by Sally John
She lowered her hand. “Okay. Okay. I really want to say I’m sorry in person. Thank you for the invitation.”
“You’ll come then?”
“Yes.” She smiled brightly now. “Speaking of meals, you haven’t had lunch yet, have you? I want my dad to meet you, and he will insist on feeding you.”
Lexi said, “I’m ready for lunch. Mom?”
“Are you sure?”
“Mom.” Her tone added, Give me a break.
Claire raised her brows, hesitant.
Lexi nodded vigorously.
“All right.” Claire looked at Rosie. “Yes. Thank you.”
While the young women discussed the menu, she gazed around the patio. It was a pleasant place, full of plants and flowers and brightly colored tableware and umbrellas. Tables were filling up with a noonday crowd.
Despite her effort to avoid the anxiety, it plowed its way through to her conscious mind, obliterating the Romans verse and the sweet anticipation of the whole family getting together later in the week.
Lexi ate mountains of food. She refused to talk about it or to seek help.
A silent wail filled Claire.
Thirty-One
Thursday evening, Rosie drove into the wide graveled area at the Hacienda Hideaway and turned off the engine. By the light of one pole lamp, she saw five other parked vehicles. Erik’s fancy convertible was not among them.
Maybe he had not come.
Of course, he shouldn’t be driving yet.
Given his arrogance, though, she would not be surprised at how many doctors’ orders he had already disobeyed.
Rosie felt the death grip she had on the steering wheel. “Let go.” She lifted her hands, holding them up midair. “And let it go, whatever ‘it’ is. Lord? Could we have a little help here?”
With fingers extended, she gingerly rested her palms back on the wheel and breathed deeply.
She was fine. Or she would be fine once she made it through the next few steps. She reminded herself about her personal “backup team”: Papi, Bobby, and her priest. They’d sent her to the dinner with their blessings.
When Claire and Lexi came to the restaurant, Papi had met them. His initial standoffishness almost embarrassed Rosie, but Claire won him over. Elegance, poise, and a reference to God’s faithful hand keeping them all safe did it.
Rosie’s priest was an old confidant, wise and wizened Father John. He told her what she already knew—that confession to the ones she hurt was in order. It just always helped to hear his affirmations. Or maybe it was to see his gentle smile and the love shining in his eyes. He’d been there for her when her mother was ill, when she told Jesus He could take a hike. And he’d been there years later, pointing her to the counselors who lived out in the desert—the ones who’d carried her along the path back to Jesus.
Bobby had been more difficult to sway. He kept throwing legal ramifications at her until she agreed it made no sense. Finally she exclaimed, “Bobby! I answer to a higher authority. If I don’t take care of this, you can forget about me ever getting back out on the street.”
“You are certifiable, Delgado, you know that?” he had said. “Certifiable. All right, go. Just tell him you’re sorry he got hurt and then get out of there. Other than that, keep your mouth shut.”
“Okay.”
Now, in the car, she murmured to herself, “Okay. I can do this. I have to do this.”
She glanced around the darkened grounds. Solar lamps lit a pathway up a few railroad-tie steps from the parking area, then along a walk to the front opening of the old house. Lights shone through the large kitchen and living room windows.
A new sign had been erected since the previous week. Low to the ground, next to the stairs, it proclaimed simply in rounded letters: Hacienda Hideaway ~ A Place of Retreat.
She understood it was not yet reopened to the public. Construction work remained unfinished. Considering recent developments, she imagined family work remained unfinished as well.
But she remembered the indelible peace imprinted on Indio’s face even as she heard the worst possible news about her son. And in the midst of it, she’d enfolded Tuyen into the family with grace to spare. Rosie thought, too, of Claire’s sincere demeanor, Dan’s friendliness, Lexi’s guarded openness.
Maybe it already existed, this Place of Retreat. If anybody needed one that evening, it was Rosie.
So.” Rosie leaned forward, the better to hold eye contact with Erik. “I am sorry you got hurt.” The sound of Bobby’s exact words tripping off her tongue almost made her gag. “Nuts. Scratch that.”
Seated in a recliner, its footrest up, Erik propped an elbow and cupped his chin in his hand. “You’re not sorry?”
“Of course I’m sorry you got hurt, but you got hurt because I shot you. Therefore, what I’m really sorry about is that I shot you.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is if I say I’m sorry I shot you, that begs the question: did I have to? And that opens a whole Pandora’s box of lawsuit-type propositions.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Hazards of the trade. These things happen.”
“But you’ve been cleared.”
“Technically, but—never mind.”
“Nope.” He wagged a finger at her. “‘Never mind’ is not allowed. You nearly killed me. You owe me at least a teensy glimpse into your anguished soul.”
She sat back. “I do not.”
“Then it is anguished?”
“Anybody’s would be.”
“Even a cop’s?”
“We’re human.”
“Hey!” He grinned. “I’ve got a brilliant idea. I could do a documentary, an in-depth study into the psyche of a policewoman. What makes her tick? More important, what makes her pull the trigger?”
Rosie stood. “I have to go.”
“You just got here. My mother will be so hurt if you leave. And my grandmother. And Lexi. And Tuyen. The poor girl was ecstatic about you coming.”
“My partner said I had to leave after apologizing.” She thrust out her hand to shake his, and then, flustered, pulled it back. He couldn’t stretch out his right hand. His right arm was in a sling.
“Uh, good-bye,” she said and turned.
He grasped her arm with his left hand. “Rosie, please.”
She looked at him and noticed everything she had tried to ignore. His handsome face a deathly pale, his hazel eyes rimmed in dark circles, his long body spilling over the recliner as if poured there, devoid of all strength.
He smiled. “I promise to put my insolent self to rest for the remainder of the evening.”
“You have another self available?”
“On rare occasions. Are you sure you don’t want to do that doc with me? You really would be an intriguing subject.”
“Yeah, right. Seriously, I have to—”
“Seriously, my family would be immeasurably disappointed if you left. And I was so hoping to give them the night off from disappointment.”
She sighed. “We can’t talk about what happened.”
He let go of her arm and fell back against the chair as if exhausted by the movement. “What happened when?”
She smiled and told herself it wasn’t guilt over his condition that persuaded her to stay for dinner. Nor was it his disgustingly charming persona focused on her.
No. It all boiled down to that sign out front: Hacienda Hideaway ~ A Place of Retreat. What else could one ask for? Especially a cop on suspension who could not fathom the desire to ever pick up a gun again.
Thirty-Two
Lexi had always viewed Beaumont family dinner conversations like Amtrak trains gone amok: hurtling along one moment at breakneck speed, derailing the next with discordant crunching noises.
As if that weren’t unsettling enough, there was the added pressure of luscious food prepared by the world’s best cooks—her mom and grandmother. To eat or not to eat? How much? How little? How to rearrange things on the
plate to give the correct impression?
Lexi had hoped that Rosie Delgado’s presence at the table might change the dynamics, but no such luck. The policewoman fit right in, going at Erik like an express train making up for lost time.
Rosie was holding up a hand, her fingers spread apart. “Five miles, Beaumont.” She kept calling Erik by his last name.
“No way.” He grinned. “It’s in feet or yards or meters. Five meters?”
“This is nothing to laugh about! You better think of it as five miles. If Felicia Matthews can see you, if she can even vaguely make out your likeness in the distance, you are in violation of the restraining order. Got that?”
They all sat at one end of the sala, around the new dining table. It was huge, rectangular and rustic, made of rough hewn pine with eighteen chairs—enough to accommodate future guests when the Hideaway reopened.
The ten Beaumonts sat, spread apart along the table, Max and Ben at the far ends. There was too much space, but the kitchen table was small and her mother insisted they all sit together.
One big happy family.
Ben scowled. “Erik, don’t you dare go near Felicia. You’ve filled your quota for stupid actions this year.”
Jenna touched their grandfather’s arm. “Papa, this one wasn’t entirely his fault. Somebody did this to him. Rosie, do you think the police will ever find that guy?”
Beside Lexi, the policewoman stared bug-eyed across the table at Jenna as if she’d lost her mind.
Erik burst out laughing. “Our resident cop cannot believe you actually said that. Jen, I was hammered and a raving lunatic. I don’t remember a thing. I don’t remember what he looked like. You can’t lay this off on some sap who gets his kicks from taking advantage of willing dupes.”
Ben said, “Eh, there is hope yet for the eldest.”
Danny chimed in. “Erik, this went a few steps beyond getting kicks. He intentionally harmed you and it could have been a lot worse.”
“It wasn’t intentional. Guys like that don’t think of consequences. Shoot, guys like me don’t think of consequences.”
Danny ignored him. “Right, Rosie? It could have been worse.”
Rosie pressed a finger against her lips and shook her head.
Erik said, “She’s not talking.”
Next to him, Tuyen said, “Why not talking, Miss Rosie?”
Lexi tsked in disgust. She was so tired of the so-called cousin, of everyone kowtowing and explaining things umpteen times in umpteen different ways. Well, everyone except their grandpa. He showed up for some dinners, but he still ignored the woman.
As Rosie leaned forward and attempted to clue in Tuyen on the intricacies of the law, Danny shot Lexi a glance that said he heard the tsk and disapproved.
Yeah, well, so did she. In reply, she narrowed her eyes at him. Since their argument in her office last Friday morning, they hadn’t talked. That night in the hospital, while they all waited through Erik’s surgery, Danny had hugged her, but there had been no verbal connection between them, no glide back into that easy twin rapport.
One big happy family.
Ben said, “Jenna, did you hear from Kevin this week?”
Lexi’s stomach did a double backflip. She reached for the serving spoon in the large casserole dish in front of her.
“Yes,” Jenna said. “He e-mailed last night.”
E-mailed. A bitter tone underscored the word.
Lexi scooped cheesy potatoes onto her plate. They were Nana’s specialty. One of her specialties. She was a great cook.
“You know.” Ben went on in that voice he’d been using since the Vietnamese woman’s arrival. It was so not his own. “We used to wait weeks to get a letter from BJ. No such thing as e-mail back then. Talk about gut-wrenching.”
Jenna shook her head. “I’m not sure how helpful it is to read that he’s so exhausted he can hardly stand up. Or that he’s going to a place he can’t name and can’t e-mail from. Or that it’s something like two hundred degrees. Or that he saw more starving children today he wasn’t allowed to feed. Or that—”
Erik swung his good arm around her and pressed her face against his shoulder.
From the other end of the table, Indio glowered at Ben.
One big happy family.
While her grandparents exchanged frowns, Erik’s sweatshirt soaked up Jenna’s tears, Rosie and Tuyen continued their talk, and Max asked Danny something about a work project. Lexi savored a bite of potatoes, creamy in a delectable blend of cheddar cheese and sour cream. She figured she could jog them off later, take the starlit road down to her grandparents’ place and back up before driving home.
“Well!” Claire smiled, a bright headlamp on yet another speeding train. “Only three weeks until the wedding!”
Lexi wondered what her mom’s point was and stabbed a fork into a slice of ham on the nearby platter. Not that she cared what her point was, but evidently Claire thought somebody did because she kept talking.
“Yesterday, Tuyen and I found a beautiful black dress for her to wear to it.”
Danny stopped midsentence. “Excuse me, Dad.” He turned to their mom. “But we ordered that black dress online, the traditional one. What’s it called again?”
Max filled in the blank. “Ao dai.”
Her father did not remember that Lexi took gymnastics and art lessons, but he remembered obscure phrases in Spanish and Vietnamese and whatnot languages because he’d spent his life with non-English speaking people who needed jobs.
Claire said, “Yes, we ordered that and she can use it for other occasions. But for our reception, she decided she doesn’t want to stand out so much. She wants to wear something similar to Jenna and Lexi. I think it’s a great idea. It’ll help her blend in more with the family.”
The meat on Lexi’s tongue dried up into stringy, tasteless threads.
“Lex.” Her mom leaned around Danny to face her. “Nordstrom got in some new dresses. Lots of different styles. You might find one you like now. Tuyen’s is simple and really pretty, not slinky. Maybe you can shop this weekend.”
Tuyen swiveled to Claire and smiled. “I not look like prostitute.”
“No you don’t, hon.”
Huh?
Jenna said, “Huh?”
Something indecipherable rumbled in Ben’s throat.
Nana grasped Tuyen’s hand on the table.
Max tilted his head, his mouth half-open. He knew. He was just searching for the right words.
Danny rescued him. “She used to. She had to. It makes horrible sense. I mean, people in her country despise her mixed race. Even her own grandparents shunned her.” He raised a shoulder. “She had no other way to support herself.”
It was the derailing moment. Whistles shrilled and metal screeched against metal. Lexi flinched.
Her mom talked about dresses and shopping while her grandparents argued, while her relationship with Danny disintegrated, while Erik recovered from almost being killed, while Kevin was probably getting himself killed or worse.
While a prostitute was welcomed into the family.
Lexi pushed her chair from the table and bolted across the room and out the door.
Racing madly from the site of the family train wreck, Lexi tore around the outside of the house and down the front sidewalk. Cold night air slammed into her lungs. Darkness enveloped her.
“Lexi!” Her dad yelled her name.
She ignored him. Her feet scarcely touched the railroad-tie steps. She dashed across the gravel parking area to her car and grabbed the door handle.
“Wait!” Max’s hand slammed against the car door.
She let go and turned, her chest heaving.
“What is going on with you?” He wasn’t the least bit out of breath. That was because he played tennis. Through it all, he played tennis. Through Erik’s baseball and Jenna’s recitals and Lexi’s once-in- a-lifetime art show senior year and the near-divorce and the fire and—
“Lexi! Talk to me! For once, just
talk to me!” His face inches from hers, he nearly shouted.
Cool, calm, collected, always-in-control Max Beaumont never raised his voice.
Lexi stepped back against the car and crossed her arms.
“Please,” he said in a lower voice. “I want to know what’s going on with you.”
They faced each other in the shadows. Except for the string of ground solar lamps, the only light came through windows in the distance.
There, in the cold and dark, it struck Lexi: she’d stopped coming to the Hacienda Hideaway because it was gone. It no longer existed. It wasn’t that the spotlights on the parking lot were not yet replaced. Nor was it the lack of bushes and flowers and trees. Nor the unfinished guest rooms that meant there was no space for her to sleep.
No, it was not a physical thing. Her parents and the stranger from Vietnam had invaded the home and annihilated its very essence. The peace and safety she’d always known with her Nana and Papa were gone. That was what she meant when she told Danny that everything had changed.
“Lexi, what’s wrong? Why are you leaving in the middle of dinner?”
“I can’t stay!” She huffed out the words, her breath shallow from running, from trying not to be sick, from fleeing a rage that tore through her.
“But why?”
“Nothing’s the same!” Things went dreamlike. As if she were another person, she watched herself lean against the car and blurt things she did not recognize as coming from her own mind. “I don’t belong! I don’t fit in. Not that I ever did. She’s a prostitute?”
“Was. What do you mean you don’t fit in?”
“For one thing, I’m not a hooker.”
“Is this about Tuyen?”
“No!”
“About all the attention she’s getting? If it helps any, it’s hard on all of us. To think that BJ survived all those years—of course you fit in.”
“Yeah, right. It doesn’t look or feel that way, okay? It just doesn’t. It never has. And I’m sick of pretending. You and Mom can have your fancy wedding with your long-lost niece. Danny can go soak his head. And everybody else—oh forget it! It doesn’t matter.”
