A Time to Gather (19 page)
“My partner said I had to leave after apologizing.” She thrust out her hand to shake his, and then, flustered, pulled it back. He couldn’t stretch out his right hand. His right arm was in a sling.
“Uh, good-bye,” she said and turned.
He grasped her arm with his left hand. “Rosie, please.”
She looked at him and noticed everything she had tried to ignore. His handsome face a deathly pale, his hazel eyes rimmed in dark circles, his long body spilling over the recliner as if poured there, devoid of all strength.
He smiled. “I promise to put my insolent self to rest for the remainder of the evening.”
“You have another self available?”
“On rare occasions. Are you sure you don’t want to do that doc with me? You really would be an intriguing subject.”
“Yeah, right. Seriously, I have to—”
“Seriously, my family would be immeasurably disappointed if you left. And I was so hoping to give them the night off from disappointment.”
She sighed. “We can’t talk about what happened.”
He let go of her arm and fell back against the chair as if exhausted by the movement. “What happened when?”
She smiled and told herself it wasn’t guilt over his condition that persuaded her to stay for dinner. Nor was it his disgustingly charming persona focused on her.
No. It all boiled down to that sign out front:
Hacienda Hideaway ~
A Place of Retreat
. What else could one ask for? Especially a cop on suspension who could not fathom the desire to ever pick up a gun again.
L
exi had always viewed Beaumont family dinner conversations like Amtrak trains gone amok: hurtling along one moment at breakneck speed, derailing the next with discordant crunching noises.
As if that weren’t unsettling enough, there was the added pressure of luscious food prepared by the world’s best cooks—her mom and grandmother. To eat or not to eat? How much? How little? How to rearrange things on the plate to give the correct impression?
Lexi had hoped that Rosie Delgado’s presence at the table might change the dynamics, but no such luck. The policewoman fit right in, going at Erik like an express train making up for lost time.
Rosie was holding up a hand, her fingers spread apart. “Five miles, Beaumont.” She kept calling Erik by his last name.
“No way.” He grinned. “It’s in feet or yards or meters. Five meters?”
“This is nothing to laugh about! You better think of it as five miles. If Felicia Matthews can see you, if she can even vaguely make out your likeness in the distance, you are in violation of the restraining order. Got that?”
They all sat at one end of the sala, around the new dining table. It was huge, rectangular and rustic, made of rough hewn pine with eighteen chairs—enough to accommodate future guests when the Hideaway reopened.
The ten Beaumonts sat, spread apart along the table, Max and Ben at the far ends. There was too much space, but the kitchen table was small and her mother insisted they all sit together.
One big happy family.
Ben scowled. “Erik, don’t you dare go near Felicia. You’ve filled your quota for stupid actions this year.”
Jenna touched their grandfather’s arm. “Papa, this one wasn’t entirely his fault. Somebody did this to him. Rosie, do you think the police will ever find that guy?”
Beside Lexi, the policewoman stared bug-eyed across the table at Jenna as if she’d lost her mind.
Erik burst out laughing. “Our resident cop cannot believe you actually said that. Jen, I was hammered and a raving lunatic. I don’t remember a thing. I don’t remember what he looked like. You can’t lay this off on some sap who gets his kicks from taking advantage of willing dupes.”
Ben said, “Eh, there is hope yet for the eldest.”
Danny chimed in. “Erik, this went a few steps beyond getting kicks. He intentionally harmed you and it could have been a lot worse.”
“It wasn’t intentional. Guys like that don’t think of consequences. Shoot, guys like me don’t think of consequences.”
Danny ignored him. “Right, Rosie? It could have been worse.”
Rosie pressed a finger against her lips and shook her head.
Erik said, “She’s not talking.”
Next to him, Tuyen said, “Why not talking, Miss Rosie?”
Lexi
tsk
ed in disgust. She was so tired of the so-called cousin, of everyone kowtowing and explaining things umpteen times in umpteen different ways. Well, everyone except their grandpa. He showed up for some dinners, but he still ignored the woman.
As Rosie leaned forward and attempted to clue in Tuyen on the intricacies of the law, Danny shot Lexi a glance that said he heard the
tsk
and disapproved.
Yeah, well, so did she. In reply, she narrowed her eyes at him. Since their argument in her office last Friday morning, they hadn’t talked. That night in the hospital, while they all waited through Erik’s surgery, Danny had hugged her, but there had been no verbal connection between them, no glide back into that easy twin rapport.
One big happy family.
Ben said, “Jenna, did you hear from Kevin this week?”
Lexi’s stomach did a double backflip. She reached for the serving spoon in the large casserole dish in front of her.
“Yes,” Jenna said. “He e-mailed last night.”
E-mailed
. A bitter tone underscored the word.
Lexi scooped cheesy potatoes onto her plate. They were Nana’s specialty. One of her specialties. She was a great cook.
“You know.” Ben went on in that voice he’d been using since the Vietnamese woman’s arrival. It was so not his own. “We used to wait weeks to get a letter from BJ. No such thing as e-mail back then. Talk about gut-wrenching.”
Jenna shook her head. “I’m not sure how helpful it is to read that he’s so exhausted he can hardly stand up. Or that he’s going to a place he can’t name and can’t e-mail from. Or that it’s something like two hundred degrees. Or that he saw more starving children today he wasn’t allowed to feed. Or that—”
Erik swung his good arm around her and pressed her face against his shoulder.
From the other end of the table, Indio glowered at Ben.
One big happy family.
While her grandparents exchanged frowns, Erik’s sweatshirt soaked up Jenna’s tears, Rosie and Tuyen continued their talk, and Max asked Danny something about a work project. Lexi savored a bite of potatoes, creamy in a delectable blend of cheddar cheese and sour cream. She figured she could jog them off later, take the starlit road down to her grandparents’ place and back up before driving home.
“Well!” Claire smiled, a bright headlamp on yet another speeding train. “Only three weeks until the wedding!”
Lexi wondered what her mom’s point was and stabbed a fork into a slice of ham on the nearby platter. Not that she cared what her point was, but evidently Claire thought somebody did because she kept talking.
“Yesterday, Tuyen and I found a beautiful black dress for her to wear to it.”
Danny stopped midsentence. “Excuse me, Dad.” He turned to their mom. “But we ordered that black dress online, the traditional one. What’s it called again?”
Max filled in the blank.
“Ao dai.”
Her father did not remember that Lexi took gymnastics and art lessons, but he remembered obscure phrases in Spanish and Vietnamese and whatnot languages because he’d spent his life with non-English speaking people who needed jobs.
Claire said, “Yes, we ordered that and she can use it for other occasions. But for our reception, she decided she doesn’t want to stand out so much. She wants to wear something similar to Jenna and Lexi. I think it’s a great idea. It’ll help her blend in more with the family.”
The meat on Lexi’s tongue dried up into stringy, tasteless threads.
“Lex.” Her mom leaned around Danny to face her. “Nordstrom got in some new dresses. Lots of different styles. You might find one you like now. Tuyen’s is simple and really pretty, not slinky. Maybe you can shop this weekend.”
Tuyen swiveled to Claire and smiled. “I not look like prostitute.”
“No you don’t, hon.”
Huh?
Jenna said, “Huh?”
Something indecipherable rumbled in Ben’s throat.
Nana grasped Tuyen’s hand on the table.
Max tilted his head, his mouth half-open. He knew. He was just searching for the right words.
Danny rescued him. “She used to. She had to. It makes horrible sense. I mean, people in her country despise her mixed race. Even her own grandparents shunned her.” He raised a shoulder. “She had no other way to support herself.”
It was the derailing moment. Whistles shrilled and metal screeched against metal. Lexi flinched.
Her mom talked about dresses and shopping while her grandparents argued, while her relationship with Danny disintegrated, while Erik recovered from almost being killed, while Kevin was probably getting himself killed or worse.
While a prostitute was welcomed into the family.
Lexi pushed her chair from the table and bolted across the room and out the door.
R
acing madly from the site of the family train wreck, Lexi tore around the outside of the house and down the front sidewalk. Cold night air slammed into her lungs. Darkness enveloped her.
“Lexi!” Her dad yelled her name.
She ignored him. Her feet scarcely touched the railroad-tie steps. She dashed across the gravel parking area to her car and grabbed the door handle.
“Wait!” Max’s hand slammed against the car door.
She let go and turned, her chest heaving.
“What is going on with you?” He wasn’t the least bit out of breath. That was because he played tennis. Through it all, he played tennis. Through Erik’s baseball and Jenna’s recitals and Lexi’s once-in- a-lifetime art show senior year and the near-divorce and the fire and—
“Lexi! Talk to me! For once, just talk to me!” His face inches from hers, he nearly shouted.
Cool, calm, collected, always-in-control Max Beaumont never raised his voice.
Lexi stepped back against the car and crossed her arms.
“Please,” he said in a lower voice. “I want to know what’s going on with you.”
They faced each other in the shadows. Except for the string of ground solar lamps, the only light came through windows in the distance.
There, in the cold and dark, it struck Lexi: she’d stopped coming to the Hacienda Hideaway because it was gone. It no longer existed. It wasn’t that the spotlights on the parking lot were not yet
replaced. Nor was it the lack of bushes and flowers and trees. Nor the unfinished guest rooms that meant there was no space for her to sleep.
No, it was not a physical thing. Her parents and the stranger from Vietnam had invaded the home and annihilated its very essence. The peace and safety she’d always known with her Nana and Papa were gone. That was what she meant when she told Danny that everything had changed.
“Lexi, what’s wrong? Why are you leaving in the middle of dinner?”
“I can’t stay!” She huffed out the words, her breath shallow from running, from trying not to be sick, from fleeing a rage that tore through her.
“But why?”
“Nothing’s the same!” Things went dreamlike. As if she were another person, she watched herself lean against the car and blurt things she did not recognize as coming from her own mind. “I don’t belong! I don’t fit in. Not that I ever did. She’s a prostitute?”
“Was. What do you mean you don’t fit in?”
“For one thing, I’m not a hooker.”
“Is this about Tuyen?”
“No!”
“About all the attention she’s getting? If it helps any, it’s hard on all of us. To think that BJ survived all those years—of course you fit in.”
“Yeah, right. It doesn’t look or feel that way, okay? It just doesn’t. It never has. And I’m sick of pretending. You and Mom can have your fancy wedding with your long-lost niece. Danny can go soak his head. And everybody else—oh forget it! It doesn’t matter.”
Her dad wrapped his arms around her. He wasn’t a tall or big man, but he engulfed her.
Cool, calm, collected, always-in-control Max Beaumont did not bear hug.
An image of a smoky morning came to mind. Okay. Not counting that time she survived a wildfire, Max Beaumont did not bear hug.
Lexi felt soft cashmere against her cheek. She inhaled a faint scent of Polo. His chin grazed the top of her head.
“Lexi, it does matter. What can I do to fix it?”
The world tilted. Like a washing machine changing cycles, her insides jerked into a spin. She pushed herself away from him.
“Honey—”
“I—” She gagged and bent over, missing his sweater and his slacks, but not the tips of his shoes. As she slid to her knees, he knelt beside her and rubbed her back.
“Lexi, you’re not well.”
She shook her head and coughed. “Happens all the time.”
“Come inside.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood. “I have to go. I’m fine.”
“Come in—”
“I’m fine! Just let me go. I’m fine.” She yanked open the car door and climbed inside.
“I know all about it, Lex. Your mom told me.”
“Whoop-de-do.” She picked up the keys where she’d left them on the console. Her jacket and bag lay on the passenger seat. No reason to lock up in the middle of three hundred uninhabited acres.
“We’ll get help.”
“Nope. Not interested.” She started the engine, shifted into reverse, and pulled on the door.
He held it fast. “Lexi.”
She looked at him.
He gazed back for a long moment. “Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes!”
“Please call when you get home.”
“I’m almost twenty-seven!”
“Call.” He shut the door on her protest and stepped away.
She drove off, trying not to think about the shimmer in those brown-black eyes that, for as far back as she could remember, had been rock hard.
T
uyen, do you understand?”
Tuyen studied the woman she called “Nana.” Of all the Beaumonts, Indio made her feel the most comfortable. She was as short as Tuyen’s other grandmother, but the resemblance ended there. Her mother’s mother had been scrawny with beady eyes and a thin, down-turned mouth, and a hand quick to slap.
