by Sally John
Now she said to the policewoman, “We got a pizza. Mostly we talked. She insisted she wanted the police to go with us today. Finally Erik promised to call you. I convinced her to use the bedroom upstairs. We sort of crashed in the living room. It was just totally weird.”
Erik said, “She had papers. She knew all the right stuff. The year Uncle BJ disappeared in Vietnam, that he was a pilot. Our dad’s name. Nana and Papa’s names. She said she was born in 1980, which means . . .” He paused.
They’d all agreed, it was the worst point of her story.
“Which means,” Erik continued, “that he would have been there for a long time.”
“And where is he now? And her mother?”
“They’re dead.” He shrugged. “No clue when that happened.”
“Didn’t the U.S. pull out of ’Nam in seventy-three or so?”
“Yeah. BJ was shot down in January, days before the signing of the Paris Peace Accords. Of course things didn’t end overnight, but still, the timing stinks.”
Delgado winced. “I’m sorry.”
No one said anything. Lexi was used to such silences. They occurred whenever a conversation went to Uncle BJ, even with total strangers.
“Yet,” Erik said, “we don’t know whether we can trust her or not. We decided to call in the pros. What do you think?”
“A crime hasn’t been committed.”
“But do we trust her?”
“Play it out. Take her to your grandparents. She must have talked to officials who helped her find you. Get in touch with people who know about this sort of thing.”
“Will you come with us?” Erik asked.
“It’s not exactly what I do. If she wants some sort of official protection, you could hire a private security person.”
“We would pay you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point? You’re a police officer and this wacko wants help from a police officer! Aren’t you into building community relations?”
The exchange between Erik and the cop grew curious. Lexi sat back in her chair to watch. Some undercurrent flowed, some undefined tension.
Normally by now, Erik would have switched on his charm to full blast. By now, the recipient would have been kissing his feet. But none of that was happening.
Officer Delgado was not his type. His girlfriends had always been Felicia clones: blonde, blue-eyed, attractive in spandex, feet kissers. The policewoman was plain looking. Her shape, though hidden in the sweatshirt, appeared more solid than curvy. She was a Latina, a culture that usually brought out Erik’s snooty side. Lexi never could understand why he acted prejudiced at times, like he forgot Native American blood ran in his own veins.
To top it off, something in this woman’s attitude said she’d never so much as touch his little toe, let alone kiss it. Maybe she hated newsmen. Maybe she had her own issues.
No wonder there was an undercurrent.
“The point is,” Delgado said, “no crime has been committed.”
“You already made that observation.”
Danny whistled softly. “Wow.”
Lexi followed his gaze and looked over her shoulder. Wow was right.
“Hm,” Erik murmured.
The stranger, their so-called cousin, glided down the staircase, a vision of Asian elegance.
She wore what Lexi thought must be a traditional outfit, a long tunic with side slits and a standup collar. It fell over pants of the same color, a sunburst yellow gold. Down one side of the tunic, from top to bottom, flowed an intricately embroidered floral design, white petals and spring-green leaves and stems. Her black hair was smooth, freshly shampooed, falling just so in a blunt cut.
Lexi noted the one off-key note. Despite the dress, the young woman did not resemble a typical Southeast Asian. The shape of her eyes and face hinted at it, but she was too tall and large-boned. It was obvious one of her parents could have been American. And then there was the blue. They said Uncle BJ’s eyes were that color, like Papa’s.
For the first time since their bizarre meeting, Lexi admitted that Tuyen could very well be her cousin, a person whose existence had never even been imagined by any of her family.
“Okay.” The quiet word came from the policewoman. “I’ll go with you.”
Fifteen
Rosie, Rosie.” Bobby set down his hammer and wiped sweat from his brow with his T-shirt sleeve. “Didn’t I tell you to close up shop? This Adopt the Hopeless junk leads nowhere.”
Ignoring her partner’s disapproval, Rosie sat beside him on the wooden step. “It’s looking really great.” She referenced the deck he was in the process of building behind his house.
“Thanks, but let’s not change the subject.”
“I didn’t stop by to ask your permission. I just wanted to let you know why I was taking the day off.”
“Because it makes so much sense. You’re using up your personal time to impress a loser.”
“Rephrase: to develop community relations.”
“With a family up in the hills? In case you haven’t noticed, that is not your community.”
“Think big picture, Bobby. I was all set to say no, and then this young Asian woman walks into the room and I realize, hey! We’re talking about a real human being who wants me to help her unite with grandparents she’s never met. You would have said yes too.”
“Did you tell your dad?”
She gazed at the sky and shook her head in disbelief. “He asked if I’d told you.”
“Your two guardians. We drive you round-the-bend bonkers, don’t we?”
She punched his arm. “The thing is she made me think of my own family. I remembered when my two cousins came up from Mexico, ages ago. We’d never met them before, and they were so terrified, so desperate for a new start in the States. They lived with us for a while and Papi gave them work.”
“You’re talking about your cousins at the restaurant? Ramón and Raúl, the chefs?”
“Yes.”
“I thought they were born in California, like you.”
“They weren’t.” She felt the hackles. “And they’re legal.”
“I wasn’t implying—”
“Sorry.” She took a deep breath and blew it out. “I know you weren’t. For a second, you sounded like that prig Beaumont.”
“I take it, then, you’re not getting involved with this situation because you’ve got a thing for him?”
She glared at him. “Yeah, right. I have the hots for a spoiled-brat borderline racist who went on air drunk, shredded his girlfriend’s reputation to pieces, and knowingly threw away his life’s work.”
“Just making sure.” Bobby smiled. “Did she say why she wants the police escort?”
“She didn’t directly answer the question, but I know why. It was the terrified look in her eyes. It was the same one my cousins had. They’d witnessed death and destruction in the homeland. There was nothing for them to return to. Their only hope lay in our hands.”
“You’re not this woman’s family, though.”
“No. But I think Tuyen Beaumont, for some reason, can’t trust her American family like my cousins could trust my dad. Maybe she heard bad stuff about them. Maybe, for some reason, a uniform symbolizes safety.” Rosie glanced at her dark-blue slacks and long-sleeved shirt with its patch and her badge pinned on the front.
“A uniform, like her GI father,” he offered.
“Maybe.”
Maybe. She sighed to herself. Lord, why is it I sense it’s more like You’re sending me?
The answer came clearly, as it sometimes did. It was the same as turning a page in a book and reading the last half of a sentence.
“Bobby, I just know that she’s at the end of her rope and I’m in a position to help keep her from letting go.”
They met in a parking lot a couple blocks from Erik Beaumont’s condominium. Rosie got out of her SUV and walked over to them.
She smiled at Tuyen and received a shy one
in return. The young woman still wore the beautiful ao dai, probably because the occasion was extraordinarily special. She would want to make the best impression on her father’s parents.
“Are you ready?”
Tuyen nodded.
The Beaumonts stood in a semicircle near Erik’s car, its rooftop up. The twins were nothing like their brother. By comparison, they seemed fairly normal, not uppity or obnoxious. Dan was seldom still, Lexi seldom moved much at all.
Dan said, “Thanks for the uniform.”
“Sure. Sorry I couldn’t use a squad car.”
“No problem. Tuyen prefers to ride with you.”
The woman nodded again.
Rosie said, “That’s fine. Does the family know you’re coming?”
“Yes. I talked to Mom. They’ll all be there. They probably think it’s about Erik’s fiasco last night.”
Erik chuckled. “Won’t they be disappointed. They’ve probably been checking out rehab centers and putting my name on waiting lists.”
Lexi ignored him. “And I called our sister, Jenna. She’s getting off work early so she can come. Her husband’s overseas. She’s so miserable, she didn’t even ask why.”
“Anyone else included?” Rosie asked.
“No.”
She studied their faces. “You three look like you’re ready to keel over.”
The frown lines deepened.
“Okay, listen. You didn’t sleep well last night, if at all. You probably haven’t eaten right today. This news is too much to take in. You’re fearing for your parents and grandparents because they will be as upset as you are, probably more so. Why don’t you all give it a rest and ride with me?”
They exchanged glances and half nods.
Dan said, “We can hitch a ride back with Jen.”
“Okay then. Let’s go.” Rosie caught the tone of her own voice. She might as well have said, “Chop, chop! Get a move on so we can get this over with.” That was Bobby’s influence, always telling her to stay on task. By which he meant it was time to disengage her feelings.
Which made sense, to a certain degree. Getting personally involved blurred the lines between her job as a professional and her life as a woman with hang-ups and opinions. The potential for disaster loomed in such situations.
But . . . there were these hurting people in front of her without an obvious bad guy to arrest.
When in doubt . . . Lord, I’m listening. You know the pain they’re in. Why can’t I be a help to them? Shouldn’t I be a help to them?
They climbed into her car, Erik up front with her, the other three in the backseat. As she slid the key into the ignition, he leaned toward her.
“Thank you, Officer.”
Her hand stilled. The sincere voice and somber expression held her attention. Perhaps the man was not beyond hope.
To heck with Bobby’s advice.
“Call me Rosie,” she said.
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
Sixteen
Her mind in overdrive, Claire surveyed the large room. Within moments her family would be gathered in it. And she would tell Erik, her firstborn, that she was sorry. So very, very sorry for failing him.
Max draped an arm across her shoulders. “Sweetheart, his wrong choices are not entirely our fault.”
In spite of his sensitivity to her unspoken fears, she could not melt into the comfort he offered.
“Claire,” Indio said, “you’ve got to let the guilt go.”
Let it go? But she hadn’t even admitted it yet, not to Erik, not to the one who needed to hear it.
She ignored their words and eye contact. “Do you all think this room is the best place for . . . for . . . ?”
Indio chuckled. “For a powwow? Yes.”
They still called the room by its old Spanish name, sala. It was a combination of sitting and dining rooms. Evidence of the fire that had scorched it was gone. Newly paneled walls and new terra-cotta tiles on the floor freshened its appearance. The ceiling was a clean white between the oak beams. Even the stonework around the enormous fireplace had been scrubbed clean of black streaks.
The room lacked a finished ambience. There was a barrenness to it, probably because no rugs or window coverings or artwork had been added yet. Nor was there enough furniture to accommodate future guests. The Spanish décor was haphazard, caught in the leather couch and wrought-iron chandelier, but not in the brass lamps.
“Mom.” Jenna sat between Indio and Ben on the couch. “We all have a place to sit. What else do we need?”
“I don’t know exactly. Something’s missing. What’s an intervention supposed to look like?”
“Claire.” Max hugged her close to his side. “I know we sent the construction workers home early so we’d have complete privacy. But this is more of a powwow than a formal intervention. We’re not prepared for that. We would need a counselor to help, a plan of action—”
“But, Dad,” Jenna protested. “We do plan to confront Erik, right? Tell him we love him and that we refuse to let him drink himself to death?”
Ben said, “It’s what he needs to hear.”
Max said, “How do we back up what we say? How do we not let him drink himself to death? It’s not like we live together. I don’t pay his bills, so it’s not like I can cut him off.”
Claire rubbed her forehead, weary of the questions that had no answers. Erik was bent on self-destruction. He was probably an alcoholic. She did not know how to fix him. Thirty years of mistake-riddled mothering stabbed at her soul. Life seeped out through pinprick punctures.
“Claire’s right,” Indio said. “Something is missing and it’s not curtains. We haven’t invited the Lord to join us.” She closed her eyes. “Holy God, I invoke Your presence right now. Dwell in our midst, direct our conversation . . .”
Claire gazed at her mother-in-law, wishing she could absorb Indio’s faith just by watching it in action. Why couldn’t she turn her thoughts like that, quick as a wink, to God and expect Him to answer?
“Amen,” Indio said with a smile directed at Claire. “Dear, I just remembered something. When Ben and I came to the realization that we had hurt our sons, we were sitting in this room. Since then, I’ve thought it a perfect place for mending hearts. I believe it will work just fine.”
Claire nodded in agreement. Riding the coattails of Indio’s wisdom sounded better than curling up in a fetal position.
Erik, Lexi, and Danny appeared without warning at the wide doorway of the sala. Its door had been left open to the courtyard, as it often was on sunny winter afternoons.
Claire took a step toward them, eager to hug Erik and to confess her mistakes and to get past the initial pain and pour unconditional love onto him—
Others came into sight. Two strangers. Two women.
Claire halted, her mouth half-open, her leg muscles tensed.
A policewoman.
And a tall woman of obvious Asian descent, wearing a formal dress of the Far East. Of . . . of Vietnam.
In that split moment, at some unconscious level, Claire knew what was going on. Her mind could not quite grasp it, though. Words failed to take shape to explain what “it” was.
She felt herself go very still. She sensed Max beside her go very still. She sensed Indio and Ben behind her go very still.
None of them had been watching at the windows. They had not seen or heard the group approach. That wasn’t unusual. There was no front door or doorbell. Given the U-shaped layout of the place, it was easy for people to roam in and about the hacienda unnoticed.
Claire imagined Erik and the others walking along the exterior entryway, a narrow hall that cut through the U between the parking lot and courtyard. The flagstones would have muffled their footfalls, the thick adobe walls their voices.
Indio spoke first. “Erik?” Her voice was more of an exhaled puff.
Erik’s smile kept slipping out of place. “Uh, we have some, uh, surprising news. Nana, you might want to sit back down.”
>
Claire made eye contact with him. Sorrow flowed through her, a steady stream of regrets mixed with words meant to heal. But she understood that they would not be spoken today. The meeting was not about him or her.
The stream pooled in a corner of her heart. She closed it in, shut it off, and hoped the dam would hold.
Seventeen
Chasing after suspects would have been easier. In the dark through city streets, on foot, blindfolded. Having a tooth pulled without benefit of a numbing agent would have been a treat by comparison.
Rosie sighed to herself. She didn’t have a choice. She was stuck witnessing a pain she could not begin to fathom rip its way through a family.
She watched the woman who stood nearest the door they had entered. On the ride up into the hills, Rosie had asked Erik for names, and so she figured this was the mother, Claire.
She wore stylish glasses, comfortable-looking khakis, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, no makeup. Her hair was chin length, brown going gray. She was of average height and weight, in her low fifties, attractive in an understated way that money made possible.
Her face spoke volumes. In light of Erik’s performance the previous night, Rosie imagined Claire’s forehead creases and sad mouth expressed a mother’s pain at her son’s humiliation. As the woman’s gaze passed over Rosie and landed on Tuyen in her oh-so-obvious Vietnamese dress, something shifted. A light went on.
According to Erik, Claire had never met BJ, the missing guy. But his mother had the appearance of an intelligent woman. She was probably bright enough to put two and two together. She would have heard the crazy stories about MIAs being spotted alive, and she would have wondered now and then about BJ’s fate.
Claire turned and touched Max’s arm as she walked past him. The grandparents, Ben and Indio, and the other sister sat down on the couch. Lowering herself to the floor, Claire sat at Indio’s feet and placed a protective hand on the older woman’s knee.
