So Teo and I had agreed to disagree, and we’d left it at that. In no way had it affected our deepening interest in each other.
I knew that my mother suspected I’d found a guy. She’d nosed around a little, but the Graceys were devoted to the concept of personal space. If we had a family coat of arms, it probably featured a blindfolded woman in the center with one finger over her lips. When I didn’t volunteer information, neither of my parents pursued it.
After a month I finally asked Teo if he would let me introduce him to my parents at dinner. I knew the time had come. “Mom invited us, so I have to ask. I wouldn’t do this,” I’d promised, lounging on his bed, a sheet more or less draped over me after an afternoon of extraordinary lovemaking. I was watching him dress, before I got up to shower. “But they’re right here in town, and eventually they’ll get around to the third degree.”
“So this means you’re not ashamed of me after all?”
I wondered if he was kidding. “Well, you know, in my parents’ eyes, nobody’s good enough for their daughters, unless they’ve already made their first million or their ancestors came over on the Mayflower. Preferably both. My sister’s husband had to pull out genealogy charts and bank statements before they even let him in the house.”
“My paternal great-grandparents left Puerto Rico for a New York tenement where they lived with two other families. Abuelo, my grandfather, told me he was born in the only bedroom, weeks too early. They had no money for doctors. They kept him alive by heating the cooking stove in the kitchen all day and night and nestling him in a shoebox. They fed him his mother’s milk with an eyedropper. I have family stories on the other side that are worse.”
“So much for the Mayflower.” I cleared my throat. “And I’m guessing cops aren’t paid all that well?”
“Will it impress them I’ve only had a negative balance once this year?”
“It impresses me. I might let you handle my finances.”
“I won’t fit their criteria.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, maybe you surpass it. I would never be ashamed of anything about you. I haven’t introduced you to Mom and Dad because I didn’t want to share you. My parents?” I tried to think of the best way to describe them. “They aren’t as snooty as I’ve made them sound. They’re...careful? I don’t know how else to say it. They wanted a big family, and they tried for years to have more children after my sister, Wendy, was born. But there were miscarriages, years with no pregnancies. And then I showed up, completely unexpected and, like your great-grandfather, way too early.”
“You were a preemie?”
“Big time, and worse. My mom didn’t even know she was pregnant. She was in Mexico visiting my sister who was spending a year studying Spanish as a break before college. Mom had given up on the idea of increasing the family. She thought she was starting menopause, but after some symptoms, she discovered she was pregnant and that things weren’t going well. The doctors in Mexico told her she couldn’t fly home or anywhere. She had to stay in bed and make the best of things.”
“So you’re an immigrant. That cancels the Mayflower.”
“I wish I’d stayed long enough to learn Spanish. Mine is awful.”
“You started life as a surprise. You’ve been a surprise to me, too.”
I liked being his surprise. “I’m guessing she didn’t think she’d be in Mexico long, that the pregnancy would end quickly with no baby. But I stayed put just long enough, although I was still born early, way too early. Which is at least partly to blame for all the heart surgeries I had as a child.”
Teo had seen me naked. He hadn’t asked about the scars on my chest, but I’d explained anyway. I was beyond embarrassment. When you grow up with something, it seems almost normal, especially something other people rarely saw.
“And so your parents are overprotective,” he said. “You were the daughter who almost wasn’t.”
“I think they were worse with Wendy than with me.” And then I told him something I’d never told anyone else. “I came so late in their lives, I think they were done wanting children. Then suddenly, not only did they have a baby they hadn’t expected or prepared for, they had one with life threatening health issues. In a foreign country yet. I read once that in previous generations parents believed it was best not to get attached to young children because the mortality rate was so high. In some ways, I think that’s what happened with me, and especially for Mom. She distanced herself.”
I realized I’d been looking at my hands as I explained. I looked up, and he was now sitting beside me, his chest still bare, the dark hair on his tanned arms soft under my fingertips as I reached out to stroke it. “In the long run, it was better that way,” I finished. “Mom was too tired or remote to smother me. I’m not sure which. But I flourished anyway.”
“You did.” He put his arms around me and held me close. “And nobody appreciates the way you flourished more than I do.” Then, despite having made love just a little while ago, we’d fallen back against the sheets, and the conversation about who belonged and who didn’t came to an end.
Now traffic picked up and I started forward again. That night and afterward, Teo and my parents had gotten along well. He knew how to ask questions, and he knew how to listen. But he was also a storyteller who could do the voices of his subjects perfectly, and my father, in particular, had loved hearing about his job. If my family had been emotional enough to give a nod of approval, Teo would have gotten one.
Then everything changed.
I pulled up to the Gulf Sands gatehouse and gave yet another new guard my name and status. Inside my parents’ house I called my mother’s name and followed her voice. I found both of them outside enjoying the sunshine in the walled courtyard.
“I think somebody’s starting to feel better,” I told my father, kissing his cheek and leaning in for a hug.
“If your mother would just feed me, I’d be up and around in no time.”
“I brought you chocolate chip muffins.” I held up a finger as my mother started to protest. “Vegan. And banana bread. Plus a couple of quarts of amazing lentil and vegetable soups from the natural food market.”
My mother’s expression softened. “That was kind.”
“That’s me. Kind, generous, thoughtful.” I smiled. “How is everybody?”
Dad never wants to worry anybody, and Mom doesn’t like to admit defeat. So I took their “things are fine” speeches with a grain of salt. I knew they were anything but.
“Your mother tells me your sister has been in touch with you,” Dad said, after the ritual questions and answers. “Next time she calls, tell her to call me directly. I don’t like this. Nobody at work’s heard from her, either.”
“Why are you talking to people at work?”
Mom looked unhappy. “That’s what I say.”
“Dad, just stay off the phone. And Wendy’s got her hands full. Let’s just leave her alone until she has the situation in—” I hesitated just a fraction of a second, trying to remember where we were pretending my sister was ministering to her college friend “—California.”
“Tell her what I said.”
“In the meantime, I had some excitement this morning, and since I’m sitting right here telling you, remember there was a happy ending.” I recounted the attempted break-in with a few small changes. One, the guy had been trying to break in when he saw me coming up the walk and fled. Two—and related—I neglected to mention the wrestling match.
“The sheriff’s department came out to take my statement,” I said, wrapping up. “The guy couldn’t get in, thanks to you sending Handyman Dave to secure all the locks. The deputy thinks there won’t be any more trouble now that the guy, and whoever he’s working with, know the house is occupied.” I smiled as if I’d just delivered the best of all news.
My mother was the first to speak. “Thank heavens that didn’
t happen when Wendy and the girls were there.”
For a moment I wondered if I’d heard her right. My father covered up nicely. “Ryan, you’re really okay? That must have scared the bejeepers out of you.”
My father is the only person I know who can use “bejeepers” in a sentence and get away with it. “Thank you,” I said. “It wasn’t the best moment of my life.” I didn’t look at my mother.
“I only meant that...” Her voice drifted away, and I thought she was finished. But I was wrong. “I’m sorry. You’re tougher than your sister,” she said at last. “Wendy takes everything to heart. And those little girls. I’m so glad they weren’t with you.”
“Tougher?” I wondered what she would say if I explained that her “sensitive” older daughter had abandoned her former life because she might be a murder suspect.
“Arlie, Wendy is as tough as nails,” my father said. “Something you fail to notice. Under the sugarcoated exterior is a steel rod. And we’re talking about Ryan now.”
He turned to me, done chastising my mother, an event so rare I still wasn’t sure I’d witnessed it. “I think you should move back home,” he told me.
“I don’t think I need to.” I patted his hand. “People are already beginning to filter back to Tropicana for the winter, and the town house is as secure as a fortress. I’ll use the security alarm, but I think the deputy’s right. Nobody’s going to break in again. And to be sure, I’ll park my car in the driveway for a while so everybody can see somebody’s living there.”
“You have two young children to worry about,” my mother said.
“Something I have not failed to notice.” I breathed deeply and controlled the edge in my voice. “And that’s exactly why I am going to stay where I am. They’re just getting used to me, and they’re in a familiar environment at the town house, which helps them adjust. The school’s an easy walk, and we can have their friends for playdates.” I’d just made up that last part, but it was inspired, and I made a mental note to do exactly that.
Arlie Gracey is not an open book, but with years of practice, I could read her. She wanted to argue, but she knew better. When my father stood up to her, he towered. “If you think that’s best.”
“Why don’t I slice up the banana bread and bring some out here? Herbal tea okay to go with it?”
My father surprised me. “I’ll help. We’ll leave your mother here to swallow the arguments she knows better than to make. Arlie, stay.” As she half rose, he motioned her back to her seat. “I’m supposed to move around.”
When we reached the kitchen, I pulled out the banana bread and got down plates. “You’re really feeling better?”
“I feel like I’ve been put out to pasture.”
“Just long enough to get fat and sassy again.”
“All this is my own fault. I know I have to slow down. I’ve been hoping to turn things over to your sister, a little at a time, and then ease into retirement. Your mother has always wanted to travel with me at her side instead of meeting me somewhere for a few days.”
“Is Wendy the only person who can take over? What if she decides she needs something different than Gracey Group?”
“Has she said that to you?”
“No. But it’s a big commitment. With Bryce’s job she’s more or less a single mom.”
“There’s always my other daughter.”
I laughed. “No chance, Dad. I’d spend my time looking for criminals every time I was supposed to make a real estate deal.”
“Perfect place to find some. Maybe more than some.”
I’d stumbled into an opening. “I know how hard you and Wendy work. She left a lot of paperwork, and I’ve been straightening the town house so she won’t come back to a mess. She’s collected brochures from all kinds of resorts.”
“She’s probably looking at what they do that we don’t. To get ideas.”
“Are some of them for sale? Does she make suggestions for acquisitions, too?”
“If she happens to pick up information from our clients that she finds promising, but only rarely.”
“I saw a couple of places that looked appealing. I was kind of hoping you planned to buy the one outside Santa Fe. The Golden Aspen Resort and Spa. I’ve always wanted to go to New Mexico.”
“They were for sale last year, which is why she probably had the brochure. I don’t know about right now. I think they brought in consultants to do some kind of reorganization, and they pulled it off the market. I never even got around to sending anybody to look at it. I have a guy who does that for me. He has the eye.”
I filed that away. It was a nibble. We finished dishing up the banana bread, and Dad left with three plates, while I waited for the tea to steep. Back in the courtyard, I gave everyone mugs and settled beside my mother on the love seat. I told them about the girls, and Mom gave me advice, settling back into her role. Dad told me the plot of one of the books I’d given him, and we chatted about things that didn’t matter.
When I stood to go, Mom said she’d walk me to the door. After I kissed my father goodbye, we started through the house.
“I am so glad you’re okay, Ryan. I’m sorry,” she said.
Since apologies are rare in our family, I knew she really must be. “Thanks.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it, that I just assumed you were fine? Maybe it’s because you’ve come through so much already. You’ve proved how strong you are, over and over, and I guess I take that for granted.”
“That’s better than the alternative. You could have squirreled me away in the attic to keep me safe.”
“I just believed you were strong and hoped for the best. You never proved me wrong.”
We were at the door. I hugged her quickly. And then, after that brief wave of sentiment, I got back down to business. “I think all this uproar is aging me. What do you think?”
She smiled just a little. “You look good to me.”
“No plastic surgery to get rid of worry lines?”
She reached up and smoothed my forehead. “Not yet.”
“I guess Wendy beat me to it.”
“Wendy?”
“She must have had a little tuck here and there?”
“Why would she need to? She’s perfect the way she is. Maybe she will when she’s a little older.”
I nodded. “I guess I’ll have to wait.”
As always, I was glad to be a journalist. I had learned so many ways to get information. I left with my answers, and with something more. The way my parents viewed me or claimed to was going to be interesting to contemplate.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I expected to sleep badly that night. My mother may think I’m strong, but I still have more than my share of nightmares. After being attacked at Wendy’s front doorstep, I knew what was coming. Any shock, any scare plunges me back to my internship at the Seabank Free Press. As soon as I drift reluctantly to sleep, distorted memories of the worst moments of my life come out to play.
Thanks to my parents’ intervention, I got help for my nightmares almost immediately after the night that triggered them, including something called imagery rehearsal therapy to learn how to design new endings. But despite prompting, I had refused medication. Too many friends had become addicted to opioids, and a girl I’d known in graduate school had progressed to heroin, which had been cheaper and more easily available. I’d been afraid if I felt better on medication, I would never quit.
Tonight, if I had been able to stay awake, I would have. Instead, after Holly and Noelle were finally asleep, I raided Wendy’s shelf of liquor and made a mug of warm milk with a shot of whiskey. Then I made my way upstairs. I took out a pen and pad and curled up against pillows. Breathing deeply, I wrote down everything that had happened that morning, in as much detail as I could remember. Then I moved back to earlier memories. When my heart started pounding harder, I focus
ed on my breathing and waited until both had slowed before I continued.
Recalling every detail of an event can demystify it. The skeleton is there, but the nerves are silenced. Past events were never completely tamed, of course, but enough so that, with luck, I could channel the familiar nightmare toward one of my carefully crafted endings, which I also wrote down now. If I was careful, aware of possibilities, then I was as ready as I could be. And the good news was that these days, when the nightmare arrived, it hadn’t packed half a dozen suitcases and found a room nearby. It was a one-night stay, like a sad reminder of the past, in case I’d forgotten the night four years ago that Teo and I almost died.
The day that John Quayle invited me to interview him started out with a bang. After inexplicably finding Quayle’s email on my laptop, I’d gone to see Grant Telford, my immediate supervisor.
“He contacted me on his own,” I told Grant, holding up my hands to show I was innocent. “I promise I didn’t contact him, and I’m not sure how he got my email address. But apparently he heard I’ve been nosing around, and he said that it only seems fair for me to talk to him directly.”
Grant wasn’t much taller than my five-four and grouchy from a restricted diet that left him no extra calories for the pizza and beer that had packed sixty extra pounds on his stocky frame.
“Not your job,” he’d said without looking up from his desk. “Not on your contact list.”
I was feeling very Jimmy Olsen to Grant’s Perry White, but I stood my ground—never Jimmy’s strong point. “So what if he decides he doesn’t want to talk to a real reporter? Or if the mood to talk disappears, or he’s silenced by his lawyer? He must still have a lawyer, right? To keep him out of more trouble? What if by the time your real reporters come back on the scene, he’s as silent as a snake?”
A Family of Strangers Page 13
