Slightly Imperfect

by Tomlinson, Dar

  Take the money, Zac. Let me love you forever.

  * * *

  Zac called Gerald from the Abriendo house.

  "Gerald Fitzpatrick here."

  In his mind, Zac recalled the rosy face, how the blue eyes had misted over. "It's Zac, sir."

  "Gerald will be fine, Zac. Gerald forever more."

  "Got it." Zac laughed softly into the phone. "Do you think you could arrange with security for me to get through the Bay Shore gate?"

  "I like to think I have some influence in this little town."

  "If you could, there's a big yellow house there—on the water. It belongs to me now. The best I can remember, there's some hundred-year-old scotch there and a refrigerator full of cold Corona. My mama is making tortillas right now. I could talk her out of some, and you could meet me there. We could chase a ghost together."

  "It's a deal," Gerald said after a moment. "We'll say goodbye to that ghost and then get on with our lives. How do you feel about that?"

  "It may take a few Coronas, but I'm willing to try, sir."

  "Gerald."

  "Gerald."

  * * *

  "Hey, Josh."

  Zac had told Bay Shore security to let the young black man in. When Zac arrived, Josh waited in the circle drive in front of the yellow house. They stood facing each other in the sunny, humid morning. Only the bay water slapping the shore broke the momentary silence.

  "How's it hangin', hombre?"

  "Fine, Mr. Zac. How're you, man?"

  Zac nodded. Josh moved toward him, just enough to make it feasible for Zac to put his arms around him and hug hard. Josh hadn't gotten any smaller, or any softer. Zac put his hand in his pocket. Yeah. The Mercedes key was still there.

  "Out of school for the summer yet?" He would be seventeen now, finishing his junior year. "Guess not." Zac had lost touch with the school calendar. "A couple more months, huh?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Playing baseball?"

  "Track."

  Josh was getting curious, a little edgy. Zac started walking toward the garage, the automatic lift in his hand. Josh fell into step.

  "Do you have a summer job?"

  "Not yet. A lot of guys are out lookin', Mr. Zac, but there's not enough jobs to go around. I'm thinkin' of construction. Maybe some of that stuff Mr. Fitzpatrick's always got goin' on. He's been real good to my mama and me since Miz Carron passed. I'd like working for him."

  "How would you like your old job back? Working here? Just like you did for Ms. Carron?"

  Josh stopped walking.

  "And Sylvania, too, if she would like that."

  "Mama's doin' day work and that's hard. I know she?d like it, Mr. Zac, but—"

  Zac pushed the button to raise the garage door. The car blazed out at them from the interior. He walked over, laid his hand on the cold hood. Josh followed, his ebony skin darkening more when he entered the dim garage. Zac looked at his own hands and arms and saw he had darkened too. He and Josh had a lot in common. Maybe they could have more.

  "Your job wouldn't be quite the same as when Carron lived here," he said quietly. "But you could help me take care of the Irish. Maybe I could teach you to fish."

  Enthusiasm flicked across the dark face.

  "We probably wouldn't have so many parties. But we could find plenty for you to do."

  "We, Mr. Zac?"

  He smiled. "I'm going to live here, Josh. It's what Carron wanted. You can live in the pool house." Carron would have liked that, too. "That is, if your mama doesn't mind giving you up. If she comes to work she could see you every day, maybe make it easier on her at home." He knew Sylvania was the sole provider for five children. "Like old times. What do you think?"

  Josh nodded. "I think I'll have to ask her about the pool house, Mr. Zac, but I sure do want the job. Thank you, sir."

  Zac tried to hand him the car key. He fell back a little. Josh had always driven the jeep, parked now in the far stall of the three-car garage. Zac caught his hand, deposited the key in his palm and closed his fingers around it, just as Gerald had done his.

  "This car is yours, Josh."

  "Naw... " He grinned, shook his head.

  "It's mine, and I'm giving it to you."

  The grin got wider, if that was possible.

  "I guess you know all the stipulations. No drinking and driving. Good grades. We'll do a progress check at the end of each month. You pay half the insurance until you can afford to pay all. How does that sound?"

  "Like a joke, Mr. Zac."

  "It's no joke." Zac felt the best he had felt since he hit rock bottom that day... the day he'd gotten the call telling him Allie had chased the puppy into the street. "The car is yours. Use it in good health."

  CHAPTER SIX

  "Lizbett, please take the children outside to the lawn for a while," Victoria said to her black, teenaged nanny. She slipped Ariana from her lap into Lizbett's anxious charge and made a move at smoothing her linen pants. "I want to talk to my... To talk to Coby. I'll come for you."

  Coby squatted on his haunches, held his arms wide and gathered the twins collectively. Ariana and Alexander's arms went around Coby's neck without hesitation. Victoria watched Marcus. A band tightened around her heart at the somber way he looked on. Then Coby surprised her by swiveling and holding his arms out to her older son.

  Marcus made no move until his eyes sought hers, seeking and finding approval.

  "Thanks for coming, guy." Coby smiled. From his kneeling position his face was even with Marcus's. "I won't keep her long." He put his palm up and Marcus expertly met his high five gesture. Coby cut his blue gaze to Victoria, delight in his laugh. He stared at the closed door when they were alone, then rose slowly to his impressive height, smiling.

  "God! The twins are just like us, aren't they?"

  The way he looked at the door again made her wonder if the regret in his eyes represented the past, present or future. She thought of the frayed photograph she kept in her wallet, of the two of them at the twins' age, and suffered a familiar threat of trepidation. Coby sank into a chair opposite, stretching his long legs toward her. She shifted, imperceptibly she hoped.

  "You named them after me. I like that." Elbows on the chair arm, he steepled his fingers and rested his chin there. "They're beautiful."

  "Thank you, Coby."

  "And Marcus is the image of Tommy."

  Beautiful, too.

  "What can I say, Tori?"

  "Nothing could say it better."

  "Does Marcus know?" His voice was quiet. "Who I am?"

  "He thinks you're my brother. Just as Alex is his. He doesn't understand cousins, since he has none."

  Coby smiled fiendishly. "Do we?"

  She feigned vagueness. "He's confused about the resemblance between you and me and Alex and Ari. It's a lot for a six year old."

  "I've never been sure about the uncanny resemblance either." His smile softened. "Does he know what I did—to his father?"

  The echoing shot, the crimson blood, the futility of having sought the freedom to love loomed intact in the recesses of her mind. It took a long time to find her voice. She searched his face, his eyes, wanting so much to believe he was whole now.

  "He's too young, Coby. I'll tell him... some day when he's old enough to understand."

  Coby left the chair, his movements lithe as he paced to the window and stared at the rolling hospital grounds. Tall, blond, his handsome face stoic. She supposed he watched the children. She could hear laughter, squeals from Ariana, always a target for her brothers.

  "Are you old enough to understand?" Coby didn't turn around.

  "Yes. I am."

  "I'm sorry, Tori."

  He sank to the floor before her again, his legs folding gracefully, Indian fashion. His touch cool and dry, he took her hand. She caught her breath. Before that moment they hadn't touched. When she didn't feel the familiar current running through them now her emotions tangled in relief and regret.

  "I've waited five
years to tell you I'm sorry," he said.

  She nodded. She had known it, felt it. Across continents. Felt it through life-altering grief that had progressed to acceptance. To resignation.

  His grip tightened on her hand. "I was crazy. I'm better, Tori." He looked deep into her eyes; she struggled not to look away. "Can you forgive me?"

  A tear trailed along her cheek. "I forgave you that day—that moment." As Tommy lay dying. "I wasn't blameless. Do you forgive me?"

  He nodded. Still holding her hand, he brushed the tear away. "Tell me you still love me. I need to know that."

  "Of course." She didn't hesitate. "I never stopped. You're part of me. You were sick, and I did nothing to help you. I fed off your obsession. We were both sick." "I'll be coming home soon. I'll make it up to you."

  "No." Quietly. Adamantly. "You can't make Tommy's death up to me. Please don't try. Just let me live my life."

  "I will." He rose, drawing her to her feet, into his loose, generic embrace. "I promise I will." He held her, rocked her gently. "Don't be afraid, Tori. It's going to be all right."

  "God, Coby. It has to." But it never could be.

  * * *

  "How much money is there, Zac?"

  "You don't want to know, Luke. Even I don't want to know."

  "The house, too—that frigging yacht? They're yours?"

  Zac nodded.

  "The car?"

  "I gave the car to Josh." He waited for a reaction, detecting only surprise. "I thought about everyone in the family. None of us seemed like the blood-red Mercedes convertible type. I think Josh can handle it. The responsibility will be good for him." He considered the transaction again and smiled though his qualms. "I hope."

  "And now you want to be in the restaurant business."

  "No—well, yes. But only as a silent partner. It will work great with the fishing when I get back to it. Your place can help me out with the catch, cut down on peddling to the wholesalers. I can get Papa home faster after we dock."

  "What if my present partner doesn't want to sell?"

  "He will. You're the only man in creation who likes these God-awful hours. And we'll keep raising the ante until he gives."

  Luke eyed him skeptically. "Being my partner has to involve more than an easy place to unload shrimp, bro. With all your money you can just dump the little buggers back."

  "Yeah. There's more. I want you to be able to operate alone. I know your partner's a nice guy and you could get along with the devil, but I want to do something for you. That's what Carron had in mind—doing good—and I'm starting with the family." He measured the effect of his words. "You aren't going to balk are you?"

  "No way, Zaccheus." Luke smiled. "You can bring your rich friends into Los Amigos and add some class to the clientele."

  "Are you going to start riding me about the money?"

  "No way—and thanks, partner. I'll do you justice."

  "Will you talk to Papa with me?"

  Luke looked dubious.

  "You don't have to talk. Just nod and smile, whatever I say."

  "That shouldn't be hard," Luke acquiesced, hugging Zac's shoulders. "I've been practicing that move since the day you were born. I like to watch you work out, Zaccie. It's inspiring."

  * * *

  They pushed the steel chair into the shade of a willow tree far back in the Abriendo yard. Luke sat on the ground before Alejandro, enjoying the six-pack of Coronas he and Zac had picked up on the way. Zac knelt beside his father's chair, straining upward now and again to share the sweating beer with him.

  Late March. Afternoon hovered warm, humid. Alejandro's yard, which should have been a garden place by now, wasn't this year.

  "Papa, I have something to tell you."

  "I know that, Zaccheus." But he smiled. Zac's being home seemed to have a mellowing effect. "If you don't tell me you are crossing the world again, I can survive whatever it is."

  His lyrical Mexican accent had returned intact with his restored ability to speak. Zac had lain awake nights in the past year, remembering every single nuance of that accent, fearing he would never hear it again.

  "It has to do with Carron." He plunged in. "Carron and her money."

  His father nodded, not appearing surprised, his expression close to resignation.

  "I guess you knew her father was trying to reach me."

  Answer appeared in Alejandro's eyes before the old man nodded again. Gerald had told Zac about contacting his parents, leaving word. The money had definitely been discussed between Gerald and Alejandro.

  "You know why he was looking for me, Papa. It's true. She left everything to me, because she had no one else. She never got to sign the will, but she left letters to Mr. Fitzpatrick and me that he couldn't ignore. Neither could I."

  "You took the money." His mouth tightened a little crookedly, residue of the stroke. They might as well be discussing a bank robbery or embezzlement. >

  "Yeah. I took it."

  "Blood money."

  Zac and Luke exchanged quick glances. Concern raveled with knowing in Luke's eyes.

  "Papa, what good comes from talking that way?" Luke said softly.

  "Can the money buy back your marriage, niño? Or your son?"

  The brothers kept silent.

  "She eased her conscience with that money." Alejandro grew angry; his face heated up, reddened.

  "No." Zac thought of Carron the night she died. "She died grieving, Papa. All the money in the world couldn't change what Carron and I did. But she wanted me to have it to start a new life, and to make life better for other people. I want to start with you and Mama."

  "I will not have a dime of her money."

  Luke rose from the grass, strolled to the nearby redwood table where they had left the beer in a little Styrofoam cooler. Zac watched his back tense as he popped a top, the sound piercing the silence.

  "Luke, come and hear the plan," Zac coaxed softly, drawing him back, seeking support.

  Luke swiveled his dark, slender body, eyes narrowed, but after a moment returned. He offered their father the cold can.

  Alejandro shook his head resolutely. Zac knew if his father could get out of the chair the discussion would be ended.

  "I've moved into Carron's house, Papa. Remember the yellow house we used to see from the water? It's big. Too big for just me—although I don't plan to be there alone, forever. I want a wife again, and a family. But even then, it will be big."

  Luke and Alejandro waited, eyes measuring.

  "I want you and Mama to live with me."

  Luke's eyes rolled. He toyed with a smile.

  Their father made a move to protest.

  "No, wait," Zac insisted. "Listen to me. Please listen and consider what I'm asking."

  Alejandro settled against the sagging chair back, mouth a rigid slash in his bronze face.

  "I have a complete exercise room. We'll get a physical therapist to come everyday to work with you, to help you walk. That's what money is for. To use for something good." Carron's petition. He searched Alejandro's face for acceptance or denial, met with feigned indifference. "There's a pool and a Jacuzzi tub. Wouldn't that feel good?"

  Zac tried not to reverse the role of parent and child, not to coddle or beg. Yet he wanted desperately to convince his father. "And Mama. She's working too hard taking care of you, and the facilities aren't that good here." A euphemism for pitiful. "I have a housekeeper. She's great. She could help Mama." He waited. Por favor, Dios. "Say you'll do it. I'll take care of everything. All you have to say is yes."

  "No."

  "Why the hell not?" Luke spoke up, beer brave, Zac supposed. Or maybe inspired by the fact his parents would be taken care of, relieving his and their siblings' responsibility, as Gerald had suggested. "Why not let Zac help you? Don't you know he feels responsible for what happened to you? Let him off the hook, Papa. He has the money, and he wants to make up for—"

  "It's okay," Zac soothed. "Papa and I have talked about all of that. This is another i
ssue."

  Luke looked away, taking a long swig.

  Luke's being at odds with Alejandro hinged on his protective big-brother feelings, but still Zac felt troubled. "Why not, Papa? Tell me and I'll deal with it."

  "I will not live in that puta's house, Zaccheus."

  Quiet descended as Zac entertained a vision of Carron. A time had existed when Alejandro's label would have fit. A time hard to recall. An era erased by bittersweet memories.

  "Papa, we talked about that too. That puta was a woman I loved." Or had thought so, for that brief, frenzied time. "Not wisely, and with dire consequences. And she loved me. I never took anything from her when she was alive, but I'm taking it now, because this is her way of loving me from the grave."

  Relieved, he saw his father's ebony gaze soften. The stiff shoulders sagged a little, his grip relenting on the chair arms.

  "She wanted to help me when I needed it so badly—after your stroke—but I wouldn't let her. Now that I feel your rejection, I know how I hurt her." He remembered, regretting. It could have been so easy, so much better for Carron, for everyone involved, if he had stuffed his ego. "Please let me help you, Papa. Let me turn the wrong in what Carron and I caused to something good. For once, forget your lessons. I've learned them all. I know I let you down for a while, but your principles are in me, and I want to prove it to you." He drew a breath. "It's easy, Papa. Just say yes."

  "Yes."

  "Hot damn!"

  Grinning widely, Luke gave Zac a clap on the back. "That's great!"

  Alejandro held up the one hand he had use of, silencing them. "Yes, mi hijo. I will take your help. Your speeches are even prettier than before you went away. You didn't learn that from me." He smiled, grudgingly. "But only here in this house will I take your help. Don't ask me to move from my home."

  Zac's enthusiasm waned. Then understanding gave birth to realization as he heard his father out.

  "Here I am at home. I have friends in this neighborhood who stop to see me. How would my friends come to that big yellow house, niño? If you think about it, you will see."