by Karen Harter
And then there was Alex. He stood alone, his narrowed eyes as hard as black marbles, not trained on the minister’s face but staring straight ahead toward the distant foothills. “Stay with me, Pop!” he had pleaded. She had heard his frantically murmured Spanish prayer. And then, as his father’s body was wheeled away, she had watched Alex’s face turn back to stone. Had he allowed himself to cry?
Sidney averted her eyes. She couldn’t look at him. If she were to break out in audible wails of sorrow, it would definitely not be good. She was an outsider there. They would all think she was out of her mind and maybe she was. Alex was almost a stranger despite the recurring intersections of their paths. Serious thoughts of her may never have crossed his mind, yet she found herself at that moment longing to be at his side. No one should bear pain alone.
Why did he stand apart from the rest of them? She remembered that Enrique had begged Alex to forgive someone—Ernesto. Was he here? Surely it had to be a family member if Alex’s forgiveness was so important to Enrique on his deathbed. Sidney discreetly blotted her eyes and began sorting through the men in the family cluster, leaving one that might qualify. He was not as tall as Alex, but the facial structure was strikingly similar. Judging by his expensive-looking black wool coat, shiny shoes (probably Italian), and red silk tie, he was definitely not from Ham Bone. The tall woman beside him had dark hair in a short designer cut that could be pulled off only by a beautiful face, which she had. She too appeared to have just walked out of Saks Fifth Avenue. Her eyes roved from the minister to the polished wood coffin and then, without moving her head in his direction, came to rest on Alex.
Sidney was intrigued. Alex stood off to the left while the graveside service was taking place directly in front of the rest of the family. Sidney stood on the right with a half-dozen or so friends of the clan. The woman’s intermittent gazes at Alex’s profile were furtive. The man, on the other hand, never glanced Alex’s way. He only turned his head from time to time toward the woman beside him, his left arm resting around her back.
When the service was over, Alex wheeled Amilia to a blue minivan that happened to be parked next to Sidney’s little red car. She lingered behind them awkwardly until Alex and Amilia were on the far side of their vehicle. Carmen caught up with her just as she got to her car, giving Sidney directions to her house, where a reception was being held. “Oh, thank you.” Sidney stared down at the printed half sheet in her hand. “I appreciate the invitation, but honestly, I feel a little out of place.”
Alex’s sister touched Sidney’s arm and smiled. “We’d love to have you if you can make it.” She turned to leave, commenting over her shoulder, “We’re usually not such a dreary batch!”
“Sidney!” It was Amilia’s voice, but Sidney couldn’t see her. She circled the back of the minivan. Alex had put her in the passenger seat and was folding up the empty wheelchair. Sidney smiled tenderly at him and he nodded.
“Hello, Sidney. Thanks for coming.” She wondered if he meant it.
“Sidney?”
“Here I am, Amilia.” Sidney reached through the open passenger door and took her hand. For a moment only their eyes spoke. “I want you to come,” Amilia whispered.
“All right.” Sidney gazed at her face. She had beautiful skin for a woman her age, soft, round cheeks, and eyes that even in her dark hour were full of love. Sidney wanted to be more like her. “I’ll do anything for you, Amilia.”
“Sidney, why don’t you follow me out to the house?” Alex slid the side door briskly until it latched. “My sister lives way out in the woods. It’s easy to get lost.”
CARMEN AND HER HUSBAND had built their log home on five acres in a bend of the Boulder River. Between two wings, the main living area boasted windows that stretched dramatically to a sharp peak. Sidney paused on the sprawling wraparound porch to glimpse the river between evergreen trees at the outer edge of the mowed yard.
She followed Alex and Amilia into the house, which was still filling up with people, seemingly more than the number who attended the graveside service. Amilia squeezed Sidney’s hand before Alex wheeled her down a long hardwood hallway. “I’m just going to take a short rest. Alejandro, don’t you let me sleep too long.”
After piling her coat along with others on a bed in a room down the hall, Sidney returned to the main room, warming her backside by the blazing fire in a floor-to-ceiling river-rock fireplace. The interior walls were the same as the exterior—stripped cedar logs the color of honey. Cozy furniture groupings were anchored by a huge oriental rug, the kind Sidney dreamed of owning someday. She may have lived in a run-down rental—what Millard Bradbury innocently referred to as a trailer—but in her heart she was the queen of an elegant, perfectly decorated home.
The atmosphere was considerably lighter there away from the bone-chilling fog and tears of sorrow at the cemetery. Children giggled. Comfortable, familiar sounds of clanking and conversation came from the kitchen along with the unmistakable scents of onion and garlic mingled with spices. Sidney tried to eavesdrop on two older women sitting nearby in folding chairs, translating their Spanish into English just for practice. She wished they would slow down and enunciate their words. Though Alex’s generation spoke fluent Spanish, his family chose to speak English. Amilia said it was important that they keep their own culture while blending for social and economic reasons with their American culture. After all, unlike their immigrant farm-working parents, they were born U.S. citizens.
Carmen approached, carefully stepping over a little boy who lay on the floor, building a boat out of Legos. “Hot cider?”
“Yes, thank you.” Sidney accepted the glass mug. “Please, Carmen, don’t think you have to wait on me. In fact, if there’s anything I can do—”
Carmen shook her head. Her thick hair was pulled back in a barrette at the nape and she wore no makeup. She didn’t need it. “The meal’s already made. It’s what we do in times of crisis. Food therapy. My sister and aunts have been in my kitchen for two days. All we have to do now is warm it up and spread it out on the buffet. This family knows how to take it from there.”
“Carmen, I haven’t had a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your dad.”
She nodded a soft smile. “Thank you.” Carmen sipped her own cider and gazed around the room. “It’s been a rough few days. A whole lot of crying going on. None of us expected this. He was taking something for high blood pressure, but the doctor hadn’t sent up any red flags. Alex is enraged about that. He’s requested all the medical records for his review.”
Alex was sitting in a stuffed chair near the tall windows, conversing quietly with a gentleman Sidney had seen at the grave site. A little girl leaned against Alex’s legs for support while playing a board game on the floor. Alejandro, Amilia had called him. He didn’t look so fearsome at the moment. “I imagine he’s taking it pretty hard.”
Carmen’s eyes misted slightly. She tipped her head, gazing tenderly at her brother. “Yes. He feels things deeply. He always has.”
Ripples of laughter came from a group standing around the food table with hors d’oeuvre plates in their hands. All eyes in the cluster were on the man Sidney had deduced was Alex’s brother. She had been watching him. His facial features were the only things that resembled Alex in any way. He was definitely Type A: confident, outgoing, eloquent, and charming. His gestures were loose and exaggerated; he was probably a great dancer. Everyone seemed to like him. Even the glamorous woman on his hip, whose fashionable boots Sidney couldn’t help admiring at the graveside service, perfected the image. She had worried that the woman’s spiky heels might sink into the damp soil and be ruined. Sidney’s own boots had sensible heels, were two or three seasons old, and had come from the Wal-Mart in Dunbar.
“That’s our brother, Ernesto,” Carmen said. “He and his wife, Isadora, flew in from San Francisco for the funeral. He has an architectural firm down there.” She nodded toward the little boy who had wandered off, leaving his Legos strewn on the floor. “And t
hat’s their son, Max.”
“Oh.” Sidney didn’t think it was appropriate to ask, so she let her question slip out in disguise. “Your father begged Alex to forgive Ernesto just before he died.”
Carmen’s mouth dropped open. “He did?”
Suddenly Sidney felt she had made a mistake. If Alex wanted his sister to know that, he would have told her.
Carmen sighed. “So that’s what’s plaguing him.” She shook her head slowly. “Alex vowed he would never forgive Ernesto for what he did to him. What happened between them was horrible, but it was seven years ago. I can’t blame Alex for being bitter, but I wish he could let it go. It’s destroying him.”
“Oh, poor Alex.” Sidney knew it was not her place to ask what that horrible event was. But the need to know was torturous.
“How did Alex answer Papa?”
Sidney felt like an informer. “Oh, Carmen, I wish he had told you this. I don’t want him to be angry with me.”
“Please. Alex eventually tells me everything. We’re very close. But I wasn’t there when Papa died and I need to know what really happened in those last few moments—for my sake as well as my brother’s.”
Sidney’s eyes teared up, remembering the scene. “He kept saying, ‘Stay with me, Pop!’ He was trying to get him to swallow an aspirin because that can sometimes stop a heart attack. When your father tried to make him promise to forgive Ernesto, Alex finally said, ‘I’ll do anything you say.’ He promised him.”
Ernesto made eye contact with Carmen and broke away from his fans. “Carmen,” he said loudly as he approached. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Sidney . . . I’m sorry, Sidney. I don’t know your last name.”
Sidney held out her hand, which Ernesto gripped firmly. “Walker. Sidney Walker.”
“She’s Alex and ’Milia’s friend.”
Sidney laughed. “Actually, the first time I met Alex, he was tackling my son and stuffing him into his patrol car.”
Ernesto chuckled. “Oh-oh. You’ve got a bad boy on your hands, huh?”
Sidney had asked for that. She was the one who brought it up. “No. He’s not a bad boy. Just temporarily confused.” Ernesto finally let go of her hand.
“Her son has been working with Alex on Amilia’s porch and wheelchair ramp. Alex says he’s a good worker,” Carmen added.
Sidney was surprised. “He told you that?”
“Oh, yes. Alex says Tyson has an uncanny ability to figure things out. He shows Tyson something once and he pretty much gets it. And I’ll tell you what, when Alex came back to ’Milia’s and saw that piece of sidewalk finished, it blew him away. He thought he was going to have to break the whole mess out and start over.”
Sidney glanced across the room toward Alex. He sat erect in his chair now, his piercing eagle glare aimed directly at the three of them. When Sidney’s eyes met his, he slowly rotated his head to the window. Had he heard them speak his name?
Ernesto laughed a little too loudly. “Well, that would hardly be a disaster. Now, if something were to go wrong on the foundation of one of my projects, we could be talking millions of dollars. That would qualify as a really bad day.” Unlike the rest of the family, there was not a hint of Spanish accent in his speech. He must have worked very hard to accomplish that. “I own Ernest Estrada Associates Architects.” He passed Sidney a card from his pocket. So he went by Ernest. She glanced down at the glossy card, not because she was interested but because he was staring at her face. What kind of man passed out his business card at his own father’s funeral reception? “This girl has beautiful eyes; have you noticed, Carmen?” He reached toward Sidney’s temple, brushing her hair aside. Her head reflexively drew back.
Suddenly, Alex shot to his feet, firmly dropping his drink to the lamp table beside his chair. Sidney could see the muscles in his jaw flinch from across the room. He maneuvered his way through guests and furniture until he reached the front door, jerking it open like the house was on fire, and stormed outside. To his credit, he did not slam the door behind him.
“What’s his problem?” Ernesto asked.
His sister glowered. “Ernesto, why don’t you go sit in a corner and think about that?”
He held out both hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t do anything.” He looked at Sidney. “My brother doesn’t like me very much. The old sibling rivalry thing, I guess. I gather by his actions that there’s something going on between you two. Believe me, I didn’t mean to offend you—or Alex. I’m a happily married man, just appreciating the scenery, that’s all.”
“Sidney.” Carmen took her by the arm. “You haven’t had anything to eat. You must be starving.” Carmen led her away while Ernesto wandered off to bestow his charms on another group of guests.
Sidney glanced over her shoulder. Through the window she could see Alex halfway across the wide lawn, headed toward the river, wearing only a cotton shirt with a light crewneck sweater.
Fifteen minutes later, he hadn’t returned. Sidney couldn’t stand it anymore. She slipped away from the kitchen, where she had been visiting with some of the women, wrapped up some tortillas from the buffet table, and retrieved her wool coat along with Alex’s brown suede. When she stepped out a side door, a damp cold seeped through her clothes like ice water, chilling her bones to the marrow. Her shoulders clenched as she trudged across the lawn toward the river. She might not find him. By now he could be a mile up- or downstream. When she got to the perimeter of cedar trees, two paths lay before her. She took the one that seemed to be a more direct course to the river, and as she came around a bend, the smell of wood smoke filled her nostrils. Alex had his back toward her. He sat on his heels on a sandy spit littered with smooth rocks, blowing on a pile of thin branches, which suddenly ignited into a weak flame.
“Hey, Boy Scout,” she said.
He turned, startled.
“Thought you might need this.” She passed him his jacket as he stood.
“Thanks.” He glanced at her face briefly, sliding his arms into the sleeves, immediately snapping the front closed and hugging it close to him. “It was getting a little nippy out here.” He turned back to the fire, stooping to throw on a few larger sticks from a pile of gathered wood.
She stood there awkwardly, staring at his back. “Are you okay?”
He snapped a thick branch in half as if it were a mere chopstick and poked silently at the fire. “I’m not very good company right now.”
Her face warmed. What was she doing there? “I’m sorry. I should have respected your privacy.” She placed a bundle of tamales on the sand beside him and turned to leave. “My condolences to you and your family.”
“I just said I’m not good company. You don’t have to go.”
She stood frozen. Was that an invitation to stay? “It’s a long river, Alex. Unless you want me to stay, I can certainly find another place to watch it run by.”
His profile softened and the corner of his lip moved slightly. “Okay. I want you to stay.”
He walked away for a moment, returning with a saw-cut log and placing it near the fire. “Take a load off.” He pulled up a log for himself. “I guess I made an ass out of myself back there.”
“Did you? I thought it was your brother who did that.”
His eyes darted to her face. “What did he say?”
She shrugged. “It’s not so much what he said. It’s just what I perceived about him. Women have a way of knowing what a man is really saying even though the words don’t actually come out of his mouth.”
He huffed a bitter laugh. “Not all women have that gift.”
“Well, come to think of it, I had to learn it the hard way. It’s taken years to perfect the skill. I’ll revise that statement to ‘women who have been burned.’”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
The flames leapt high and strong now, dancing hypnotically like a charmer’s cobras. “Young, naive girl meets charming older man who seduces her, and the next thing she knows, she�
��s a college dropout with a baby on her hip and a husband who comes and goes like a migraine.” She kicked at a rock in the sand. “Whenever he came home after one of his disappearing acts, he’d just turn on the charm and lie, lie, lie. No offense, but your brother reminds me of my ex-husband.”
Alex’s eyes lingered on her face. She thought he was about to say something, but he clamped his lips into a straight line and returned his gaze to the fire.
She removed her black leather gloves, placed them in her coat pocket, and leaned forward to warm her hands. An eagle cried overhead. They watched it soar just above the treetops, eventually joined by its mate. “Tyson would love it here,” she said.
His eyes swept the curve of the wide stream. “Yeah. I know I do. I come up here a lot.” He pointed downstream. “There’s a hole right down there—I should bring Ty up here sometime. He’d catch a steelhead for sure.”
Sidney’s heart fluttered. “Oh, Alex. He’d love that! I bought him a little trout rod when he was small. He could catch fish in places where you’d swear he was just wasting his time. Trickling creeks, even a deep ditch out by the road. After his rod broke he’d wade into ponds with his hands poised above or in the water and stand there like a heron. People don’t believe me when I say this, but that boy can catch fish with his bare hands.”
Alex chuckled. “Sounds like me when I was a kid. I lived for the moment when the final school bell would ring and I could get down to Sparrow Creek. Amilia had me reading authors like Mark Twain, Jack London, Melville, so my imagination ran wild. My favorite fantasy was that I was Huck Finn.” He smirked. “Sparrow Creek was the Mississippi. My dog played the role of Tom Sawyer—or Moby-Dick or White Fang as the need arose.” His eyes scanned the river. “I miss those days.” He glanced at her. “Being a kid.”
