A Time to Gather (24 page)
Adopt the Hopeless Club, now in session.
Not true, Bobby! There is hope. There is always hope. And there is help.
Not if they don’t ask for it.
I’m just being a friend here.
“It’s not like he didn’t try.” Lexi toyed with a fork.
“Hm?”
“Max. I remember he came to my gymnastics meet when I was nine. It’s memorable because I broke my leg. I saw him walk in when I was on the balance beam.” She shrugged. “Wham. On the floor. Is that my phone?” As she pulled her cell from an oversized leather bag, a jazzy beat intensified. “It’s Erik.” She glanced at Rosie and answered. “Hi.”
Rosie watched emotions play across Lexi’s usually stoic face. Impatience and anger creased her forehead and tightened her mouth.
“Erik, what is wrong with you? You couldn’t stay dry for one night?” She flipped her straight hair over a shoulder. “Call a cab . . . I know it would cost a fortune! Then call Danny. I can’t handle—What? No . . . Yes . . .” Her voice faltered. “No . . . I’m with Rosie. I don’t have my car. Okay.” She smacked her phone shut.
“What’s up?”
“He was drinking at the house. Max kicked him out. Mom cried, but it seems she sided with Dad.”
“Where is he?”
“At a bar just outside Santa Reina. He hiked down to the highway and thumbed a ride.”
“That’s quite a distance, isn’t it?”
“Yes. He’s going to end up back in the hospital. I have to go get him. Take him home. Danny and Jenna already told him no.”
“Don’t do it.”
“He’s my brother!” Her voice rose. “I can’t leave him there, wasted, his arm in a sling.”
“He’s got to hit bottom, Lexi. As long as we keep picking him up and dusting him off, he won’t get the help he needs. In the meantime, look what this does to you.”
With a shaky hand, Lexi wiped at tears. “I have to help him. I have to keep him safe. No one else will.”
“I will.” Rosie met her friend’s gaze and tuned out Bobby’s nagging voice. “But he has to do it my way.”
“All we have to do is get him home.”
“No. He hits bottom tonight and in the morning he checks himself into a treatment center.”
“What do you mean, hits bottom?”
“Crash-lands. Whatever. The place where he admits he needs help.”
“Like he could pass out on the road and freeze to death?”
People at a nearby table turned at her screechy voice.
Lexi kept going. “Or pick a fight and get beat up or—”
“Exactly. You get the picture.”
“He could die!”
“I’ll go up to Santa Reina and play guardian angel, watch over things.”
Call an ambulance when he gets hurt.
“I’ll take you back to my place first.”
“I’m coming with.”
“No.” Rosie felt her eyes constrict, heard her voice go soft. “You’re not.”
Lexi recoiled as if she’d been slapped.
It stunned Rosie how easily she could slide into cop mode with someone she considered a friend.
Maybe she was ready to return to work after all.
A
n hour later, Rosie drove behind a sheriff ’s car, following it into the bar’s parking lot just outside the little town of Santa Reina.
The show had already begun?
Rosie breathed deeply and reminded herself that she’d promised her dad not to act in a hasty manner. Chasing down the deputy and asking what Erik Beaumont had done would be breaking that promise. After all, maybe the guy wasn’t there for Erik Beaumont.
Sure. And maybe polka-dotted heffalumps really did exist.
She got out of the car, glad that Lexi had agreed to stay behind with Papi
.
He was in the kitchen, experimenting with new recipes, and—at first sight of Lexi’s red eyes—insisted she help him figure out what was wrong with the
mole
. Not enough chocolate? A missing spice?
Rosie smiled. He’d even cut short his lecture about her idiotic plan to play guardian angel.
In the dim light of a few pole lamps, the deputy strode toward the low cinder-block building. Neon beer signs brightened its small windows. Situated in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the highway, it appeared to be a hopping place. Several pickups and cars sat in the gravel lot. As the officer entered, a country-western beat fluttered through the air until the door swished shut. Thick, nighttime quiet returned.
Vulnerability swamped over her. It was total idiocy, stupidity, lunacy. Who did she think she was? No uniform, no weapon, no backup, no undercover agenda. No official capacity whatsoever.
Just a desire to help a hurting family, in particular the eldest son who—when sober—made her laugh and made her heart skip a few beats. Who made her forget his rich white boy persona. Who called her Maria after a nun who saved a family.
Nuts.
Rosie shook her head and marched toward the door.
“Not even a nightstick, Lord.” She patted her shoulder. “What do You think about a set of wings?”
C
laire laid the phone in its cradle on the kitchen counter and sighed loudly.
The other side of the island, seated on a stool, Max crick-cracked his knuckles. “What did Lexi say?”
She gathered her thoughts. Lexi had phoned and said so much more in what she didn’t say than in what she did. First off was the fact she called. It spoke volumes of her desire to stay connected with her mom. Second, she sounded calm in the middle of another Erik trauma, which meant she’d found help, probably in Rosie’s friendship. Third, that nice man Esteban Delgado spoke in the background, asking her to stir the sauce. Lexi was in good hands for the night.
“She said Erik called her from that bar up the highway, near town.”
“The Lonestar?”
“Yes. He wanted her to take him home. She was with Rosie, who talked her out of racing to his rescue. Both Jenna and Danny told him no too.” Claire touched her stomach. The ache had lessened with her daughter’s call. It remained, though, as did the scene of Erik ambling down the darkened driveway, huddled in a too-short ski jacket.
“So he made it to Santa Reina,” Max said. “Or almost. And everyone refuses to give him a ride?”
“It must be contagious, this decision to say no to him.”
“I hope so.” He reached over and touched her cheek. “We have to stop enabling him.”
Easy words. What if he had gotten lost and hurt? What if he had died in the wilderness?
“Sweetheart?” He lowered his hand. “What else from Lexi?”
“Rosie’s on her way to him.”
Max’s jaw went rigid.
“Not to rescue, but to watch over, like a guardian angel. So he . . .” She waited for the lump in her throat to dissipate. “So he doesn’t get . . . hurt or-or worse. Rosie said she wouldn’t
even let him know she was there unless . . .” Another lump.
“She’s not going to shoot him again?”
“Max.”
“I wasn’t trying to be a smart aleck. Actually, I thought another bullet might do some good. It seemed like God had his attention there, you know, for a short while, anyway. Oh, Claire. I’m sorry.”
She sniffed.
He walked around the counter and pulled her to himself. “Not funny, huh?” He held her close, his chin brushing the top of her head as he spoke. “Rosie is an intelligent, caring young woman. She’ll do what’s best for him.”
“Watching him suffer consequences is so hard.”
“It’s a time of reaping weeds, planted back when I didn’t know the difference between them and flowers.”
“You’re not taking full responsibility for his choices, are you? You tell me not to.”
“No, I’m not.” He kissed her forehead. “I am so grateful we’re going through this together, you and me and God and now an angelic policewoman. Remind me to write her into the will.”
As he grew quiet, Claire listened to his heartbeat. He was a good man, his heart a garden of exotic flowers. She hadn’t seen them in full bloom, though, not until he’d uprooted the choking weeds, those steadfast refusals to extend and receive forgiveness.
Surely it would be the same with their son.
Lord, give Erik his time to gather flowers.
E
vidently a smoking ban had not reached the outskirts of Santa Reina. Or else nobody bothered to enforce it. Rosie watched Erik and the deputy sheriff through a smoky haze, Toby Keith’s gusty twang reverberating in her head.
She wove through the crowd to get closer, wondering if the conversation was as friendly as it appeared. The burly officer nodded, his mouth nearly hidden in a full reddish-brown beard. Erik grinned in a lopsided, one-too-many way. Mellow. Nothing at all like the night she confronted him.
A small group surrounded them, consisting mostly of females. There were giggles and polite boos and lots of spandex.
Staying out of earshot, Rosie sidled up to a young woman. “What’s going on?”
She turned, full, glossy lips stretching to reveal teeth smudged in red. “Do you know who that is?” Not waiting for a reply, she leaned toward Rosie, excited to share gossip. “Erik Beaumont. The TV news guy? Called his girlfriend.” Her dark eyebrows rose and she shook her head, long raven hair swishing. “That’s a no-no.”
Rosie played ignorant. “A no-no?”
“She’s got a restraining order against him. Now the sheriff is here. Says he’s gotta haul his cute you-know-what off to jail.”
Rosie gritted her teeth. How could Erik be such a dork? Undone by a stupid phone call. “Brainless nitwit twerp.”
“Yeah.” The woman snorted. “If that guy was calling me, no way I wouldn’t invite him over. Come on down, Mr. Beaumont! Yow!”
Rosie didn’t bother to explain she wasn’t talking about Felicia.
Two minutes later, she sat in her car again. Assuming the officer had things under control, she waited nonetheless to make sure Erik’s cute whatever was thrown into the back of the sheriff ’s SUV.
She should call Lexi, put her mind at rest.
She would do that.
As soon as the sensation of fire burning in her lungs stopped.
What was she so angry about anyway? Erik had shelter for the night. So what if it was provided courtesy of Felicia Matthews?
So what if he went after that woman again, the one who’d broken his heart?
So what if Felicia Matthews still held sway over him?
Why did Rosie even care?
“Balance, Rosie. Find the balance. Don’t give up on him, but don’t
lose your mind over him either.”
Bobby’s voice again.
Bingo.
“The thing is, Bobby, it’s not my mind that concerns me.”
R
osie gave up trying to find balance. She just shut down.
“You will not regret it, Delgado.” Sitting in her car across the street from the Santa Reina substation, she calmly lectured herself. “Trust me on this. Distance is the key. This guy is starting to resemble old Ryan.”
Beaumont was inside. Five more minutes and she would assume he was staying put for the night. She waited, not wanting to call Lexi too soon.
“Admit it. Okay, okay. I don’t want to talk to Lexi until my voice stops warbling like a canary on antidepressants.”
The cell phone rang.
It was probably Lexi.
Rosie hummed a long, low “hmm,” smoothing out the telltale huffy tone before answering.
It rang two more times.
She flicked it open. “Hello.”
“Hey! Maria!”
No way.
“Wassup?”
Absolutely no way.
“Maria, you there?”
“What do you want?”
“Mm. Bad news. I mean, I don’t want bad news. I have bad news.”
“You are bad news, Beaumont.”
“Yes, I am.” He sighed dramatically.
Rosie shook her head.
Do not help him. I repeat, do not help him
in any way, shape, or form.
“I messed up. I messed up big time. Did you realize that order thing meant not to even call her? Not even to say ‘hi, how ya doin’?’”
“You didn’t call her.”
“Yeah, I did. On a dare. This lovely group in the bar thought I’d blown it with her so I—”
“Give me a break. You’re still blaming others for your actions?”
“Mmm, lemme think. No. I was showing off. I admit it. So then dear Felicia called the police, and here I am, stuck in Santa Reina’s holding tank for the night without any pain meds for this aching shoulder.”
“You deserve it.”
“I do. I admit that too. Being shot and being arrested and living with excruciating pain.”
“Why on earth are you calling—how did you get this number?”
“Tuyen had it. I, in an astoundingly clearheaded moment, committed it to memory. Just in case. You know.”
“I don’t. Just in case what?”
“Just in case I needed you.”
“You need a lawyer. Is this your one phone call?”
“You got it. But I don’t need a lawyer, Maria. I need you.”
“How many sheets to the wind are you?”
“Not all that many.” His voice lost its mocking cadence. He sounded stone-cold sober. “You’re the only one who can help me.”
Heat seared her lungs again. In a flash, it spread through every nerve in her body. She gripped the steering wheel and fought back images of marching inside and smacking him.
“Rosie, help me. Please?”
Help him? As in bail him out? Tell the court he
didn’t mean to harass Felicia? That he was under duress because he’d been shot? By one of their finest?
“I’ll help you, Beaumont. I won’t stand in your way. You can rot in jail first and then you can rot in hell.”
She slapped her phone shut, tossed it on the passenger seat, and started the engine.
S
unday afternoon Lexi zipped shut her gym bag on the floor and straightened. One sweeping glance covered the living area of the tiny guesthouse. Through the bedroom’s open door she noted the stripped bed.
“Rosie,” she said to her friend seated at the table, “I’ll wait until the sheets are dry and make up the bed.”
“Don’t worry about it. Papi will probably find them in the dryer while I’m at work tonight and take care of it. He still spoils me like that.”
Lexi smiled. “Can I adopt him?”
“He said the same about you. We’re glad to have you stay longer.”
“Thanks.” She sat at the table. “But I’m kind of a homebody. Two nights away . . .” Her voice trailed off. Two nights away. She’d survived two nights away . . . from everything, all the comforts of home.