Clarity hit me like a sledgehammer and my lips split into a smile. “That’s what this is. You don’t care if I forgive you. You’re worried about God.” I heard a laugh escape me then, an evil razor-edged rumble, half mad. “It’s not about me. Just like always.”
Mateo’s eyes widened, and I saw a familiar fear make his face crumple slightly—the same way he’d looked when we were kids and he knew Papi was going to explode.
“Hard as it might be to accept, Rob, people make genuine realizations when they’re dying,” Antonio said, defending the man who had always favored him.
Papi lay still, his eyes closed again, the cigar smoking between his lips.
“You’ve died a few times, yeah?” I shot at him. Anger was making words come faster. Just not the right ones. Not the ones people wanted to hear.
“Fuck you, Roberto.” Antonio said.
“Pretty much what you’ve always done,” I answered.
He shook his head, the same way I’d seen parents do when disappointed with their children’s behavior. So superior. So fucking typical.
“Well, I guess we’re done here,” I said, turning to go.
“No, son.” Papi’s voice was strong, though his eyes remained closed. “I cannot make you forgive me. I can only ask. But know it is genuine. It is more about you, and less about God. I don’t fear my death, or meeting my maker. What I fear is leaving this world without trying to make you know that I have regrets. Make you know that I know I was wrong. That my love for you and my amazement at the man you’ve become were shadowed always by my own inability to look beyond a single moment. I was wrong, son. You don’t have to forgive me.” He was silent, and one fat tear rolled from a watery eye. “I was wrong. About many things. And I know it.”
Once he’d spoken the words he deflated, his shoulders rounding in slightly as he extinguished the cigar and closed his eyes again.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I tried to understand how to react. I had spent years wishing. Years hoping that Papi would suddenly look at me and say, “Oh, Roberto, how did I miss how smart and capable you are? How could I have been so wrong?” But hearing it actually said did almost nothing to clear out the years of detritus I’d accumulated through piling up defenses strong enough for it not to hurt anymore.
None of us seemed to know what to do. How did years of resentment and anger just slip away?
“Okay,” I said, my voice rough and loud in my own head. I reached out and touched Papi’s hand. Not a squeeze, not a caress. I couldn’t manage that. Just a touch.
A smile crossed his lips, and then faded. Mateo gathered the ashtray and cigar, and waved me toward the door. Antonio seemed to be content to stay, seated at our father’s bedside.
Outside the room, Mateo looked smaller, more like the boy he’d been. “Now do you understand?”
I nodded.
“So you’ll stay.” It wasn’t a question, and the relief in his voice made it harder to say the next words.
“I can’t. I need to get back. Drive me home?”
…
Mateo talked me into spending the night at Bodega Buena Vida, where my cousin Maria had summoned her mother and my other cousins for what turned into a family reunion of sorts. Papi stayed in his room, and I didn’t see him again until just before I left. But as I sat at the long dining room table that night, the faces of my family all around me, smiling, laughing, and drinking, something inside slid into place. Like a broken bone growing quietly back together, something in my heart healed.
Maria’s bright eyes danced as she told a story about her mother, my Papi’s sister, trying to teach her to dance as a child, so focused on Maria getting the moves right that she didn’t even notice she was at the edge of a drop-off in the yard until she’d toppled over it. The family laughed as Tia Lupe smiled and shrugged. She was so different from her brother, my father. So unassuming and humble. I sat between my brothers, not speaking much—not that I could have kept up with the rapid-fire conversation buzzing around me, a mix of Spanish and English and some deRosa language only we really knew. The noise and the laughter, combined with the wine that came from the land where we lived, wove a gauzy web of life around us. I was in the midst of something I hadn’t known for a long time—family. Pure and simple, this was my family and I was included and accepted. And loved. I watched the faces of these people I’d known my whole life, people I’d chosen not to see for much too long.
When I had left, I’d been young. And I had left the situation, not the people, though over the years I had begun to get the two things mixed up in my head. Mateo had come back and opened the lid of the box I’d sealed, talking about my obligations as a son, my place here. And I’d heard what I had expected to hear. But now I realized his words might have said something else. I’d heard only that I was required, that I had no choices. But what I understood, sitting in the midst of these people, was that those things were not a yoke thrown over my shoulders to control me. They were an opportunity to be a bigger part of something I would always belong to anyway.
I finally understood that my heart didn’t have to choose. It was like a doorway had appeared where I thought I’d sealed the way through. And knowing I could return, that these people had been here all the time, loving me despite my distance, healed something I hadn’t even known was broken.
I spent that evening with my family, being loved and accepted, loving them, and finally feeling like a part of the world again. Being home.
…
Mateo was quiet during the long drive the next day. There were things that would need to be decided, things to happen relating to my part-ownership in family business. But I knew we would work them out when the time came. And I had no doubt there was another trip home in my near future. But other things needed attention first.
As the familiar landscape flew by the windows of the car, I didn’t see it. I saw Dani’s face—the horror and fear there when I’d picked up the ladder and thrown it across the shop. It wasn’t the first time I’d lost control. When I’d first woken up as a different person, when I’d found myself in the same body (for the most part) with a new brain to contend with, I’d been angry all the time. And thanks to the brain injury, I couldn’t easily process that feeling. I had nowhere for it to go, but needed it out. And so I’d raged. I’d thrown things and yelled, ripped my room apart at the rehabilitation hospital more than once. The therapists had taken it all in stride. They’d quietly righted tables and chairs, and rehung the shower curtain in my bathroom as I’d sat at the end of my bed watching, head ducked like a shame-filled child.
Trent had figured out it was best to give me a wide berth at first, too. And Sampson had forced himself right inside my angry orbit when I was worked up, had pushed his big head into my hands and shared his own brand of dog therapy. He calmed me better than any other modality had.
But Dani…I hated that she’d seen that. I hated that I hadn’t been able to control it. And I knew that meant I wasn’t healed. I’d known that for a long time. But since I’d met Dani, I’d had a sense of purpose and something to focus on. I’d been more grounded. And now that was gone. And I was spiraling again.
I knew I’d most likely lost her, and I had been pushing that awareness down inside myself because it hurt. We crossed the border back into San Diego, and it was like I was stepping back into the present. I was face-to-face with the empty void where Dani had stood for a short time. Her absence became more painful the closer Mateo drove to Ocean Beach. My heart twisted in my chest every time I thought of her wild hair, her smile full of sunshine and mischief. I knew I couldn’t go back to her now, not after that last day at the shop when I’d made the fear grow in her eyes.
I gripped the armrest of the car door hard as we turned down the alley toward Trent’s place, my knuckles turning white as I tried to force my mind away from thoughts of her. It hurt to admit how much I’d come to care about her. Instead, I made myself think about what she’d given me—the will to get better and
a purpose in my life beyond myself. And it was those two things I pulled in close and held with everything I had as I stepped out of the car and waved goodbye to my little brother. I had work to do.
Chapter Twenty
Dani
“I’ll meet you at the shop at eight,” I told Tony, my new contractor. I tried to cover my disappointment that he couldn’t start until Friday. Time was ticking toward opening, and the shop remained a shambles.
As I hung up, I wiped the tears from my cheeks. Why was the idea of working with this guy so awful? He was a professional. He’d done some work for one of the doctors Amy knew, and he came highly recommended. I told myself it would be better this way. The focus would be on the shop, on getting it ready to open in a week and a half. Instead of on whatever electric energy was playing in the air when Rob was there.
I pretended my tears and the sharp ache inside me weren’t for Rob. Whenever I thought about the way his eyes had blazed as we’d stood inches away from each other, or how his hands had seared my skin, I fought to control my emotions. I forced myself to forget that I had been falling in love with him. To forget that he’d surprised me with a box of cookies, never letting on that there was a gift waiting for me. I told myself the tears were stress. I was behind schedule, and the advertisements announcing the shop’s opening were already paid for and scheduled. There was no going back now.
…
I waited just inside the door at eight o’clock Friday morning. I was still standing there, furious, when a gleaming white truck pulled up into one of the diagonal spots out front at nine fifteen, the side of the truck emblazoned with red letters reading “Tony’s Construction.” So far the guy got zero points for either originality or punctuality. I told myself he had to be awesome to be able to pull off this kind of first impression.
A disheveled older man in a muscle shirt with scraggly gray hair and two days’ growth of salt and pepper stubble stepped down from the driver’s side, rubbing a hand over his face like he’d just woken up. He walked toward the shop and I stepped out.
“Tony?”
“Yeah, hi. You Dani?” He stuck out a hand and we shook.
I nodded, deciding not to start our day by pointing out that he was more than an hour late. “Shall I show you around?”
He shrugged, as if that hadn’t occurred to him. “Sure, let’s see what you’ve got here.”
I explained the concept to him as we walked around the small interior, and he ran his hand over the wine racks and shelves that already covered one wall.
“So I still need a high bar over here where we’ll do tastings,” I said, moving my arms around to show him the height and length I had in mind. “And a counter here for transactions, and that will need to line up with the food display cooler I’ve got.” I pointed at the glass fronted cooler case I’d purchased wholesale, which had been delivered the day before. “And then I want a few freestanding bookcases over here, with shelving on both sides—something sturdy that won’t go over, though.”
He was looking at me like I had three eyes. “In one week?”
I nodded.
“Not gonna happen,” he told me, one hand scratching at his ear. He smelled of stale cigarettes and unwashed sheets. I took a step back to try to find some clear air.
“The other contractor didn’t think it would be an issue.”
“Then he was a moron. Who were you using? Was it Frank Atello? That guy has no clue what he’s doing.” Tony pulled a cigarette from his pants pocket and held it to his lips, producing a lighter from another pocket.
“Please don’t light that in here.” I had a sinking feeling.
“All right. Lemme go outside and smoke. I’ll think about this while I take a quick break. Do my best thinking when I smoke,” he said, as if this was a totally acceptable thing to say to someone who was essentially your new employer.
I just stared at him as he let himself back out and leaned against the wall just past my window, smoking like he had all the time in the world. What the hell was I going to do? Was my timeline really that unrealistic? Rob had never said anything about that, though if Rob had kept working, we’d have had four more days than I did now. I knew it was tight, but Rob had made me feel like it was possible. Like all of this was possible. I watched Tony smoke, realizing I had no other options at the moment. The guy came highly recommended, so I could only hope his carpentry skill would overshadow his personality.
By lunchtime, Tony had begun actually building. Between nine fifteen and noon he’d smoked at least fifteen cigarettes, taken three phone calls, and told me several times how unrealistic my schedule was. I helped him unload his tools from the truck (only after I suggested maybe he could get his tools out and get started), and he spent a long hour measuring and pouring over the detailed sketches Rob had left.
“Who drew this stuff, Michelangelo?” he’d joked when I’d handed him the yellow ledger pad Rob had left.
“The other carpenter,” I told him.
“What happened to him? He get fed up with your crazy schedule?” Tony laughed at his own joke.
“Family emergency,” I said.
Once Tony had the saw running and it seemed like progress was actually being made, there was little for me to do but stand around watching him. Feeling useless, I stepped outside to call Britta again.
“Dani, darling,” she cooed as she answered her phone. “I’m so sorry I missed you the other day. I took a romantic little trip out to Catalina Island.”
“Romantic?” I said, surprised. “Really?”
“Remember the gentleman you saw last time you visited me? He finally got up the nerve to ask me out,” she gushed. Britta’s voice was high and clear. She sounded happy. I pushed down a misplaced feeling of envy. Why was love so easy for everyone else in the world? “The center had a trip planned, so we made a weekend of it. It was lovely.”
“I’m glad you had fun,” I said, trying to lighten my voice, which sounded heavy and dull. “I wondered if I could ask you a question.”
“Of course, honey.”
“Did you know my granddad?”
“Yes,” she said slowly, no doubt wondering whether she was about to betray a confidence to her best friend.
“Was he in the service?”
She paused, and I heard her draw a deep breath before answering. “He was,” she confirmed.
I had expected her to begin asking questions, but she was silent, letting me lead the way. “Why didn’t Nan ever tell us that?”
Britta made a small gulping sound on the other end of the line, and then said, “Do you want to come talk here, honey?”
I peered through the window at Tony, who was holding a measuring tape against the wall and shaking his head. “No, I need to stay at the shop, I’m behind schedule. Can you just tell me what you know? I really need to understand.”
“I don’t know, Dani.” There was a long silence. “I suppose there’s no harm now, you knowing everything.” It sounded like she was talking to herself as much as to me. I turned away from the window, staring down at the long pier stretching out into the water instead. “Your Nan loved your Granddad very much. And the reason she couldn’t speak about him was because she was so angry. But not at him, Dani. Remember that your grandparents were teenagers in the seventies. Your Nan had just turned seventeen when the Vietnam War began, and your grandfather was nineteen.”
My mind was turning, beginning to see how things might have played out. I hung on every word, sinking down to sit on the sidewalk, my back resting against the wall.
“He got drafted, as many young men did at that time,” Britta said. “And your grandmother became very angry. She was young and idealistic—we all were. She didn’t believe in the war, didn’t think we should be involved at all. And I think your Grandfather—Andrew was his name. You knew that, right?”
“I think so,” I said, the name sounding vaguely familiar as if maybe I had heard it when I was very young.
“Andrew was torn. He felt t
hat he had a duty to serve his country, but he was so completely in love with your grandmother. They got married right away, down at City Hall. I got to be a witness, and I thought it was just about the most romantic thing I’d ever seen…” She was quiet for a minute, and I sensed she was remembering everything, reliving it. “After that, your grandmother became convinced that the only option they had was to run. She wanted to go to Canada, or run away to a tiny town in Mexico. Any place Andrew could escape the draft.”
“What did they do?” I couldn’t believe I’d never heard any of this before. Part of me felt guilty, as if Amy should be learning all of this at the same time I was hearing it.
“Nan did her best to convince him, but Andrew told her it would be wrong. He decided to stay, to serve. Nan made him promise to come home safely, but after he was gone she fell apart with worry. She told him she’d never forgive him if anything happened to him.” Britta went quiet, and I waited for her to continue.
“Britta?”
She sniffed on the other end of the line and I realized she was crying. “I’m sorry honey,” she said, her voice suddenly weaker. “I haven’t thought about it in so long, about how broken your Nan was after that.”
“He didn’t come home.” It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Britta said, her voice thick. “And your mom was born just after the news came back that he’d been killed.”
I closed my eyes tight, unable to imagine how difficult that must have been for Nan. “But why wouldn’t she talk about him?”
Britta let out a long breath. “I don’t know for sure, honey. But she just stopped, and no one else wanted to bring up all the pain. So many people lost loved ones then, honey. It was just…it was a horrible time.”
“Did she talk to my mother about him?”
“I don’t think so. I think that was part of what your mother was so angry about. She was a wild girl, and I always thought she was searching for something, maybe she felt as though she was missing a piece of herself in not knowing her father, not knowing about him. I tried to suggest that to Nan, but she wouldn’t hear it. And once everything happened, once your mother left home…things were just hard, honey. Nan was strong, though. She put herself back together, and she found a way to be happy, and so I did my best just to be there. To love her.”
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