A Time to Gather (22 page)
Lexi had to interrupt. She stepped closer. “That’s just Felicia vibes. She does it to all men. My brother—not Erik, the other one— thinks she’s a horse’s hind end, but he’s affected the same way. If she interviewed Danny, he swears he’d spill out everything he’s ever said and done and embellish it all.”
Bobby stared at her for a long moment. “You’re kidding.”
“It’s true. She’s bad news. No pun intended.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell my wife.” He threw a glance at Rosie. “So. You’re Lexi Beaumont.”
She nodded.
“I take it you’re here to ID the guy.”
“I want to help.”
“Yeah, well, unfortunately, he probably ID’d you tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“If he’s in there, he couldn’t have missed the Felicia-Brett show. He might not have known you before, but she practically told everybody who you are. Including the
Snapshot USA
reporter and photographer.”
Lexi stared at him.
Snapshot USA
was a weekly magazine available at every checkout stand in the nation.
Rosie sniffed. “Yeah, for real. They’re here, along with
San Diego
in Motion
. Another officer just told Bobby. I’m so sorry, Lexi. I never should have asked you to do this.”
Bobby said, “She’s right. We’ve got a sketch based on information you gave to our artist. We’ll bring in anyone matching the description and you can find him
in a lineup, behind a two-way mirror.” He emphasized the last words.
“But he doesn’t know I was here last week with Erik.”
Bobby and Rosie exchanged a look. He said, “Unless he saw you last week.”
“I-I don’t think he did.”
“Depends on how calculating he was. If it helps any, I think he’s just a mean prankster, jealous of the famous folk, not a full-on psycho. He found an opportunity to stick it to your brother.”
“Still,” Rosie said, “he might have noticed you last week.”
Bobby nodded. “And witnessed tonight. Heard I’m a cop, thanks to Felicia.”
Rosie said, “And then figured we’re on to him. He’ll not want to be noticed.”
“Bottom line, we don’t think he’ll bother you, Lexi.”
They did their look-exchange thing again.
Lexi pulled her sweater more tightly about herself and crossed her arms. A vague unease twisted into a physical sensation. Fetal curl on the sidewalk seemed imminent. “You ‘don’t think.’ That’s not exactly a guarantee.”
Rosie held up her arms and let them drop at her sides. “No. No, it’s not a guarantee. Could you go to your parents’ house?”
Lexi cringed.
“Or,” Rosie hastened to say, probably because she had witnessed Lexi’s abrupt exit from the dinner table the previous night, “you’re welcome to come home with me. Spend the night. I live in my dad’s backyard, in a small guesthouse, with an alarm system and dead bolt locks. It’s yours for as long as you need it. I’ll sleep in my old bedroom inside my dad’s.”
Lexi felt the earth move beneath her, a quake’s ripple. Her legs trembled. The whole world was disintegrating before her very eyes, from the wildfire destruction of her grandparents’ safe harbor to her parents’ weirdness to Danny’s aloofness. Not to mention the Zak debacle. Now she couldn’t go home to her own apartment?
There were nightmares there, yes, but also her only bits of solace: painting and food, the latter exactly what she wanted, available exactly when she wanted it. She couldn’t go to Danny’s. Nor Jenna’s, nor Erik’s. She couldn’t go to the hacienda. She thought of her boss, a couple of friends. It wouldn’t work with any of them. She had to go to a stranger’s place?
“I’m sorry, Lexi. It’s only temporary. The undercover guys are good. Bobby and I aren’t—”
“Rosie, why wouldn’t this guy recognize you and find me through you? Your picture has been all over the newspapers.”
She smiled. “Do I look like that picture?”
Even in the shadows, Lexi could tell that she did not. The photo was an official police department shot. In contrast, Rosie now wore her hair loose, full and wavy, down to her shoulders. A hint of makeup softened her eyes. Her lips were fuller, with a touch of cerise-red gloss, and they curled upward frequently. The fuzzy turtleneck removed the last traces of her cop-like persona.
“No, you don’t.”
“Besides that, some people think we Latinas all look alike.” She winked. “What do you say? I don’t want to frighten you, but in all honesty, I’d feel better.”
“Ditto,” Bobby said.
Lexi squeezed her arms more tightly over her stomach and nodded. She would go home with Rosie.
M
r. Erik.” Tuyen felt sorry for her incapacitated cousin, but he was making a mess out of the lettuce. “Not do that way.”
His right arm still in the blue sling, Erik awkwardly wielded a large knife with his left hand, chopping away at a pile of leaves on the island countertop. He grinned. “Not say ‘Mr. Erik.’”
As usual, she giggled at his gentle banter. “Nana say tear lettuces gently. We not want kill vitamins and minerals. Like this.” She picked up a leaf and demonstrated.
“But whacking is so much more fun.” He laid down the knife, tried it her way, and blew out a frustrated sigh. “Especially when you don’t have two good hands. If I’m making the salad, we’ll just have to skip on the vitamins and minerals tonight.” He reached for the knife.
“Ah!” She pulled the cutting board away from him. “I make salad. You set table.”
“Deal. And who, may I ask, has decided to deign us with their presence tonight?”
His words flittered through her mind, searching for a recognizable comparison. Unlike the other family members, Erik never labored over his speech or increased his volume for her. He assumed her hearing was intact and expected she would catch up to his meaning sooner or later.
“Take your time, Tutu.” His eyes sparkled.
She nodded.
This man was a surprise to her. He pretended not to care about anything that happened to himself or to anyone else. He was disrespectful to his elders. He argued with his brother and sisters. But . . . for her he had a nickname. For her he was patient and calm. For her he sat fairly still and watched movies to help her learn English.
Perhaps the pain medication aided his careless behavior. Still, he’d become the single thread to which she could cling, her only source of hope.
Danny meant well, yet he hovered, wanting to make things just so, wanting her to understand right now, wanting her to agree with everything he said. He always had a better idea.
Nana poured her love into Tuyen’s dry heart. And yet there was that haunted expression about her eyes, the one Tuyen caused by just being there.
Aunt Claire was sweet when she was not too busy with her own life. She and Uncle Max seemed very much in love. Her aunt was not helping with dinner because the moment he’d come home from his office just now, they’d embraced for a very long time. After that, Aunt Claire asked her to prepare what she could for the meal, and then she disappeared behind closed doors with him.
Papa, Jenna, and Lexi all but spat at Tuyen.
And Uncle Max . . . aloof and distant did not begin to describe him.
Tuyen thought it was probably wrong, but she was grateful for Erik’s accident.
She smiled at him. “‘Deal’ mean I do your job, you do mine.”
“Bravo.”
“Other words mean who coming tonight.”
He clapped and whistled. “Woo-hoo!”
“Thank you. All right. This is dinner lineup.”
He smiled at the word he’d taught her.
“Papa not come. Mr. Danny not come. Miss Jenna and Miss Lexi, no. Uncle Max, yes.”
“Got it. Small and intimate.” He went to the cabinet where the plates were stored.
“Oh. And Beth Russell not come.”
Erik turned to her. “Nana told you about her?”
“Yes.”
“You know who Beth Russell is?”
“My father’s fiancée before he meet my mother.”
“Right. Maybe she’ll come another time. She lives far away, in Seattle. She has a husband and kids. A busy life.”
Tuyen nodded. The woman was just another person close to her father who did not want to know Tuyen existed.
“I never met her.” He pulled plates from the shelf. “I hear she and BJ were the best of friends, from the time they were very young.”
He smiled. “She’ll want to meet his daughter.”
Lowering her eyes, she concentrated on tearing the lettuce leaves into symmetrical, bite-size pieces full of vitamins and minerals.
“For real, Tuyen. Well, for sure she’ll want to meet me anyway. I’m Mr. Hotshot Famous Newscaster.”
She giggled. He often referred to himself in that disparaging tone with silly phrases. “
Ex
-Mr. Hotshot Famous Newscaster.”
He laughed. “Good one.”
“You say it one time.”
“And you remembered. You are an excellent student.”
She beamed.
“And you have a beautiful smile.”
Shaking her head, she covered her mouth.
“You do. Don’t hide it.”
“Amerasian ugly.”
“You have got to stop saying that! Promise me you will not say it again. Never ever, from this point on.”
“But it is true.”
“It is not true! Now promise me. Or else I won’t take you driving.”
“Driving?”
“You want to drive?”
“Me?” She stared at him and gestured as if steering a car. “Drive?”
“Yeah. One-armed as I am and drugged half out of my gourd, insane with boredom out of the other half, I need a driver. I need to go to Santa Reina. Just a quick errand. One stop. We’ll be back before the chicken goes into the oven. What do you say?”
“Oh, yes! I dream of driving! I dream I drive truck.”
“Truck? You like Papa’s big honkin’ mean machine?”
She nodded. “We come in it to see you at hospital. Max and Claire take own car.” Despite their fearful destination, the ride had been cozy. The cab smelled of her grandfather’s pipe, a sweet scent like oranges. He helped her climb up into it and back down again. For a short while, she felt a member of the Beaumont family.
“Um, we better start with something a bit smaller. We’ll take my mom’s car. Okay?”
“Okay. I put food away. Nana not want it left out.” She gathered the salad ingredients and quickly put them in the refrigerator. “Bacteria grow. Mr. Erik?”
He frowned and shook a finger.
“Erik.”
“Yes?”
“I not know what I do without you.” She blinked so the stinging tears would not fall.
His smile disappeared and he studied her face for a long moment. “I did not hang the moon, Tutu.”
“What mean ‘hang the moon’?”
“It means you give me too much credit. I’m an unemployed drunk. As soon as I can live through half a day without a pill and a nap, it’s so long, farewell,
auf wiedersehen
,
adieu
. To you and you and everybody.”
“Where you go?”
“To my condominium.”
Her chest felt like the time Ben galloped by on his horse, so fast and hard and oblivious to her. “What you do?”
“Think about a job.” Erik shrugged. “Or not.”
“You come back.” Her anxious voice rose. “You come back, visit! You come back for blessing on wedding! Aunt Claire want you here.”
“Sh. Sh.” He stepped around the island and placed his free hand on her shoulder, lowering his face toward her. “Yes, I will come for blessing on wedding. It’ll be all right, Tutu. I promise to say goodbye to you before I leave. You know I don’t normally live here.”
Her heart boomed more loudly, pounding against her chest and echoing in her head. “You not go tonight?”
“No, not tonight. Tonight you drive, I buy self-medication treats, and then we have a cozy family dinner. Okay? Take a deep breath now.”
She tried to do what he said, tried to keep at bay the old terror of abandonment. “You good friend. You bring me to my grandmother.”
“Hey, what’s a cousin for if not to facilitate homecomings?” He smiled and straightened. “Just remember, though, I did not hang the moon. I am not God.”
She followed him into the mudroom located off the kitchen, where coats and boots and keys were kept. Erik thought too little of himself. If he had a fault, that was it.
Tuyen slipped her jacket from a hook. “I beg to differ.”
He laughed at the phrase he’d taught her that afternoon. “What do you beg to differ about?”
“Nana say God strong and kind and He love me very much. He take good care of me. He watch over me all the time. He make me feel safe. You much like God.”
He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and stared down at her. It was a rare moment when his features relaxed and his eyes lost their guarded expression. “Well, I can declare without hesitation that I have never, ever been accused of that before.”
“It good thing.”
His burst of laughter warmed Tuyen. Fears retreated into the shadows of her mind, thwarted if only for a while.
W
hat, no flowers?” Claire’s sarcastic tone grated, painful to her own ears as fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. “No jewelry?”
From his own corner of the love seat, a pokerfaced Max cracked his knuckles. “Thought I’d try something different.”
“By hiding away at the office all day?”
“By not using gifts to earn your forgiveness. That never really worked, did it?”
Struck with the enormity of what he was saying, she swallowed a sarcastic retort. Max’s behavior was a direct answer to prayers: she’d asked for a transformed husband, one who understood that all the diamonds and roses in the world did not make up for the pain his absence caused.
His brows rose slightly. “If the counselor were here, she’d suggest we try that exercise. Remember how—Sweetheart, you’re doing the Jenna eye-roll thing.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Okay, okay. I remember how.”
“I just think we should slow down here and have a productive dialogue.”
“I don’t want to.” She looked at him. “I want my pound of flesh.”
He smiled. “All right, let me have it. You be the extractor of flesh and I’ll be the listener.”
“A heart-to-heart instead of flowers?”
“Yep.”
“My mind has nowhere to place that scenario. This is the first time you blatantly let me down since . . . since . . .” She waved a hand, not knowing what to call that time during which she’d left him, moved out, looked for comfort from another man, filed for—