A Time to Gather (20 page)

“I understand, Nana.” She heard her own speech, halting, dropping hard consonants, skipping entire words. But that would not stop her from shaping her mouth around the sounds that felt so strange. She had to practice. She had to be accepted into her father’s family.

She simply
had
to because there was absolutely nowhere else on the face of the earth for her to go.

Smiling at Indio seated beside her on the couch, eager to please, she said, “Word ‘prostitute’ upset Lexi because is against law. Police arrest. But police help me in San Francisco. They keep me safe from bad men.”

“Yes. They didn’t see you take money from the men.”

“No.” Of course she’d known the police would arrest her if they caught her soliciting. She and the others weren’t fools. They knew they had to keep their work secret. It was only that one time when the beating was severe that the police came. Neighbors called them and they protected them.

After that, one of the officers took a personal interest in her story because his father, too, had fought in Vietnam. Officer Jay put her in a shelter, found the Beaumonts, gave her money to travel to San Diego. He probably would still be her friend if not for his jealous wife.

Yes, Tuyen understood the law. It wasn’t exactly the point, but she reassured her grandmother. “I keep law now. Miss Rosie not arrest me.”

“Right. It’s also against God’s law, dear.”

Indio spoke often of God and how good He was. Tuyen learned that this God was bigger than the Buddha worshipped by her other grandparents. According to Indio, when God lived on earth, His name was Jesus. He was killed but then He came alive again. He taught that God loved everyone and forgave everything that was wrong in the world. People could accept His love and forgiveness if they chose to, and then He would work in their lives for good things.

That was the mysterious part. God caring about her, Tuyen Beaumont? She liked the mystery of it.

“How prostitute against God’s law?” she asked.

Indio continued, like always, in her patient tone. She never hesitated in trying to explain things to her. “He gave us this beautiful gift of physical intimacy. But He meant it as an expression of love between a husband and a wife. It makes two people one. It unites souls.”

“Souls?”

Indio touched her chest. “Essence. Core of our being.”

“I look in dictionary.”

Indio laughed. “Yes.”

Tuyen had a dictionary. She had many books and clothes and her own large room and as much food as she needed. She had friendship with Indio and Claire and Danny. They taught her about the Hacienda Hideaway and gave her work to do preparing rooms for guests in the coming months.

But a despair clung to her, leechlike, sucking away what little hope still managed to pump through her veins.

Claire and Danny had their own lives to live apart from her. Uncle Max, her father’s brother, kept his distance, as did Jenna and Erik and Lexi. They were polite to a point.

Ben, her father’s
father, the one called “Papa,” completely and unabashedly ignored her. She understood that she created a rift between him and Indio. Sometimes he ate with them in the big house, most often not. Sometimes Indio went home with him down the road for the night, sometimes she did not. Sometimes Indio cried inconsolably over the photograph of her son BJ.

Yes, hope that things would work out with the Beaumonts steadily drained from her, day by day.

“Tuyen?”

She blinked and focused again on her grandmother’s face.

“I love you, dear.”

The words had never before touched Tuyen’s ears, not in English, not in any language.

“Do you understand?”

Tears welled. She felt an odd sensation, as if a deer leapt within her chest. Was that her soul moving?

Indio smiled and nodded. “I love you very much.”

Tuyen leaned into the woman’s embrace. The deer jumped again and again until she could hardly breathe.

Sadness and despair would engulf her again, but for now she rested, awash in the mystery of love.

  
Thirty-Four

M
orning.” Max handed Claire a mug of coffee.

“Thanks.” Wrapped in an afghan, her legs curled beneath her, she closed the Bible she’d been reading and watched Max sit at the other end of the love seat.

As usual, he’d risen before her, made the coffee, and joined her in their master suite. After a lifetime of hitting the floor running their separate ways, the glide into a daily habit of conversing with each other first thing had been surprisingly easy.

But something was off.

“Hmm,” she said. “I was kind of getting used to the ‘good morning, sweetheart’ with a little lip action.”

He smiled briefly, leaned over, and planted a solid kiss on her mouth. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Ahh. Much better. Okay, what’s up with you?”

He sat back, his eyes nearly creased shut. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Know things. You didn’t used to read me like this.”

“I did. I just never felt safe enough to tell you.”

He sighed.

“So what’s up, hon?”

“I’m going to the office.”

She stiffened.

He drank from his mug and avoided eye contact.

With a deep breath and a long, loud puff to exhale, she let the tension go. “I don’t think so.”

“What?”

She smiled. “I said I don’t think so. It’s a new phrase Tandy suggested. I still haven’t got the attitude down, though. Let me try again.” She cocked her head and made her voice gruff. “I don’t
think
so!”

He squinted as if totally baffled.

“It’s to remind myself not to react in old ways. Like just now, when you said you’re going to the office, I instantly got all uptight because you used to say that on evenings and weekends and holidays. It meant you’re choosing work over family. It meant I had to carry on without you. It meant I played second fiddle.”

“Yeah, well.” He rubbed his forehead. “It might mean that today.”

“I don’t think so!”

“No, it’s true. I admit it.”

“It might be true, but I’m still talking to myself here. Give me a second.” She half teased, half stalled, not wanting to hear his plans. “Okay. Not only am I not going to get a stomachache over this, I am going to tell you exactly what I think and how I feel.”

“That’s good. Keep our communication lines open.” He quoted the counselor who had talked and prayed with them through some rough spots after their decision not to divorce.

Claire nodded and offered another quote. “And reassure each other that we’re on emotionally safe ground.”

“Right.” He gave her a small smile. “This is the hard part, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I promise to listen. I promise to value your feelings and opinions and not attack you for having them. Okay?”

“Okay.” She rested back against the cushions, her fingers entwined around the mug on her lap. “After the fire, I couldn’t handle being a violinist with the symphony. Emotional trauma and all that. I had to step down. Since more or less recovering, I’ve been able to go back as a sub, now and then. For fun I play once a month with Tandy and the others. I adore playing. But my priority is creating our new life together. It’s a joy to work alongside you to get the hacienda in shape. And guess what? The symphony and my little group get along just fine without me and my violin.”

“Duly noted. Where’s this going?”

Tell him, Claire. Tell him. Nobody else will.
“You’ve caught that germ again.”

“Huh?”

“The micromanaging germ.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve—”

“Max, what else can you call it? You’ve been to the office three times this week. Three. Full. Days. What happened to the agreement with Phil? You work as a consultant, meaning you go in now and then. He bought the company. Good grief! Let him have it. Let him deal with it.”

“The thing is . . .” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “The thing is I can’t deal with life here. The emotional chaos is beyond me.”

As if a fist slammed into her stomach, it clenched.

No way! I don’t think so! Lord, we are
not
going
backwards
.

Max looked at her. “I mean, I apologize to my kids and then two of them stop talking to me altogether. My brother’s illegitimate daughter shows up out of nowhere. This whole house reconstruction thing is one big never-ending headache. And the final kicker: I hold Lexi and she gets sick.” He shook his head. “It’s total chaos.”

“Hey, welcome to the real world.”

“Give me a few hundred people who need jobs.”

“Nameless, faceless people.”

“At least I know how to help them.” He pressed back his forefinger. The knuckle popped.

“Max, your presence in itself helps us. You don’t have to say or do a thing. We just want you up close and personal. It makes all the difference in the world.”

“I need a break, Claire. I’m sorry.” He cracked another knuckle. “I just need a break.”

“Your mom is calling Beth Russell today. She needs us for emotional support.”

“If she can wait until later, I’ll be home by three.”

“Famous last words.” Tiny hot bursts prickled every inch of her skin. Evidently hot flashes were not a thing of the past. She untangled herself from the afghan. “You wimp.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. But I am so disappointed. No, let me rephrase that. I am so really ticked off.”

He glowered at her, the apology gone from his eyes, his mouth a compressed line. “So am I, Claire. Royally. All I’m asking for is a time-out and you go berserk. A little
understanding might be helpful. I’m doing the best I can here!”

“I don’t think so! And that is not me talking to myself.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome.”

They fell silent. The exchange replayed in her mind. She heard Max’s promise not to attack. She heard him accuse her of going berserk.

His shoulders heaved. “Truce?”

Shaking her head, she stood. “Nope. Just a time-out. You’re not playing fair, Max. I did not go berserk.”

She left the room and headed to the kitchen. Tears burned. Coffee gurgled in her stomach.

“I don’t think so.”

Her fingers twitched around the mug still in her hand.

Hmm . . .

She strode across the kitchen, through the mudroom. Flipping the light switch, she exited the back door. Spotlights pierced the predawn gray and illuminated the cobblestones. A few feet down the path she stopped, dumped coffee from the cup, and drew back her arm. Taking aim at a boulder the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, she hurled the mug with all her might.

It hit with a satisfying crash. Ceramic chunks splintered.

Claire smiled and brushed her hands. “Well. That sure beats having knots in the stomach and bawling my eyes out.”

S
o he’s not coming?” Ben asked.

Claire kept her expression as neutral as her tone had been in relaying Max’s schedule. She shook her head and slid onto the couch next to Indio in their small RV.

Her father-in-law harrumphed. “Men!” He nearly spat the word. “Lord, help us. We’re like hound dogs on the scent of a coon, except we skedaddle the opposite direction. First whiff of something we can’t fix or control, we’re history.”

Indio exchanged a surprised look with Claire.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and paced the room in two strides. “I’m talking about myself.”

Indio said, “So you’ll stay while I call Beth? Maybe talk to her too?”

“I always loved Beth.”

“You always loved BJ. His daughter is right up the road, wanting to get to know her grandpa.”

“Don’t press it, Indio.”

“Just getting in my licks while I’ve got your attention.”

They frowned at each other.

But Claire saw the give and take in their scowls. Deep, abiding love was not lost in their disagreement on how to treat Tuyen.

She felt another hot stab of anger. Would she and Max ever find that balance? Right now, as far as she was concerned, if Max chose to live at the office, her response would be “good riddance.” She’d already started a mental list of who to call to cancel the wedding blessing ceremony.

“Blast it, woman!” Ben muttered.

“So.” Unruffled, Indio turned to Claire. “How is Erik today?”

“Still pretty spaced out on pain medication. He and Tuyen are having an English lesson. They’re watching
The Sound of Music
.”

“That must be her fifth time through that movie.” Indio smiled and brought her hands together in a soft clap. “Well, enough chitchat. I’m all prayed up. I trust angels are surrounding Beth Russell, ready to comfort her. You two pray while I talk, okay?”

Claire nodded in unison with Ben.

As Indio picked up the telephone, Claire propped her elbow on the back of the couch and cupped her cheek, watching her mother-in-law. The woman’s shoes were too big. Claire felt silly at the thought she was meant to fill them, to be the Beaumont matriarch.

“Hello, Beth. It’s Indio.” She smiled, her eyes focused elsewhere. “It’s good to hear your voice too . . . Yes, we’re well. And you? . . . Your husband? . . . And how about the children?”

Indio continued the chitchat, as she called it, mentioning Beth’s family members by name. The two of them had kept in touch through the years, via Christmas cards and infrequent phone calls.

Indio’s eyes began to shine. She reached out for Ben.

He took her hand and sat on the arm of the sofa beside her, his face unreadable.

“Beth, dear, we have some difficult news.”

The story unfolded again, tripping lightly from Indio’s lips with grace, achingly beautiful and bittersweet.

Unable to absorb any more, Claire shut her eyes and begged God to carry them all through it.

  
Thirty-Five

R
osie grabbed the receiver of the wall phone. Someone was waiting for her on the other end of the line, but she hesitated answering.

Across the noisy, bustling Casa del Gusto kitchen she spotted her cousin at the stove in his white chef ’s jacket and hat. “Ramón! If this is a reporter, you’re in trouble!”

He grinned, threw a handful of herbs into a stockpot and stirred.