A Time to Gather

by Sally John

  “Oh, hon. We all make mistakes.”

  “Claire, don’t let me off the hook. Lexi, Danny, and Jenna all tried to let me off, saying I did my best. Granted, I’m not totally responsible, but my impact on them was huge. I’m their dad, for crying out loud.”

  She reached over and touched his damp cheek. “Their loving dad who asked for forgiveness.”

  “Yeah. It didn’t seem to be a big deal to any of them, though.”

  “It was, Max. Trust me. It had to be.” She moved into his arms, her head on his chest, and let him cry.

  His stories could wait.

  Max again insisted he did not want the stories to wait.

  Claire made more tea and settled back onto the couch with a mug and a box of tissues. “Okay. You saw Lexi first?”

  “Mm-hmm. I did my thing. Told her I was an idiot. I got no response. She just kept on digging in the dirt.”

  “Digging?”

  “I met her at one of her work sites. She was transplanting flowers.”

  “That’s Lexi. Always planting or painting. It’s how she copes.”

  “What do you mean, copes?”

  “I suspect she’s more lonely than she lets on.”

  “Lonely? She has friends. And I thought she was dating that guy Zak.”

  A painful realization dawned on Claire. Max had missed out on years with Lexi. While he connected with Danny via business interests, their youngest daughter remained outside his purview. But surely her personality had registered with him.

  Claire said, “You know how withdrawn and quiet she is.”

  “Uh.” His face contorted, as if he searched his memory for snapshots of Lexi.

  “She’s never really had friends, Max. She did poorly in school because of her dyslexia. Except for Danny, her closest relationship is with Vivian, her boss, who’s my age. And Zak?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. He’s a fireman and works odd hours and lives in North County. As far as I can tell, they get together only occasionally.”

  “I should know this stuff.”

  “You will. It’s a new day for you.”

  He pressed his lips together, unconvinced.

  “How’d things go with Danny?”

  “The same, but different. I met him at Kono’s, at that coffee cart on the boardwalk. Then we walked out on the pier.”

  Claire blinked consciously, in slow motion, and reminded herself God’s ways were not hers. Neither were Max’s. Why he would carry on such a deeply personal dialogue on a busy pier rather than in Danny’s apartment two blocks away was far beyond her comprehension. But that was okay.

  She blinked again and waited.

  “Dan heard me out. Told me I did my best. That he appreciated all the opportunities I provided, all the business insights I give him. I insisted I had let him down by being an absent dad. He hugged me and said don’t worry about it.”

  She smiled. “And that’s Danny.”

  “Yeah. He’s like me in many ways when it comes to business, but thank God he’s got your soft side.”

  “He’s been ahead of both of us in the faith department for years.”

  “He’s always been open about his Christianity, but the thing is . . .” He paused. “We know how he is, so black-and-white, so into following the rules. If he thinks he’s supposed to forgive me, he will say the right words. I don’t know if they’re registering in his heart, though. I guess this is where God does His thing?”

  “Yes. We sure can’t do it.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Okay. Dan had someplace to go; he left. I stood there until after the sun went down.”

  “And then you went to Erik’s?”

  “We met at a coffee shop in Little Italy.”

  Again with the public confession.

  “We sat outside. Didn’t bother getting coffee. Like always, he was in an obvious hurry to be elsewhere. So I gave him the short version of my spiel. ‘I’m sorry. I hope for your sake you can forgive me.’ He called me a putz and walked off. I don’t know how long I sat there.”

  They exchanged a despondent gaze. Erik’s reaction was no surprise either.

  “And Jenna?” Claire said. She had spent the day with their daughter, leaving her a short while before Max’s expected arrival. Jenna appreciated their visits, but she couldn’t be talked into coming to the hacienda. She insisted she had to get used to Kevin’s absence starting immediately, his first night away.

  “I picked up Chinese and went to her house. Made her eat a little something. She’s so sad about Kevin, isn’t she?”

  Claire nodded.

  “I almost didn’t get into it with her, but then I figured maybe it’d give her something else to think about.”

  “You two have always had an open relationship.”

  “I think we’ve been straight with each other. Anyway, she wanted to let me off the hook too. She said there wasn’t anything to forgive. I said someday she’d understand that there are things.”

  “You did good, Dad.” She leaned over and squeezed his hand. “And you’re two tons lighter.”

  “I feel better, but . . .” He shook his head. “Maybe it was all a ridiculous effort. I doubt it’ll make an impact on any of them.”

  “Max, you did what you had to do. You made confession to them. Now it’s their choice whether or not they’ll forgive you. Remember your own reactions to your parents?”

  He frowned. “It’s obvious where Erik got his ‘who cares’ attitude.”

  She smiled softly. “And remember you and I discussed how the kids might react. We were not surprised. We imagined in one way or another everything you described.”

  “But—” His voice thickened. “If I could just erase those old tapes in their heads, then they could stop believing the lie that their dad ignored them because they’re worthless, unimportant people.”

  Through a shimmer she saw tears spill from his eyes.

  He rubbed the heels of his hands roughly across his face. “They should believe healthy things about themselves.”

  “Hon, you started erasing the old tapes today.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Yes. You most definitely did. With your apologizing, you loved on them. You loved on them like crazy. That in itself records new over the old.”

  He frowned, clearly not buying her interpretation.

  “Max!” Hearing her frustrated tone, she stopped talking. What was his problem? Lord, can I have some insight here?

  “It’s too little, too late,” he said.

  “Oh, hush up.” She scooted closer, rising on her knees until she was almost nose to nose with him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You sound just like them. God is your Father, Max. He’s trying to love on you like crazy and you won’t let Him. He’s trying to record in your heart that you matter. That He is wild about you even if you are imperfect. That He totally forgives you for being an absent dad.”

  Max tilted his head back, as if to focus better on her face.

  “You know this, hon. Jesus took care of it all on the cross. Right? Maybe, though—” She tapped his chest. “Maybe you don’t know it know it.”

  His frown eased into a wary expression. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re having trouble receiving love.”

  “Like the kids are?”

  “Ach!” She screamed in jest. “Let’s stop talking about the kids!” She drew his face closer to hers and kissed his cheek. In a husky voice, she whispered, “Let’s talk about us.”

  “Huh?”

  “I might be able to help you practice receiving love.” She kissed the corner of his smile.

  He chuckled. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “That my husband turns me on because he’s so incredibly honest and vulnerable?”

  Max burst into laughter. “Well that wasn’t exactly what I was thinking. But . . .” He kissed her in a slow, leisurely way. “I think we can go with that.”

  Eight

  This is
a familiar address,” Rosie said.

  Bobby pounded on the front door of the home again. “I don’t remember ever being in this building. Police!” He raised his voice. “Open up!”

  They were on the third floor of a condominium complex. Someone from the second floor had called in, complaining about loud voices and crashes above them. At the moment no sound came from the other side of the door. Still she tensed. Domestic disturbances were the worst. More than once a berserk couple had turned from beating on each other to physically attacking her or Bobby.

  She said, “No, I don’t think we’ve been here before. The street and number seem familiar is all.”

  Her partner thumped the door again.

  “Coming!” a female voice called out.

  A long moment passed before the door finally opened. A smiling woman greeted them. “Hi!”

  Thirtyish. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Homecoming queen material. Black cocktail dress, above the knee, plunging neckline. Local television news personality. Felicia Matthews, in the flesh. Plenty of flesh.

  Aw, nuts. Matthews plus the familiar address equaled Erik Beaumont’s place. Not that Rosie had memorized his address from his driver’s license. She just remembered numbers.

  “You’re the police?” Matthews cocked her head.

  Maybe the question was rhetorical. Rosie thought of how she and Bobby looked like twins dressed in their uniforms, short cold-weather jackets with telltale insignia, and ten pounds of equipment hanging at their waists making their hips look wide as a squad car.

  Rosie hoped to spit that they were the police.

  Bobby said, “There was a complaint about loud noise coming from your condominium.”

  “Oh, the condo is not mine. It belongs to my boyfriend.”

  “May we come in?”

  “But we’re fine, Officer. He was fussing maybe a bit too loudly, but he’s settled down now.”

  “Ma’am, we really need to check things out if you don’t mind.” He smiled his real smile, not the cop one.

  To keep from laughing, Rosie pressed her tongue against her cheek. Obviously he recognized the woman too. He had told Rosie that, like her, he’d watched the Beaumont-Matthews TV news show after they’d arrested the guy. Bobby asked his wife if she would tape the news when he was at work; he didn’t want to miss a chance to ogle Felicia. His wife didn’t think he was funny.

  “Certainly.” Matthews backed out of their way. “Please come on in. Erik! We have company, dear!” She shut the door behind them.

  Although lamps were dim and gas flames danced in a fireplace, Rosie felt an instant coldness, a harshness about the place. The tiled foyer opened into a combination area of kitchen, dining, and living rooms. Uncovered floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, black except for distant city lights. Daylight hours would provide a spectacular, big-bucks view.

  A spiral staircase led to a small landing with one door, presumably a bedroom. Furnishings were ultramodern, all gleaming stainless steel and glass and sharp edges. Upholstery was black. The place was a mess with newspapers, clothes, and whatnot scattered everywhere.

  “By the way,” the woman said, “I’m Felicia Matthews.” She said the name in an offhand way, making it obvious that she knew they knew her identity.

  Bobby shook her hand. “Nice to meet you in person. I’ve seen you on the news. I’m Officer Bobby Grey. This is Officer Delgado.”

  Rosie nodded to her, not reaching for her hand since it was still clasped with Bobby’s.

  Erik Beaumont appeared, emerging from a hallway at the back.

  Felicia said, “This is Erik Beaumont.”

  Although he seemed alert and his white shirt was tucked neatly into his jeans, he did not look well. He’d probably been drinking at some point that night. He stopped a few feet from them, making no effort to engage in conversation, his arms crossed.

  Felicia went on, “So, as you can see, everything is fine and dandy. No disturbance going on here. What else can we do for you?”

  Rosie said, “Mr. Beaumont, there’s blood on your shirt. Are you all right?”

  “Hm?” He looked down at his white shirt. “Oh, that.” He held up a hand, a large bandage across its palm. “Just a little accident. We dropped some plates on the hearth and I was picking up shards of glass. Cut myself.”

  “‘Dropped’ plates on the hearth?” Rosie asked.

  “Actually, they may have been thrown.”

  Felicia made a huffing noise.

  He looked at her. “What?”

  “Isn’t this humiliating enough, having the police come to your door? Why would you say anything about plates being thrown?”

  “Because you pitched them at my head, Felicia.”

  “Only after you shouted at me, Erik.”

  Obviously the argument wasn’t finished.

  “Officer Grey.” Felicia twirled on her heel. “I don’t want to talk to him anymore. I’d like to go home now. Can I do that?”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Unless either of you want to file charges?”

  “File charges?” She laughed, a tinkly sound. “Of course not! We just had a minor spat. We’ll make up tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Beaumont?”

  “Yeah. Ditto.”

  “Ma’am, do you have a car?”

  “Yes.” She waltzed to a coatrack and lifted a white furry thing from it.

  “Officer Delgado will escort you to it.”

  “That would be sweet, but . . .” She batted her eyelashes.

  Rosie batted her own, not quite believing what she was seeing.

  Matthews said, “To tell you the truth, Officer Grey, I’d feel safer with a man. I’m parked way down the block and it is the middle of the night.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be happy to walk with you.”

  Rosie cleared her throat. Bobby hustling off with a woman was never part of their game plan if they could help it. It provided too much opportunity for the appearance of impropriety.

  He mouthed, “It’s okay.”

  She made her eyes go wide. He raised his brows in reply, telling her not to worry. She imagined he couldn’t wait to brag to his wife.

  Men!

  Speaking of men in that exasperated tone . . .

  There was Erik Beaumont, shuffling off toward the kitchen. He was barefoot.

  A confused mishmash of emotions hit Rosie. In another day, she could have fallen for a guy like Beaumont. Correction: She had fallen for a guy like him. Scratch that noise. Never again. He was a waste of oxygen.

  But she understood enough about human nature to catch on that Beaumont was one hurting puppy. That led to compassion. And that unlocked the door to her Adopt the Hopeless Club, prompting her to pray silly things like, “Swamp him with Your love.”

  Bobby’s voice echoed in her mind. “Balance, Rosie. Find the balance. Don’t give up on him, but don’t lose your mind over him either.”

  Rosie sighed to herself and headed to the kitchen.

  Erik was pulling a brandy snifter from a cupboard, his back to her.

  “Mr. Beaumont.”

  He turned. “Thought you left.”

  “No. I need to make sure you’re all right.” She walked over to him. “Can’t go off and then have you bleed to death. Bad publicity for the department, you know. By the way, you are still bleeding, sir.”

  He held his bandaged hand up again. Blood had soaked through the wrap. “It’s nothing.”

  “Let me see it. Why don’t you sit down?” She pulled latex gloves from her back pocket and put them on.

  He sat at a nearby glass-and-chrome table.

  Kneeling in front of him, she took his hand and began to lift the wide bandage.

  He said, “You seem vaguely familiar.”

  “You don’t recognize me?” She smiled to herself, remembering that was the question he asked her.

  “Should I?”

  “DUI. About ten days ago.”

  “Eww. That was an ugly night. Sorry. I wouldn’t recognize
my own mother if she’d been the one arresting me.”

  “I think you need stitches.” The half-inch gash was deep and crossed the fleshy part of his right palm. “We can transport you to the ER. You could take a cab home.”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  “Well, let me wrap it better than this.”

  “Then will you leave?”

  “Promise. Where—”

  “Top cupboard, left of the sink.”

  She found a first-aid kit and carried it to the table.

  “You creak and clink when you walk.”

  “Yeah.” She knelt before him again. “I don’t see any broken plates on the hearth.”

  “One good thing about Felicia is she cleans up her messes. Guess I should have let her do it by herself.”

  Rosie found everything she needed in the kit and went to work on his hand. “So I was wondering, Mr. Beaumont, why is it we meet twice within two weeks? Your neighborhood is part of a large area I patrol, but I’ve been at it for over a year and have never seen you before.”

  “I guess up until now I’ve been a very good boy.”

  “Or you just haven’t gotten caught.”

  “Did you always want to be a cop?”

  “Nice change of subject.” She smiled. “No, I did not always want to be a cop.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Bad guys like you. Drove me round-the-bend bonkers what they got away with. I quit law school. Figured making arrests would be a lot more fun than practicing corporate law.” She paused. “Making a charge stick can be a challenge though.”

  “The mayor is a friend of my dad’s. That’s how I got out of the DUI.”

  “I heard.”

  “Bet that drove you round-the-bend bonkers.”

  “Soon as I finish bandaging your hand, I’m going to shoot you in the leg.”

  He laughed.

  She looked up at him. His eyes were greenish, his teeth white and the kind of even that came only from orthodontic work. His black hair was just long enough to be mussy. She glimpsed the little boy he must have been.

  Nuts. She really didn’t care to see him in that light.

  When he stopped laughing, she said, “Did you always want to be a bad guy?”