
“Maybe.”
“Where do you think Erik got the gun? Not that it matters, considering it was a stupid toy—”
“That guy gave it to him.”
Rosie stared at her.
“I think he did, anyway. I didn’t hear the whole thing. Something about he could get Erik a gun. They left, I couldn’t keep up with them. I went to get my car.” She blew out a breath. “It was so awful.”
“Lexi, you might have to go through all this again. If Matthews or Abbott file charges, a defense attorney will need to know everything. Writing it down is a good idea while it’s fresh in your mind.”
“All right. They probably won’t send you to question me?”
Rosie smiled. “Probably not.”
“It’s easy talking to you.”
“But we didn’t talk.”
“Oh, yeah. Um, in case I don’t want to talk to you again, can I have your number? Though it’s probably stored in my cell now.”
“I’ll give you all my numbers.” Rosie unsnapped her purse and rummaged in it, noticing the message light on her cell. “Oops. Missed a text.” She handed Lexi a business card while reading her phone display. “It’s from my dad. ‘Where are you?’” Laughing, she stood. “He gave me a curfew and I’m late.”
Lexi shook her hand. “What time is curfew?”
“Six thirty! If I don’t shoot anyone this week, he says he’ll change it to eight o’clock. ’Bye, Lexi. Thanks for the chat we didn’t have. I needed it.”
“Me too. ’Bye.”
“Tell them I’m sorry.”
Lexi nodded and watched her walk away.
She wished she had a dad who gave her a six thirty curfew and sent text messages and made her laugh.
C
laire watched the policewoman make her way between the vacant patio tables at the Casa del Gusto. Rosie Delgado did not resemble the same woman who had come in her uniform to the hacienda with Tuyen. Nor did she fit what the newspaper described: a record-setting, in-your-face sharpshooter. She wore a flouncy embroidered top and knee-length black skirt, looking like other waitresses
in the restaurant.
Like them, except for the distinct expression of sorrow creasing her face.
Lexi, seated beside Claire, pushed back her chair. “Rosie.”
“Hi.” Rosie greeted Lexi with a hug and then turned to Claire. “Mrs. Beaumont.”
“I’m Claire, remember?” She stood on legs still shaky days after the shooting and stepped around the table.
Rosie pressed her lips together.
“Oh, honey.” Claire hugged the young woman. “It’s all right.”
“I am so, so sorry.”
“I forgive you. We all forgive you.” She squeezed Rosie and, over her shoulder, returned Lexi’s smile.
“Thank you.”
Claire stepped back. “Can you talk a few minutes?”
Rosie smiled at Lexi. “Yes and no. Please, let’s sit.” As they all settled in around the table, she said, “How is he?”
“Great,” Lexi replied. “He’s going home Thursday.”
“And his friend?”
“Brett got out Saturday, but he’s been to see Erik every day since then. I guess they’re working through things.”
“He must be filing charges.”
Lexi shrugged. “Not that we know of. They go way back, best friends through thick and thin since they were about ten.”
“How about Felicia?”
“We heard she’s out of town. She got a temporary restraining order against Erik, but she didn’t file charges either. Don’t ask me why. I never took her as the forgiving type.”
“Happens all the time.” Rosie’s eyes closed briefly, as if she was weary.
Claire said, “How are you?”
“I’m . . .” She blew out a breath. “I’m okay. They’ve got me seeing a counselor, and I’ve talked with my priest. And the department’s attorney. I’m on desk duty until next week. The investigation cleared me. Which means what I did was acceptable.” Her face scrunched up again. “Which I cannot fathom.”
Lexi said, “So they’ll let you go back to your old job?”
“The counselor says I have to fathom it first. I mean, this is part of a cop’s life. This happens. If I can’t live with that—Is Erik really all right?”
Compassion for this hurting woman filled Claire. She and Max figured Rosie would have a rough go of it. When Lexi told Claire about the restaurant where she worked sometimes with her father, they thought it might be the place to unofficially contact her.
“Rosie, why don’t you come and see for yourself how he’s doing? I twisted his arm until he agreed to spend at least his first few days out of the hospital at the hacienda. Will you join us for dinner Thursday?”
“Uh, well, I want to apologize to him and everyone, but . . . Dinner? I don’t know if that’s appropriate.”
“Max and I see things differently. We believe Erik put himself into that situation, you were just doing your job. Rosie, the point is we want to show some token of our appreciation. You took care of our kids Friday night.”
“I shot your son.”
Claire saw the pain in the sparkly eyes. “You facilitated a desperately needed wake-up call.”
Rosie blinked. “That’s creative. You want to talk to my lawyer? Maybe he could use it as defense strategy.”
“Do you need one?”
“So far, technically, no.”
Claire smiled. “Please come.”
“What does Erik think about it all?”
She felt her smile fade. “He doesn’t remember anything.”
Rosie nodded as if she knew.
Claire figured she probably did know but hastened to explain. “They say there were hallucinogenic drugs in his system. Erik swears he doesn’t do drugs. Well, not counting alcohol. He also says he doesn’t own a gun, toy or otherwise. I know he hardly ever played with them when he was a child. The police are trying to find that guy Lexi said was in the bar with them.”
Lexi said, “Erik is horrified at what he did. For the record, he’s joined our club.” She paused, her lips dancing in a little smile.
“And which club is that?” Rosie asked.
“The ‘I Can’t Believe She Shot Him!’ club.”
Rosie groaned and put a hand to her forehead.
Claire exchanged another smile with her daughter. A familiar verse from the book of Romans sprang to mind, the one about loving God and then being able to see good come from even the most awful situations. Positives had already emerged from Erik’s fiasco. He couldn’t drink while he was in the hospital, and Lexi, too distraught to work, wanted to spend time with Claire.
“Seriously, Rosie,” Claire said, “the Beaumonts owe you. Tuyen is eager to see you as well. How about Thursday?”
She lowered her hand. “Okay. Okay. I really want to say I’m sorry in person. Thank you for the invitation.”
“You’ll come then?”
“Yes.” She smiled brightly now. “Speaking of meals, you haven’t had lunch yet, have you? I want my dad to meet you, and he will insist on feeding you.”
Lexi said, “I’m ready for lunch. Mom?”
“Are you sure?”
“Mom.” Her tone added,
Give me a break.
Claire raised her brows, hesitant.
Lexi nodded vigorously.
“All right.” Claire looked at Rosie. “Yes. Thank you.”
While the young women discussed the menu, she gazed around the patio. It was a pleasant place, full of plants and flowers and brightly colored tableware and umbrellas. Tables were filling up with a noonday crowd.
Despite her effort to avoid the anxiety, it plowed its way through to her conscious mind, obliterating the Romans verse and the sweet anticipation of the whole family getting together later in the week.
Lexi ate mountains of food. She refused to talk about it or to seek help.
A silent wail filled Claire.
T
hursday evening, Rosie drove into the wide graveled area at the Hacienda Hideaway and turned off the engine. By the light of one pole lamp, she saw five other parked vehicles. Erik’s fancy convertible was not among them.
Maybe he had not come.
Of course, he shouldn’t be driving yet.
Given his arrogance, though, she would not be surprised at how many doctors’ orders he had already disobeyed.
Rosie felt the death grip she had on the steering wheel. “Let go.” She lifted her hands, holding them up midair. “And let
it
go, whatever ‘it’ is. Lord? Could we have a little help here?”
With fingers extended, she gingerly rested her palms back on the wheel and breathed deeply.
She was fine. Or she would be fine once she made it through the next few steps. She reminded herself about her personal “backup team”: Papi, Bobby, and her priest. They’d sent her to the dinner with their blessings.
When Claire and Lexi came to the restaurant, Papi had met them. His
initial standoffishness almost embarrassed Rosie, but Claire won him over. Elegance, poise, and a reference to God’s faithful hand keeping them all safe did it.
Rosie’s priest was an old confidant, wise and wizened Father John. He told her what she already knew—that confession to the ones she hurt was in order. It just always helped to hear his affirmations. Or maybe it was to see his gentle smile and the love shining in his eyes. He’d been there for her when her mother was ill, when she told Jesus He could take a hike. And he’d been there years later, pointing her to the counselors who lived out in the desert—the ones who’d carried her along the path back to Jesus.
Bobby had been more difficult to sway. He kept throwing legal ramifications at her until she agreed it made no sense. Finally she exclaimed, “Bobby! I answer to a higher authority. If I don’t take care of this, you can forget about me ever getting back out on the street.”
“You are certifiable, Delgado, you know that?” he had said. “Certifiable. All right, go. Just tell him you’re sorry he got hurt and then get out of there. Other than that, keep your mouth shut.”
“Okay.”
Now, in the car, she murmured to herself, “Okay. I can do this. I have to do this.”
She glanced around the darkened grounds. Solar lamps lit a pathway up a few railroad-tie steps from the parking area, then along a walk to the front opening of the old house. Lights shone through the large kitchen and living room windows.
A new sign had been erected since the previous week. Low to the ground, next to the stairs, it proclaimed simply in rounded letters:
Hacienda Hideaway ~ A Place of Retreat.
She understood it was not yet reopened to the public. Construction work remained unfinished. Considering recent developments, she imagined family work remained unfinished as well.
But she remembered the indelible peace imprinted on Indio’s face even as she heard the worst possible news about her son. And in the midst of it, she’d enfolded Tuyen into the family with grace to spare. Rosie thought, too, of Claire’s sincere demeanor, Dan’s friendliness, Lexi’s guarded openness.
Maybe it already existed, this
Place of Retreat
. If anybody needed one that evening, it was Rosie.
S
o.” Rosie leaned forward, the better to hold eye contact with Erik. “I am sorry you got hurt.” The sound of Bobby’s exact words tripping off her tongue almost made her gag. “Nuts. Scratch that.”
Seated in a recliner, its footrest up, Erik propped an elbow and cupped his chin in his hand. “You’re not sorry?”
“Of course I’m sorry you got hurt, but you got hurt because I shot you. Therefore, what I’m really sorry about is that I shot you.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is if I say I’m sorry I shot you, that begs the question: did I have to? And that opens a whole Pandora’s box of lawsuit-type propositions.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Hazards of the trade. These things happen.”
“But you’ve been cleared.”
“Technically, but—never mind.”
“Nope.” He wagged a finger at her. “‘Never mind’ is not allowed. You nearly killed me. You owe me at least a teensy glimpse into your anguished soul.”
She sat back. “I do not.”
“Then it is anguished?”
“Anybody’s would be.”
“Even a cop’s?”
“We’re human.”
“Hey!” He grinned. “I’ve got a brilliant idea. I could do a documentary, an in-depth study into the psyche of a policewoman. What makes her tick? More important, what makes her pull the trigger?”
Rosie stood. “I have to go.”
“You just got here. My mother will be so hurt if you leave. And my grandmother. And Lexi. And Tuyen. The poor girl was ecstatic about you coming.”
