A Time to Gather (6 page)

“No, I want to tell you now.”

Tucking her legs beneath herself, she sat down beside him on the love seat and glanced around the master suite. Logs burned in the fireplace, keeping the January chill at bay and cozying the room. “I like this room a lot.”

“Yeah, it’s great. But I did notice you were in the kitchen when I got home.”

She smiled. “And not in here behind bolted doors?”

“Does that mean you did okay being all alone at night?”

“I did fine.” She smiled. “Just me, the howling coyotes and mountain lions, and my violin. I played up a storm.”

“I knew you could do it.”

Max wasn’t gone much anymore. Business travel seldom occurred. His parents were only a holler away down the road. Still, though, her first few times alone at night in the sprawling hacienda set in the middle of hundreds of acres had unnerved her. It wasn’t so much that she was by herself or that Max was out of cellular phone reach. What sent chills down her spine were haunting memories of a night spent there narrowly escaping a wildfire.

She winked. “Well, this place is, after all, a safe harbor. Especially when I’m on my knees.”

He grinned. “Prayer makes a difference.”

“Listen to us. It’s still hard to imagine, isn’t it? We pray about everything.” She exchanged a look of wonder with him.

“And go to church without thinking about how to network with business contacts.”

“And trust that God is right here with us.”

“And confess to my kids what an idiot I’ve been for most of their lives. Or, as Erik would phrase it, a putz.”

“I am so proud of you. Today you went to each one of them and asked for forgiveness.”

“Well, it’s not like I had a choice. Once God gets hold of you and you realize how dead you were before, you don’t want to go back to being dead. Forward is the only direction.” He set the mug on an end table. “Forward meant clearing the air with them.”

“And now you’re two tons lighter.”

“Yes.” He rested his elbows atop his knees. “While I was driving to meet Lexi, I thought about the pastor’s sermon last week. Remember he talked about how we need to examine our beliefs?”

“Vaguely.”

“He said what we believe about ourselves—whether it’s true or false, conscious or not—determines our emotions and our behavior.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I realized my actions toward the kids shaped their beliefs about themselves. My absence must have communicated that they weren’t important, that they didn’t count as people. Isn’t that awful? I mean . . .” He rubbed his forehead. “That is so despicable. What right did I have to . . .” A choking sound overtook his voice.

“Oh, hon. We all make mistakes.”

“Claire, don’t let me off the hook. Lexi, Danny, and Jenna all tried to let me off, saying I did my best. Granted, I’m not totally responsible, but my impact on them was huge. I’m their dad, for crying out loud.”

She reached over and touched his damp cheek. “Their loving dad who asked for forgiveness.”

“Yeah. It didn’t seem to be a big deal to any of them, though.”

“It was, Max. Trust me. It had to be.” She moved into his arms, her head on his chest, and let him cry.

His stories could wait.

M
ax again insisted he did not want the stories to wait.

Claire made more tea and settled back onto the couch with a mug and a box of tissues. “Okay. You saw Lexi first?”

“Mm-hmm. I did my thing. Told her I was an idiot. I got no response. She just kept on digging in the dirt.”

“Digging?”

“I met her at one of her work sites. She was transplanting flowers.”

“That’s Lexi. Always planting or painting. It’s how she copes.”

“What do you mean, copes?”

“I suspect she’s more lonely than she lets on.”

“Lonely? She has friends. And I thought she was dating that guy Zak.”

A painful realization dawned on Claire. Max had missed out on years with Lexi. While he connected with Danny via business interests, their youngest daughter remained outside his purview. But surely her personality had registered with him.

Claire said, “You know how withdrawn and quiet she is.”

“Uh.” His face contorted, as if he searched his memory for snapshots of Lexi.

“She’s never really had friends, Max. She did poorly in school because of her dyslexia. Except for Danny, her closest relationship is with Vivian, her boss, who’s my age. And Zak?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure. He’s a fireman and works odd hours and lives in North County. As far as I can tell, they get together only occasionally.”

“I should know this stuff.”

“You will. It’s a new day for you.”

He pressed his lips together, unconvinced.

“How’d things go with Danny?”

“The same, but different. I met him at Kono’s, at that coffee cart on the boardwalk. Then we walked out on the pier.”

Claire blinked consciously, in slow motion, and reminded herself God’s ways were not hers. Neither were Max’s. Why he would carry on such a deeply personal dialogue on a busy pier rather than in Danny’s apartment two blocks away was far beyond her comprehension. But that was okay.

She blinked again and waited.

“Dan heard me out. Told me I did my best. That he appreciated all the opportunities I provided, all the business insights I give him. I insisted I had let him down by being an absent dad. He hugged me and said don’t worry about it.”

She smiled. “And that’s Danny.”

“Yeah. He’s like me in many ways when it comes to
business, but thank God he’s got your soft side.”

“He’s been ahead of both of us in the faith department for years.”

“He’s always been open about his Christianity, but the thing is . . .” He paused. “We know how he is, so black-and-white, so into following the rules. If he thinks he’s supposed to forgive me, he will say the right words. I don’t know if they’re registering in his heart, though. I guess this is where God does His thing?”

“Yes. We sure can’t do it.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Okay. Dan had someplace to go; he left. I stood there until after the sun went down.”

“And then you went to Erik’s?”

“We met at a coffee shop in Little Italy.”

Again with the public confession.

“We sat outside. Didn’t bother getting coffee. Like always, he was in an obvious hurry to be elsewhere. So I gave him the short version of my spiel. ‘I’m sorry. I hope for your sake you can forgive me.’ He called me a putz and walked off. I don’t know how long I sat there.”

They exchanged a despondent gaze. Erik’s reaction was no surprise either.

“And Jenna?” Claire said. She had spent the day with their daughter, leaving her a short while before Max’s expected arrival. Jenna appreciated their visits, but she couldn’t be talked into coming to the hacienda. She insisted she had to get used to Kevin’s absence starting immediately, his first night away.

“I picked up Chinese and went to her house. Made her eat a little something. She’s so sad about Kevin, isn’t she?”

Claire nodded.

“I almost didn’t get into it with her, but then I figured maybe it’d give her something else to think about.”

“You two have always had an open relationship.”

“I think we’ve been straight with each other. Anyway, she wanted to let me off the hook too. She said there wasn’t anything to forgive. I said someday she’d understand that there are things.”

“You did good, Dad.” She leaned over and squeezed his hand. “And you’re two tons lighter.”

“I feel better, but . . .” He shook his head. “Maybe it was all a ridiculous effort. I doubt it’ll make an impact on any of them.”

“Max, you did what you had to do. You made confession to them. Now it’s their choice whether or not they’ll forgive you. Remember your own reactions to your parents?”

He frowned. “It’s obvious where Erik got his ‘who cares’ attitude.”

She smiled softly. “And remember you and I discussed how the kids might react. We were not surprised. We imagined in one way or another everything you described.”

“But—” His voice thickened. “If I could just erase those old tapes in their heads, then they could stop believing the lie that their dad ignored them because they’re worthless, unimportant people.”

Through a shimmer she saw tears spill from his eyes.

He rubbed the heels of his hands roughly across his face. “They should believe healthy things about themselves.”

“Hon, you started erasing the old tapes today.”

“I don’t know—”

“Yes. You most definitely did. With your apologizing, you loved on them. You loved on them like crazy. That in itself records new over the old.”

He frowned, clearly not buying her interpretation.

“Max!” Hearing her frustrated tone, she stopped talking. What was his problem?
Lord, can I have some insight here?

“It’s too little, too late,” he said.

“Oh, hush up.” She scooted closer, rising on her knees until she was almost nose to nose with him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You sound just like them. God is your Father, Max. He’s trying to love on you like crazy and you won’t let Him. He’s trying to record in your heart that you matter. That He is wild about you even if you are imperfect. That He totally forgives you for being an absent dad.”

Max tilted his head back, as if to focus better on her face.

“You know this, hon. Jesus took care of it all on the cross. Right? Maybe, though—” She tapped his chest. “Maybe you don’t
know
it know it.”

His frown eased into a wary expression. “What do you mean?”

“You’re having trouble receiving love.”

“Like the kids are?”

“Ach!” She screamed in jest. “Let’s stop talking about the kids!” She drew his face closer to hers and kissed his cheek. In a husky voice, she whispered, “Let’s talk about us.”

“Huh?”

“I might be able to help you practice receiving love.” She kissed the corner of his smile.

He chuckled. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“That my husband turns me on because he’s so incredibly honest and vulnerable?”

Max burst into laughter. “Well that wasn’t exactly what I was thinking. But . . .” He kissed her in a slow, leisurely way. “I think we can go with that.”

  
Eight

T
his is a familiar address,” Rosie said.

Bobby pounded on the front door of the home again. “I don’t remember ever being in this building. Police!” He raised his voice. “Open up!”

They were on the third floor of a condominium complex. Someone from the second floor had called in, complaining about loud voices and crashes above them. At the moment no sound came from the other side of the door. Still she tensed. Domestic disturbances were the worst. More than once a berserk couple had turned from beating on each other to physically attacking her or Bobby.

She said, “No, I don’t think we’ve been here before. The street and number seem familiar is all.”

Her partner thumped the door again.

“Coming!” a female voice called out.

A long moment passed before the door finally opened. A smiling woman greeted them. “Hi!”

Thirtyish. Blonde. Blue-eyed. Homecoming queen material. Black cocktail dress, above the knee, plunging neckline. Local television news personality. Felicia Matthews, in the flesh. Plenty of flesh.

Aw, nuts.
Matthews plus the familiar address equaled Erik Beaumont’s place. Not that Rosie had memorized his address from his driver’s license. She just remembered numbers.

“You’re the police?” Matthews cocked her head.

Maybe the question was rhetorical. Rosie thought of how she and Bobby looked like twins dressed in their uniforms, short cold-weather jackets with telltale insignia, and ten pounds of equipment hanging at their waists making their hips look wide as a squad car.

Rosie hoped to spit that they were the police.

Bobby said, “There was a complaint about loud noise coming from your condominium.”

“Oh, the condo is not mine. It belongs to my boyfriend.”

“May we come in?”

“But we’re fine, Officer. He was fussing maybe a bit too loudly, but he’s settled down now.”

“Ma’am, we really need to check things out if you don’t mind.” He smiled his real
smile, not the cop one.

To keep from laughing, Rosie pressed her tongue against her cheek. Obviously he recognized the woman too. He had told Rosie that, like her, he’d watched the Beaumont-Matthews TV news show after they’d arrested the guy. Bobby asked his wife if she would tape the news when he was at work; he didn’t want to miss a chance to ogle Felicia. His wife didn’t think he was funny.

“Certainly.” Matthews backed out of their way. “Please come on in. Erik! We have company, dear!” She shut the door behind them.

Although lamps were dim and gas flames danced in a fireplace, Rosie felt an instant coldness, a harshness about the place. The tiled foyer opened into a combination area of kitchen, dining, and living rooms. Uncovered floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, black except for distant city lights. Daylight hours would provide a spectacular, big-bucks view.

A spiral staircase led to a small landing with one door, presumably a bedroom. Furnishings were ultramodern, all gleaming stainless steel and glass and sharp edges. Upholstery was black. The place was a mess with newspapers, clothes, and whatnot scattered everywhere.

“By the way,” the woman said, “I’m Felicia Matthews.” She said the name in an offhand way, making it obvious that she knew they knew her identity.

Bobby shook her hand. “Nice to meet you in person. I’ve seen you on the news. I’m Officer Bobby Grey. This is Officer Delgado.”

Rosie nodded to her, not reaching for her hand since it was still clasped with Bobby’s.

Erik Beaumont appeared, emerging from a hallway at the back.

Felicia said, “This is Erik Beaumont.”

Although he seemed alert and his white shirt was tucked neatly into his jeans, he did not look well. He’d probably been drinking at some point that night. He stopped a few feet from them, making no effort to engage in conversation, his arms crossed.

Felicia went on, “So, as you can see, everything is fine and dandy. No disturbance going on here. What else can we do for you?”