For Your Love (7 page)

She whispered, “I'm so sorry.”

“You've nothing to apologize for.”

“What you must've thought of me,” she countered “Oh, my son. My son . . . All the years I've missed, but I didn't know.”

“You're here now. That's all that matters.” And for him it was. It must have taken great courage for her to come back, not knowing whether she'd be embraced or stoned, even though none of it had been her fault. But she'd come anyway, and that told him all he needed to know. He eased back a bit and met her watery gaze. “The past is the past. I'm so glad to see you.”

“I'm glad to see you, too.”

“Let's go forward. Okay? You and me.”

She placed her hand against his cheek. “So wise. That must've come from your grandmother, because you certainly didn't get it from me or Mal.”

The sarcasm caught him off guard.

Her wet eyes glowed with twinkling mischief, and he threw back his head and laughed.

From that moment on, things went well. After making liberal use of the box of tissues on the table, she had a thousand and one questions about him and his life. And he had just as many for her. He told her about Lily and the boys and their adoptions.

“I have two grandsons?” she replied eagerly.

“Yes, Devon is twelve, and Amari is fourteen.”

“You and your Lily are very special ­people to open your hearts and home that way. I can't wait to meet them all.” She quieted for moment as if thinking on that, then echoed in a proud voice, “Two grandsons. Paul is going to be ecstatic.”

Trent knew from what she'd told him that Paul was her husband. He also knew that she and Paul had a daughter named Val, who was ten years younger than Trent and a high-­powered criminal attorney.

“She graduated top of her class from Harvard Law. Worked Wall Street for a year or two, then moved to LA. Represents the rich and infamous in everything from embezzlement to murder to baby-­mama lawsuits.” Her still-­damp eyes sparked humorously. “Has a wall in her office I call her Wall of Shame, covered with pictures of her posed up with her clients: actors, rappers, politicians, Silicon Valley high-­ups. She makes a very good living. And she's happy. Which is all that matters.”

“Can't wait to meet her.”

“She's anxious to meet you, too.”

They talked about everything and nothing, but mostly they drank each other in with their eyes. Trent feasted on the way she moved, spoke, and laughed. At one point she said, “Lord, you look so much like Mal.”

“That a compliment?”

She cracked up. “When I was seventeen, it definitely was. He's still a good-­looking man, though, as are you.”

“Thanks. You're not so bad yourself.”

“I think I'm still pretty hot for sixty-­plus. Not sure if the world agrees, but I don't much care.”

He liked her feistiness. “So what do you do? Are you a teacher? A doctor like your husband?”

“I'm an artist. Own a small gallery in Monterey, not too far from where we live.”

He found that surprising, though he didn't know why. An artist. He noted the many silver bracelets on her wrists and the striking silver earrings dangling from her lobes. Very old-­school, but she wore them with the style and attitude he'd often seen in women her age.

Tamar entered the kitchen, carrying a ­couple of battered shoe boxes and a photo album. “Since it sounded like all the crying's stopped, I figured it was safe to come in.” She set the items on the table. “Remember that old TV show,
This Is Your
Life
?”

They nodded.

She gestured.

Confused, Trent removed the lids from the boxes and saw his track medals lying neatly on top of a stack of report cards held together with an aging rubber band. Beneath them were football game flyers from his high school days and programs from his band concerts. He saw his Boy Scout handbooks and all the badges he'd earned, and many other items from his formative years he'd forgotten about over time. The photo album held faded Polaroids of him as a toddler and other photos of him all spruced up for school picture day, ranging from kindergarten to graduation. There was even a shot of him and Lily on their way to the senior prom. The memorabilia filled him with such wonder, all he could do was stare.

Tamar smiled. “Enjoy. Mal will be here with lunch in a bit,” she said, and then exited.

They dove in and lost track of time as Trent explained the items in the shoe boxes. His mother read over one of the band programs from high school. “You played the flute?”

“Yes, but after high school I let it go. Picked it up again recently when I was courting Lily.”

“Really? How romantic.”

“Amari thought I was nuts, but I got the girl.”

His college diplomas were in the album too, and when she saw them, she raised her eyes to his and her voice echoed with surprise. “You went to Stanford?”

He nodded.

“Gosh, you were just up the road from us. So close, and yet so far . . .” Tears shone in her eyes. She pulled a tissue from the nearly depleted box. “Sorry.”

“You're fine,” he said reassuringly. “We're fine.”

About thirty minutes later, Mal entered the kitchen carrying a huge bag. “Is all the crying done? I brought lunch.”

Rita and Trent replied with contented nods.

“Good. Then, Rita Lynn, would you mind having lunch with your baby-­daddy?”

She laughed. “Lord, forty-­five years, and you have not changed.”

Trent shook his head and moved the photo albums and the shoe box contents aside. Mal set the bag in the newly cleared spot. “I have, but I try and keep that under wraps. Do you mind, son?”

“No, Dad. Just hand me my food, and I'll be out of your hair.”

Mal passed him a sandwich wrapped in white paper that had his name written on it in Rocky's handwriting and a Styrofoam container of smoking-­hot fries. Trent grabbed a can of cola from Tamar's fridge and told Rita, “If he gets too outrageous, just yell.”

Once he'd gone, Rita said seriously, “He's a fine man, Mal. You raised him well.”

Mal extracted two more sandwiches from the bag. “Not me. Had very little to do with his raising. You still like pastrami?”

Her smile answered.

They unwrapped their sandwiches, doctored their fries, and dug in. Rita groaned pleasurably at the taste of the pastrami. “Oh, this is damn good.”

“From my diner.”

“Your diner?”

“Yes, the Dog and Cow,” he said proudly.

She choked on the cola she was sipping. “The Dog and what?”

“Cow. As in moo.”

“Why in hell did you name it that?”

“Drinking.”

“I guess,” she said, still amused.

He turned serious. “No, Rita Lynn. Really, drinking.”

She paused and studied the serious set of his features.

“Which is why I had nothing to do with how he's turned out. Tamar did it all.”

And as if to answer all the questions competing in her head to be asked, he gave a one-­word answer. “ 'Nam.”

She understood, or at least she thought she did. Many of the men of their generation went into the jungles of Southeast Asia and were irrevocably changed by the death and horror. There were incredible stories of courage and sacrifice too, but when they returned home, they were vilified, spit upon, and marginalized for having served their country in a war like no other the world had ever seen.

“Out of the twelve men I signed up with, only two of us came back—­me and Clay Dobbs. Remember Clay?”

“I do.”

“He still lives here. 'Nam changed him from the happy-­go-­lucky joker we used to hang with into somebody so quiet and rigid you wouldn't even know he was the same person.”

She was saddened by that. Clay had always been such a joy to be around.

“Me, I thought I'd come home fairly whole, but about a year later I started having nightmares.”

She listened as he talked about using the liquor initially to help him sleep, but as his tolerance to alcohol increased, drinking more and more to escape the nightly demons.

“Five years in, I was a full-­fledged drunk, and of course I didn't think I needed help. I'd managed to get my degree in veterinary medicine on Uncle Sam's dime and start my practice. I was what they now call a functional alcoholic. In my mind I was controlling the drink, it wasn't controlling me. And during all this, Tamar raised our boy.”

“How did he handle your drinking?”

“I don't know. I was too drunk to know, most of the time.”

“Oh, Mal.” She ached for their son. An absentee mother and an alcoholic father. She thanked God for Tamar.

For a few silent moments he stared off into the distance, as if viewing the memories. “If I could go back and change things . . . But of course I can't.”

Her heart broke.

“If it hadn't been for Trent, though, I'd probably be dead or serving time.”

“What do you mean?”

He told her about the teenage Trent hunting him down and pulling him out of bars. “He and Lily riding around in Black Beauty every weekend, dragging my sorry ass home when they should've been going to dances and the drive-­in.”

“Black Beauty? The New Yorker you used to have?”

“Yep. Gave it to him when he turned sixteen. He still has it.”

If she remembered correctly, the backseat of that car was where Trent had been conceived, but she saw no need to bring that up. “How long have you been sober?”

“Eleven years and counting.”

“Very proud of you.”

“Proud of myself.”

When she made the decision to return, she'd envisioned Mal's life being as full yet as uneventful as her own, not fraught with challenge. “Married?”

“No. Alcohol was my woman, and when I divorced her, I discovered PYTs.”

She knew the acronym from the old Michael Jackson song. “Pretty young things?”

He grinned over his sandwich.

“Oh god.” She groaned.

“Those little blue pills will make a man lose his mind.”

She laughed.

“Then a few years back I met the love of my life. Her name's Bernadine Brown, and I'm hoping to live happily ever after.”

That was good to hear. She wanted him to be happy. “Does she live around here?”

“Owns the place.”

“Owns what place?”

“Henry Adams.”

“What do you mean, she owns Henry Adams?”

So he told her about Henry Adams going broke, and Bernadine buying the town off eBay.

“Stop lying.”

He held up his hand like he was taking the oath in court. “Truth. Hopefully, you'll get a chance to meet her. We've been good for each other.”

“I'm glad you're happy, Mal.”

“I am, too. She's amazing. So enough about me. Tell me about you and your cardiac surgeon guy.”

In the living room, Trent heard the occasional laughter coming from the kitchen. “Sounds like they're having a good time catching up.”

“Yes, it does,” Tamar said.

They were watching
SportsCenter
. It was now the top of the hour, so she changed the channel. “Time for
All My Children
.”

He laughed. “
All My Children
is still on?” She'd been an
AMC
fan for as long as he could remember. As the episode began, he was startled by the sight of two familiar characters from his youth. “Angie and Jesse are still on, too? Didn't he die way back when?”

“He did. Died of a gunshot wound in the hospital. Then he was a ghost.”

He chuckled. “Wait. A ghost?”

“Don't judge. Now he's back as a real person, but a different character.”

“But he's Jesse.”

“No, he's not.” She picked up the remote and turned back to
SportsCenter
. “I'll watch it later. Won't be able to enjoy it with you commenting the whole time.”

“Sorry.”

“Finish your lunch.”

He grinned. “Yes, ma'am.”

After lunch, it was decided that Rita would stay with Tamar. She'd originally planned on flying back to California the next day, but she thought she might hang around a few days longer. She especially wanted to meet her grandchildren. “Can I meet them and Lily tomorrow?” she asked Trent, who was in the kitchen with her. Mal had already said good-­bye. “Today's been so emotional, I'm not sure I can take much more.”

“I understand. Go ahead and rest up. I'll come get you tomorrow, show you around the new and improved Henry Adams, and you can have dinner with us.”

“I'd like that.”

They shared a long parting hug, “Thank you for today,” she said.

“You're welcome. Thank you for your courage.”

“Thank you for your grace.”

He went out to her rental car, brought her suitcase in, and watched as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. He'd called Lily, who was on her way to pick him up and drive him back to his truck, still parked in the lot at the Power Plant. He stayed a few moments longer to talk with Tamar.

“Do you like her?” asked Tamar.

“I do.” He couldn't wait for Lily and the boys to meet her.

“I wasn't a big fan of her parents. Both were way too stuck-­up and class-­conscious for me, but Rita Lynn, I liked. When Mal told me she was pregnant, I wanted to slap both of them into next week for being so careless, but out of that mess came you.”

“Yes.” He'd seen a picture of the young Rita and Mal. They were seated on Tamar's steps, relaxed and smiling, both sporting the huge Afros that were so popular then.

“Now everything has come full circle, and the hole in your heart has been filled.”

He never remembered talking with Tamar about it, but the kindness in her eyes stoked his emotions.

“Trenton, I know better than anyone how much it hurt you, not having her in your life. When you were little, it hurt me every time you asked where she might be, and why she didn't love you like the mothers of your friends loved them. When you got to be around eight or nine, you stopped asking altogether, and that hurt me as well.”