A Time to Gather (30 page)

She had never been a crybaby. On rare occasion, when other kids’ teasing got too hurtful or her hormones too crazy, she’d experience meltdown. Danny was usually there . . . jabbering too much, but there, sometimes with a hug.

“Hey,” he said now. “Watch the snot.”

Her giggle instantly gave way to a sob. He’d always said that. It was exactly what she was thinking. It was why she kept her hands over her face.

“See, Lex? This is what I meant. You should have done this hours ago. I should have been there. I yelled because I’m upset I wasn’t there to tell you it was all right to let it go. That it was all right to spend the day at home getting over last night’s scares.”

“I need a tissue.” She stepped to the pickup, up onto the running board, and reached through the window for her bag.

“Lex, I miss my twin.”

Another sob threatened. She dug through her bag and pulled out a wad of tissues.

“What’s happened between us? In the old days you would have managed to call me, even as you raced off to Erik’s, no matter what I said about helping or not. You certainly would have phoned when you left the hospital in the middle of the night.”

Blowing her nose, she glanced around. There were no people in sight, only a handful of other vehicles in the lot. Rocky hills ringed the area. The noontime sun shone in a clear sky. It was a perfect February hiking day. If she kept driving east into the desert—

“All right,” he said, “I apologize. I’m sorry you’ve felt left out since Tuyen came. I’m sorry you feel estranged from Dad. I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable about wearing a black dress in the wedding. I’m sorry Kevin got sent overseas.” He lowered his face until they were almost nose to nose.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. I get it. None of those things are your fault.”

“Exactly. But you’re taking them out on me.”

She looked at the ground, remembering their argument in her office over the same stuff. That was ten days ago. Not that she was counting.

“Lex, what’s really wrong? Is it all the change? I know how you hate change. And I know way too much has changed too quickly for you since the fire. You need time to adjust. But why beat me up over it? Am I letting you down somehow? What do you expect from me?” She peered up at him. “Maybe one question at a time.”

He spread his arms in an “I give” gesture. “Pick one.”

“Listen to yourself, Danny. You don’t even take a breath between questions. You’re always badgering. You always know what’s best for everybody. You may be right ninety-nine percent of the time but so what?” The words spurted from her, soda fizzing from a shaken can. “I will never measure up to your standards. You’re perfect and I am such a loser. I don’t confide in you because if I did, then you’d know what a loser I am and I’d disappoint you more than I already do.”

His brows rose. “I am not perfect.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve got that black-and-white thing going. You figure out what’s right, what’s wrong, what’s healthy, what’s not. Then you choose correctly and come out on top.”

“Not always.”

“Close enough.”

“You don’t disappoint me.”

“You know what’s best for me. Same difference.”

“I would never think of you as a loser.”

“Zak dumped me. Not that there was really anything to dump. It wasn’t like we had a relationship.” She bit her lip.

He frowned. “That makes him a loser and a jerk.”

“No, it means I’m not good enough.”

Danny stepped close and pulled her into another hug.

A silent hug.

Lexi listened to his quiet breathing, waiting for a retort, a question, a comment.

A long moment passed. And he didn’t speak.

Another long moment. Still he didn’t speak.

Tension seeped from her. As nerves untwisted and muscles slackened, exhaustion set in. She recognized the enormity of what she’d experienced. Trying to ignore it, she’d eaten her way through the hours, busied herself with work.

The thought of Erik hidden off somewhere in the desert with strangers disturbed her. She couldn’t imagine him in such a setting. What was he doing? Was he changing his leopard spots? He’d said they couldn’t be changed overnight, probably not even at all. How long would he be gone? And why had he finally asked for help?

At any rate, the awful days ahead of him must offer him hope to get out of the hole.

Did she want to get out of her own? Not that it was as bad as his . . .

Telling Danny, though, might bring a sense of relief. To not have to pretend with him. She’d gotten a start, telling him about Zak and her loser status. She wouldn’t have to give him details, just clue him in to the fact that sometimes she ate too much and made herself sick.

He’d say she didn’t have to lose weight. She’d say it had nothing to do with weight. He’d say then just say no. She’d say—

“Hey.” Danny straightened, his hands on her shoulders, eyes intensely searching hers. “Listen to me. You are not a loser. It’s a common malady to think of ourselves that way. Remember when I didn’t want to tell Dad about losing clients? How upset I was over that? And over him and Mom and all the upheaval they’ve been through?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Major loser here. It all came down to not forgiving Dad. At first I didn’t see anything to forgive, but he asked for it. He said he didn’t prioritize us above business. Consciously I saw no problem. Unconsciously, though, if it was true, then something inside of me was hurt as a result of his actions.” Danny smiled. “So I have forgiven him and it’s made all the difference.”

“There isn’t anything to forgive him—”

“I’m not explaining it very well. You want to come with me to church? I told you about the new pastor, how fresh he is. He’s teaching a series on forgiveness that is totally awesome. It helped me understand things better. Lex, I don’t mean to preach at you, but your issue with Dad needs to be addressed.”

“You’re doing it again.” She smashed the tissues against her face, shrugging his hands from her shoulders.

“What? Badgering? I’m not—I don’t mean to—aw, Lex.”

She wiped at a new batch of tears, overcome by a great wave of sadness. Danny would never quit on her, which meant he would never let her be herself.

“Lex, I’m only trying to help.”

“I know. You’re just being you. The Danny you’ve always been. It’s okay.”

“You are not a loser. Stop thinking that way.”

“It’s okay,” she said more forcefully, telling him in essence to stuff it.

She knew neither one of them believed it was okay, but pretending it was put them back on speaking terms. Why mess that up again by trying to be real with him?

  
Fifty-Four

T
uyen awoke.

She
awoke.

Not to nirvana nor to a rebirth, that land of her ancestors according to her Vietnamese grandmother. Not to the heaven with Jesus’ welcoming arms, that land of her other ancestors according to her American grandmother. Not, obviously, to the state of total unawareness, the land she longed for.

No, she awoke to the world she had always known, that harsh, cruel, violent place that offered no respite.

She had not escaped it. What went wrong?

She felt as if she wore a dress, an
ao dai
with long sleeves and trousers, made of clay so thick and wet it weighted her down, tied her to the earth. She couldn’t move a muscle. Her throat felt scorched, as if she’d swallowed fire.

The sound of hushed voices reached her, growing more distinct although she could see no one. Twilight and fog filled her vision.

“I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before.” It was her uncle Max. “It all became clear riding in the ambulance.”

They transported her in an ambulance? Uncle Max rode in it?

“When you thought we might lose her.” It was her American grandmother. Indio.
Nana
. “Epiphanies sometimes require extraordinary circumstances in order to happen.”

“A simple two-by-four alongside the head would have done the trick. You or Dad could have swung it.”

“It’s not a mother’s place. And your father, well . . .” She sighed. “His moral compass got wound so tight, he couldn’t find his way out of the barn. He’s lost his true north, where God dispenses so much grace into our hearts it just has to overflow to others.”

“Mom, why is he having such a hard time accepting Tuyen?”

“He thinks this child would mean admitting that BJ made wrong choices, that he intentionally hurt us and Beth by not coming home.”

“That’s ridiculous. We’ve got no idea what BJ was up against. How can Dad judge wrong choices—for crying out loud, he doesn’t still believe BJ was perfect, does he?”

“I think his struggle lies in realizing that is exactly what he still believes and knows is wrong. He just hasn’t gotten down on his knees to confess it.”

“I did a lot of confessing in the ambulance. I’ve been so angry at the whole situation. Things like that asinine war. Things like all the lives wasted, all the families torn apart. All those years of not knowing what happened to my brother, of imagining him being tortured. The government doing squat to find him and the two thousand-plus other MIAs. All the homeless vets.”

They both fell silent. Tuyen thought she heard the rustle of tissues.

“Anyway.” Uncle Max spoke, his voice lower. “Since Tuyen arrived, it all came to the forefront again. I’ve been living out of that angry center, but pretending like I wasn’t. It kept me from getting close to her.”

Silence again.

“You want to know what the kicker was, Mom? I saw myself in the same old rut. Like Dad is, I guess. He asked me to forgive him for placing BJ on a pedestal, but he’s still got him there. I ask my kids to forgive me for being an absent dad, but my idiotic behavior continues. I’d rather work than step up to the plate with Tuyen.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I need to spell it out?”

Indio laughed softly. “Yes, Max.”

“It’s just too painful. Tending to heart connections is more difficult than negotiating with some giant corporation about hiring a hundred temporary employees nationwide to count inventory. Mix pain avoidance with anger and you get one ugly guy who won’t be there for his brother’s daughter. Who contributed to this tragic event.”

“And who confessed in an ambulance to God the Father, the Almighty One.”

Max exhaled loudly.

“Son, you know what comes next, after confession.”

“Yeah, yeah. The ugly guy is history. A new guy with a clean slate gets to try again.”

The voices grew muffled, as if cotton balls were wedged into Tuyen’s ears.

She did not comprehend all their words, but her heart grasped the intent behind them. She heard regret. Anguish. Hope. And . . . what was it? Something not so much heard as unheard.

The fog thickened, the twilight darkened. She began to drift away—

Condemnation! Yes, that was it!
Condemnation was not heard.

A golden glow splintered the fog. Unseen hands gently lifted from her the heavy dress made of clay. Tuyen felt clothed in warm sunlight, weightless as a feather.

She slept.

T
uyen, are you awake?”

At the sound of Uncle Max’s voice—so near, so tender—Tuyen peered through her eyelashes. She tried to speak, but only a faint scratching noise came.

“Are you thirsty? Here.”

She felt the tip of a straw at her lips and drank water. It tasted sweet and it soothed her parched throat like a balm.

“Better?”

“Mmm.” She forced a hoarse whisper. “Thank you.”

The bed shifted as he sat on its edge. Jostled, she became aware of her body. It ached, a dull sensation. She lay on her back, a thin pillow under her head, her arms atop a rough coverlet. From her elbows down was a mass of thick wraps and a tangle of IV tubes.

He touched her fingertips. “The doctor said you will be fine. Okay? You need to rest here at the hospital for a while. Tomorrow or the next day, I will take you home. Oh, honey, don’t cry.”

Tears seeped. He caught them against his thumb. She wanted to speak, to find out if it was all a dream, but the English words jumbled together incoherently in her mind.

He said, “I promise I’ll stay with you until it’s time to go. And then we’ll return to the hacienda. It’s your home, Tuyen. I am so sorry for not making you feel welcome there. I understand now that it’s my responsibility to take your father’s place, to love you like a daughter, to take care of you. I want to do that if you’ll let me. Does any of this make sense to you?”

Again, understanding did not interpret all the words. But she saw her Uncle Max’s face wrinkled in concern, his black hair messy, his jaw dark with stubble. And she heard the intent behind his many words.

A little smile danced on her lips. She started to nod her head, but it hurt too much. “It not dream.” The effort to speak grated across her vocal cords.

“What’s not a dream?”

“You and Nana talk. You want me home.”

“Yes, we both want you home very much. You are our BJ’s child. You are our family.”

Her smile stretched. “I glad I not die.”

“Me, too, honey.” He brushed hair back from her forehead. “Me too.”

She felt his gentle touch, saw his tender smile and the loving eyes that glistened as he looked at her. And for a fleeting moment she wondered if it was all a dream. Perhaps she had indeed awakened in that land of her ancestors where, according to her American grandmother, the Man-God called Jesus waited with welcoming arms.

  
Fifty-Five

H
er eyes shut, Rosie savored a mouthful of the best tamale she had ever tasted in her entire life. She swallowed and looked at her dad across the patio table at the Casa del Gusto.

“Ah, Papi. Marry this woman quick before someone else does.”

He only smiled in reply. Hands folded over his rotund midsection, he resembled a Buddha statue—one with Aztec features, wearing a white apron.

Next to him, Bobby chuckled. “At the very least, snag her recipes before she takes off and opens her own restaurant.”

The enigmatic smile remained, sculpted from stone. Not even an eyelid twitched.

“Papi! You proposed!”

He shook his head slowly. “You are always playing the detective. All I am doing is enjoying this beautiful sight of you and Bobby no longer estranged.”