In an instant her friends were beside her, reaching out, murmuring comforting words.
“That’s it,” Helen soothed. “Let it out, Rosa. You can’t begin to heal until you let the pain out. That’s what you told me when my Harrison died.”
“I’m just so furious with him,” Rosa whispered between choked sobs. “How could Don do such a thing? How could I have missed the signs that things were that bad with him? There must have been signs. He was moody and irritable, but we all get that way sometimes. We don’t go out and kill ourselves.”
“We don’t know that’s what Don did,” Helen repeated.
“I’m not blind,” Rosa said. “I can’t ignore what’s staring me in the face.”
“What if you’re right?” Jolie asked. “I’ve been reading up on suicide on the Internet. Suicide is a choice, a selfish one at that. Maybe it’s not a rational choice, but nobody else could make him do it, certainly not you.”
“But if I’d known he was depressed and desperate, I could have stopped him,” Rosa whispered. That was where the guilt that had tormented her since Don’s death came from. She had known Don Killian better than any other human being on earth. Had she been wearing blinders for weeks or even months? How could she not have known he was on the edge of despair? Why hadn’t she seen it and done something to prevent what happened? How could she live with the fact that she had let her husband down so badly?
“I don’t think so,” Helen said. “I’ve done a little reading, too, and I’ve talked to some people who know about such things. When someone wants to be stopped, there are warning signs, cries for help, maybe even failed attempts. But when someone’s desperate and totally serious, they make sure they do it right the first time.”
Rosa refused to believe that. Don had been her husband, her best friend. If he was desperate, she should have known. How could her own children even bear to look at her, knowing how she had failed both Don and them? Don had always been the provider, the one with the business acumen. She had been the one who kept the family on an even keel. They’d balanced things perfectly. But the one time it had really counted, she’d let the family down. Maybe that was why she’d been hiding out from Emma, Andy and Jeff, because she didn’t want to face their censure.
Helen dug in her purse and pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to Rosa.
“What’s this?” she asked without looking at it.
“There’s a grief counseling group that meets at Saint Luke’s. I think you should consider going. It’s one thing to listen to me and Jolie, but you need to talk to other people who’ve suffered a huge personal loss.”
“Absolutely not,” Rosa said emphatically. “I will not spill my guts to a bunch of total strangers.”
Helen rubbed her back. “You’re forgetting one thing. You have something in common with these strangers. They’ve all been through what you’re going through now. Wouldn’t it help to hear their stories, to know you’re not alone? My experience isn’t the same as yours. Neither is Jolie’s. But some of this group will know exactly what you’ve been going through. They’ll understand your fear that Don chose to die. More important, they’ve faced the loss and they’ve recovered.”
Rosa shuddered at the prospect of exposing her still-raw wounds to the scrutiny of strangers. “I can’t.”
“You won’t,” Jolie corrected, her disapproval plain. “Rosa, you’re my dear friend and I love you, but I thought you were made of tougher stuff than this.”
“Jolie’s right,” Helen said. “But if you won’t do it for yourself, think about Emma and the boys. Maybe they’d like to go. They’re suffering, too, you know. Emma’s been protecting you from worrying about Jeff and Andy, but it’s time you did. You’re their mother. You’ve shut them out, forced them to shoulder the responsibility for the restaurant and to deal with their grief, while trying to hide it from you. The Rosa Killian I know would never do such a thing if she weren’t in terrible pain. It’s time to get some help. It’s time to be strong for your children.”
“They’re not children,” she said, even though it was a cop-out. She knew how badly Emma, Jeff and Andy were hurting. It didn’t matter how old they were, losing their dad had been devastating. And even in her current state of denial, she was aware that Jeff, in particular, was in danger of doing something totally reckless. Maybe he already had, which would explain why Emma and Andy had been avoiding any mention of him.
“Rosa,” Helen chided.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” she said at last.
Helen and Jolie regarded her with satisfaction, clearly convinced that she would not only think about it, but do it. She probably would, too, at least eventually.
Rosa frowned at them. “Oh, don’t look so pleased with yourselves,” she grumbled, then called out, “Emma! Get those plates and forks in here. And bring one for yourself. It’s time for cheesecake.”
And tomorrow maybe, just maybe, it would be time to get back to living, or at least what passed for living in a world that no longer made any sense.
Sunday mornings at Flamingo Diner had always been Emma’s favorite time. Her father had made huge cinnamon rolls that filled the place with their sugary scent. Customers, who rushed every other morning, lingered over coffee and their newspapers or stayed to chat with neighbors and catch up on local gossip.
Emma wasn’t the baker her father had been, but she was determined she was going to revive this tradition which had been in limbo since her father’s death. She arrived at the diner at 5:00 a.m., half-asleep and in desperate need of caffeine. She brewed the first of what would probably be dozens of pots of coffee and read over the recipe, trying to remember her father’s tips on making the cinnamon rolls.
She was rolling out the dough when she heard a key in the front door and looked up to see her mother hesitating just outside the door. A smile broke across Emma’s face as she went to meet her.
“Mama, you didn’t tell me you were coming in this morning.”
“I didn’t want to say anything in case I changed my mind,” Rosa said, finally stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She sniffed the air. “You’re making cinnamon rolls.”
“I’m trying to make cinnamon rolls,” Emma corrected. “I’m not so sure if I have the dough right.”
Rosa reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Let me take a look.”
Emma regarded her with surprise. “I thought Dad did all the baking.”
“He did, but it was my mother’s recipe. I was making these rolls long before I met him.” She studied the dough, sifted a little more flour over it and began to roll it out with sure, steady strokes.
Emma sat back and watched her. “Why did you let Dad take over?”
Her mother’s expression turned nostalgic. “Because he enjoyed it so much, and I liked talking to the customers. Over time we learned to divide things up so that we were both happy.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “At least I thought we were.”
“You were. All those years weren’t a lie.”
“It feels that way, though.”
Emma didn’t want her mother to dwell on the sad thoughts. She’d done more than enough of that. She reached for her hand. “I’m glad you’re back, Mama. It hasn’t been the same around here without you.”
Her mother paused, her hands falling idle. A visible shudder washed over her. “I’m not sure I can stay,” she whispered. “I heard you leave the house early and thought maybe I could come and help you get set up, you know, before everyone starts coming in.”
Emma held back a sigh. It was a start. She reached out and gave her mother a hug. “Stay as long as you can.”
Her mother worked in silence for a few more minutes, spreading a coating of melted butter on the dough, then sprinkling a heavy dusting of cinnamon and sugar on top.
Eventually she glanced Emma’s way. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down.”
“Oh, Mama, you haven’t let us down. I know how hard this must be on you.”
&n
bsp; “But I’m not alone in being miserable, and I’ve been acting as if I were. You and the boys are hurting, too. My heart aches for you, but I’ve been so lost in my own pain, I haven’t been able to think about anyone else’s. Helen and Jolie told me they were disappointed in me.”
“They shouldn’t be. You’re coping the best way you can. We all are.”
Her mother gave her a wry look. “Including Jeff? Do you honestly believe he’s coping? I know he hasn’t been staying at the house. I’ve listened for him to come in, but it’s been days now, hasn’t it?”
Emma hesitated, then nodded.
“Has he been in here to help?”
“No.”
Rosa shook her head. “I imagine he’s with that girl he’s been seeing, Marisol something.”
“You’ve met her?” Emma asked, surprised.
“I’ve seen her. She usually waits for him in the car, when he stops by here to ask your dad…” Her mother’s face fell and her voice faltered. For an instant, she closed her eyes as if steadying herself. “Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore. He knows not to come to me for money, especially when he won’t explain what he needs it for.”
“I thought you and Dad gave him money for expenses at school. Isn’t he expected to earn his own spending money?”
“Of course, he is, just as you were. But Jeff could always get around your father. I think it went back to the days when your father struggled to make ends meet when he was in college and we were dating. He wanted to spare Jeff that. He wanted his whole college experience to be as carefree as possible.”
Emma tried to ignore the stirring of resentment. She’d understood the rules when she’d left for college. She’d worked hard for her spending money, grateful that her tuition, room and board and books had been covered. How could Jeff have taken advantage of her father this way?
“I thought Jeff had a job off campus,” she said. “What was he doing with that money?”
Her mother shrugged. “I wish I knew,” she said as she put the tray of cinnamon rolls into the oven.
As the kitchen filled with their delicious aroma, Emma thought of the hint Matt had dropped that Jeff could be headed for trouble. At the time she’d dismissed the possibility that he could be talking about drugs, but was the idea really so outrageous? Did she dare ask her mother? Or would the mere suggestion that Jeff was involved with drugs be too much for Rosa in her already fragile state?
“Do you think I should ask Matt to look for Jeff?” she asked instead.
Rosa shook her head. “He’ll turn up. I know he quit his job at the mall. Or maybe he was fired. I didn’t press him about it. If he hasn’t been working here, he’ll be out of money soon.” She went to the sink to wash her hands, then met Emma’s gaze. “Don’t give your brother a cent unless he earns it. And see that Andy doesn’t, either.” She dried her hands. “Now I’ve got to go. You’ll be opening soon.”
“Are you sure you won’t stay, just for a little while?” Emma asked. “People ask about you every day. They’d love to see you.”
“Not today, sweetie.” Rosa touched her cheek. “Have I told you how grateful I am that you decided to stay? I know you think Washington is your home now, but this is where you belong. I hope you come to realize that one day soon.”
“My staying now is not a problem,” Emma lied, thinking of how desperately she missed Washington and her job and friends there. She couldn’t bring herself to commit to staying forever, not when the promise would be a lie.
“Of course it is,” her mother said. “It’s a sacrifice and I know it, but it won’t be for too much longer, Emma. I promise you.”
“I’ll be here as long as you need me,” Emma reassured her. “And I’ll find those answers about Dad before I leave, so we can finally understand what happened.”
“You always do the right thing. Your father loved that about you,” Rosa told her. “He lost patience with Jeff and Andy, but never with you. From the day you were born, he said you’d never give us a moment’s worry and you haven’t.”
“I left,” Emma reminded her. “I know that disappointed him.”
“He would have loved it if you’d stayed here, that’s true,” Rosa said, brushing the hair back from Emma’s face as she had a million times when Emma was a girl. “But he was so proud of you for standing up to him, for finding something you loved and going after it. He had Flamingo Diner, so he understood all about fulfilling a dream.”
Emma was surprised. “Really?”
“The only thing he really wanted for you was your happiness, wherever that took you. He understood that the diner was his dream, not yours.”
“Thank you for saying that. I was so afraid that me being gone was one of the things weighing on him.”
“Absolutely not!” Rosa sighed heavily. “I suppose we’re all afraid that it was something we did that made him…” she hesitated “…careless,” she said at last. She met Emma’s gaze. “Helen and Jolie told me about a group at Saint Luke’s. It’s for those who are grieving a loved one. Would you want to go with me?”
“It might help,” Emma conceded without enthusiasm. “Of course, if you need me to, I’ll go with you.”
Her mother gave her a sad smile. “But you’d rather not, am I right?”
“I don’t think that’s where I’ll find the answers I need,” Emma admitted.
“I’m not sure I will either, but I have to start somewhere,” Rosa said. “You have a good day, sweetie. I’ll see you at home.”
Emma pulled her mother into her arms and hugged her tightly, noting that she’d lost weight. She was no longer plump. In fact, she felt almost fragile. “I am so glad you came in this morning, Mama. I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”
“Me, too. I was thinking of cooking a special dinner for you and Andy tonight.”
Emma thought of her plans with Matt to go to Cori’s. She could cancel.
“What?” her mother said. “Do you already have plans?”
“It’s not a problem. I can change them.”
“Don’t you dare. You deserve to have some fun. Maybe Andy and I will go out for pizza. I owe him some undivided attention.”
Emma studied her closely. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” She grinned. “I’ll even wait up so I can sneak a peek at your date.”
“It’s not a date,” Emma protested. “It’s Matt.”
Her mother looked startled at first, then pleased. “I always thought there was something between the two of you.”
“Mama, I told you, it’s not a date.”
“He’s a good man. Your father always liked him.”
“That’s the thing,” Emma explained. “He’s part of the family.” She wasn’t about to mention how she’d momentarily forgotten that when he’d touched her.
Her mother just laughed. “That’s how it was with your father and me, too. My mother and father loved him before I did. I was in lust,” she admitted, blushing. “What I didn’t understand at the time was that they thought he was terrific company for them, but not marriage material for me.”
“Why?”
“He wasn’t Cuban,” Rosa said simply.
“That’s why they never came to visit?” Emma asked.
“Yes. They got into the habit of staying away when we were first married. Even though they mellowed later, the rift was already there. It broke my heart that we never fully mended it.”
“I always wondered about that,” Emma said. “I loved going to visit Abuela Conchita, but there was always some sort of tension I didn’t understand.”
“Families aren’t easy sometimes,” Rosa said. “In many ways, we’ve been lucky. Your grandmother and grandfather Killian were here for you for many years, even though things were once strained between them and your father. Until now, we haven’t suffered any tragedies. Business has been good. We’ve been blessed. It’s time I tried to focus on that.”
“We’ll make it, Mama. We just have to take one
step at a time. You took a huge one this morning.”
“And now I have to go,” Rosa said, glancing at the clock. “I’m sure Gabe and Harley will be on the doorstep any minute now. I’m not ready to face them.”
Emma walked her to the door and watched her until she reached her car, then waved and went back inside. She flipped the sign on the door to Open and turned on the burners on the stove. When she had bacon and sausage sizzling, she took the first batch of cinnamon rolls from the oven and put in another tray.
When the door opened for the first customer, she turned, expecting to see Gabe and Harley, but it was Matt who stood there, freshly showered and sexy as sin in a tight T-shirt and jeans.
“I called Andy and told him to sleep in this morning,” he said. “I told him I’d help out in here.”
Emma couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from him. “Why did you do that?”
“I had a hunch you were going to start baking cinnamon rolls this morning, and I figured you’d give me one free if I helped out.”
Emma bit back a smile. “Things must be tough if you can’t afford to buy your own breakfast.”
“Oh, I could pay,” he told her, moving closer, crowding her just a little. “But I thought it might be a lot more fun trying to coax one of those sinful rolls away from you.”
Her breath hitched. “Oh?”
His thumb touched the corner of her mouth. “You have a little bit of sugar right here. Have you been sneaking samples?”
Emma grinned. “Of course. What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that exactly what you’re hoping to do?”
“Um-hmm,” he murmured, his gaze steady and disconcerting.
“The cinnamon rolls are on the counter,” she whispered.
“I know, but I thought I’d start here,” he said, touching his lips to the corner of her mouth. “And I’m pretty sure I saw a little bit of sugar over here.” His tongue flicked lightly against her lower lip.
“Matt?” His name barely squeezed past the giant boulder suddenly lodged in her throat.
Flamingo Diner Page 14
