A Time to Gather (8 page)

“Rosita.” He leaned forward until his forehead nearly touched hers, locking eyes with her. “Why do you come on your nights off and watch him on my television?”

Several replies sprang to mind. In the first place, to be with her father, of course. She spent much of her time off with him. She helped out at his restaurant, waiting tables or prepping food. She made sure he got home at a decent hour for a sixty-five year old. His capable manager did not need Esteban hovering until closing time.

And then there was the fact that she didn’t own a television.

But something told her he would dismiss those . . . excuses.

She cleared her throat. “I’m praying for him.”

Esteban sat up straight. “Ah!” he said in disgust.

“God told me to.”

“You are crazy.”

She grinned, waiting for what always followed.

“Just like your madre. Ah!”

“Thanks.”

He shook his head. “Why don’t you find a nice boyfriend and go out more?”

“I go out plenty.”

“With police people.”

“So? They’re my friends, and they’re nice.”

“The ones you mention are all married.”

“Their spouses are my friends too.”

“You are lonely.”

“Papi! I am not. Stop worrying.”

“This Erik Beaumont reminds me of”—if thunder had a physical expression, it would look like what came over her dad’s face—“Ryan Taylor.”

“Nah. No way. Taylor had blue eyes.”

“Do not make jokes about this. Ryan Taylor was evil. So is Erik Beaumont.”

“Papi, yes, Taylor was evil. I fell for his blue eyes and his lies, and I never prayed for his soul. Beaumont is a stranger toward whom I am not in the least bit attracted. It’s only when the news comes on that I’m reminded of him.”
And when I take domestic disturbance
calls to his condo
. But that wasn’t the point.

“This is true?” he asked.

“It is true.”

He kissed her forehead. “My heart is heavy. You need a good man.”

“I have you.”

He chuckled.
“Te amo, mija.”

His term of endearment always warmed her.
“Te amo, Papi.”

“Good night. Be careful going home.” He left the room.

Rosie stared at the muted television. The weatherman and sportscaster now sat in the chairs usually occupied by Beaumont and Matthews. They appeared harried and uncertain.

She wondered why Beaumont had been left on air so long. It was obvious from the start of the program that he was not quite sober. He must have the entire staff wrapped around his little finger, else how in the world did he get on the set in the first place?

Unless the powers that be wanted him there because they needed a reason to fire him.

Oh, well!
It wasn’t her problem. He wasn’t her problem. If he got fired, then she wouldn’t have to watch him anymore. She wouldn’t have to think about praying for him.

Except when she couldn’t get him out of her mind.

Like now, when he wasn’t on the screen in front of her.

“Aw, nuts, Lord. Please take care of him. Let him be fired or not. Whatever. Whatever will open his heart to Your divine love and mercy. Amen.”

  
Eleven

Mom!” Jenna’s voice pierced through the phone line.

“Hi.” Claire clicked off the television and wrapped an afghan more tightly about herself.

“Did you see him?” her daughter cried.

“Yes, I—”

“Erik’s life is ruined! What are we going to do?”

“Oh, honey.”

“It is!”

On any normal day Jenna’s emotional outbursts were over the top. It was her personality. Since Kevin’s departure, though, she’d been hitting the stratosphere on a regular basis.

“Now listen to me, Jenna. First off, we’re going to pray.”

“You sound more like Nana every day!” Jenna’s words were not a compliment.

“Well, what can I say? Prayer works. The fact that your father and I are not divorced is proof that God exists and He wants the best for us.”

“Erik doesn’t believe that.”

“It doesn’t matter. Do you know how long your Nana and Papa prayed for us before we really believed that? A long time. So first off, prayer. Second—” An image of Erik came to mind, of his pathetic effort on television to function normally. Claire’s throat constricted.

Her eldest was plunging headfirst down a slippery slide. Most likely he had already hit the low levels of alcoholism and job loss. What was next? Jail? Homelessness? The gutter?

“Mom!”

“Hm?” The word was more a cry of despair than a question.

“You said ‘second.’”

She took a quick breath. “Right. Second. Second, we cry.”

“Oh, Mom!”

Claire grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and pressed it to her face. She and Jenna did not speak for several moments.

“Mom, where’s Dad?”

She blew her nose. “Outside, walking off . . . whatever.”

“He talked to Erik, right?”

“Tonight?”

“No, I mean the day Kevin left, Dad came over and apologized for . . . for stuff. I figured he met with Erik too.”

“Yes, he talked with all of you. Why?”

“It did a number on me, Mom. I mean, it was, like,
whammo
! All of a sudden Dad’s nearly in tears, apologizing for missing my piano recitals three lifetimes ago. I told him he was crazy and who needed to talk about that? Then he made me realize he was serious, and he really needed me to listen. I reminded him that he always apologized when he didn’t show up for something or was late, like to my wedding rehearsal. My reaction was always to tell him where to get off. Then he’d threaten to wash my mouth out with soap. In the end, we’d make up.”

Claire couldn’t help but smile. Dramatic and mouthy traits served Jenna well when it came to her relationship with Max. She usually didn’t bury her anger or her hurts.

Jenna went on. “Dad said he just wanted to clear the air once and for all. So I said there was nothing to forgive, and asked him when he’d joined AA. He kind of laughed and said the steps were good even if alcohol wasn’t involved. We talked about him starting his own group: Absentees Anonymous.”

Claire blew her nose. Hearing Jenna’s version of their conversation tore off a corner of the scab again. Would the wound ever completely heal? When the kids were little, she had made excuses for their dad’s absence, for his seeming lack of interest in their lives. She should have confronted him and let the chips fall. By not being real herself, she had handicapped her babies.

“Mom, you asked me for forgiveness, too, last fall. I didn’t get it then. I still don’t. But I guess you both need to hear it, so okay: I forgive you and I forgive Dad for not being perfect. All right?”

Claire nodded, as if Jenna could see her. “All right.”

“And I take full responsibility for my actions from here on out. I won’t blame either one of you if I’m unhappy or do something majorly stupid.”

“Honey, that’s a mature attitude.”

“I just don’t want to sound like my students. All day long they gripe about whose fault it is they didn’t do their homework. Anyway, the reason I asked about Erik is I’m wondering: how did he respond to Dad?”

“I’d rather you talked to your dad than hear my secondhand rendition.”

“The thing is, was he upset? I mean, I was upset. It’s just so emotional, you know? Erik doesn’t do emotion. Lexi doesn’t do emotion. Danny expresses it and probably handled Dad’s whammo better than I did.”

Claire nodded again. Jenna’s opinion of her siblings mirrored Max’s report. Lexi and Erik had blown him off. Danny emoted, quickly offering forgiveness to the dad he’d nearly idolized since childhood.

Jenna said, “My guess is Erik is upset and that’s why he did this tonight. He’s working it out. And if what he said about Felicia is true, there’s a double whammo.”

“Do you think she would?”

“Cheat on him? In a heartbeat. She’s a— Well, never mind. So what are we going to do, Mom? Besides pray and cry?”

“Love on him.”

“How do we do that?”

Claire looked around the room. The kitchen was large. She sat on a couch at one end of it, near a fireplace, dining table, and television. One wall was part of the original chapel in the more than one-hundred-year-old adobe building. It still displayed her mother-in-law’s collection of crosses, a constant reminder of God’s faithfulness.

She thought of the hacienda, of how it had suffused her with warmth and hope the first time Max took her there to meet his parents. She didn’t have words for it until many years later. The place had been her safe harbor. People who came for retreats found it so. In recent weeks she could see how, at last, it was becoming the same for Max. It had been for her children as well, especially when they were little. Could it offer safety to them now?

“Jen, one of the guest rooms is almost finished. In another week or so, a second one should be done. Maybe . . .”
Oh Lord, please?
“Maybe it’s time for a family retreat here. A weekend thing. Everyone would have a place to sleep. What do you think?”

“I think I’d be the only one who’d come.”

Claire grabbed another tissue. What happened to the good old days when they all pretended life was just fine?

  
Twelve

L
exi entered the television studio not long after Danny. Via cell phone, he directed her to the producer’s office and told her to ignore the closed door.

Still, she knocked.

None of the voices she overheard called out, “Come in.”

She hesitated. What was she doing there? She would do anything for Danny, which was why she’d said yes to him without question and raced downtown. It didn’t matter that it was after eleven p.m. or that she had to quit painting, her most important activity relegated to precious few hours a week, a thing she would not interrupt for anyone else.

But this was really all about Erik. Why would she stay for him?

Because he was her brother.

She figured the sibling thing was innate, reinforced by Nana’s stories. According to her grandmother, Max and his brother BJ were always at odds unless somebody threatened the other one. Even in Lexi’s lifetime her dad had gone to Washington to urge congressmen to insist Vietnam hand over MIA information.

Funny. He’d missed her eighteenth birthday because he was in D.C. defending, in a sense, his brother, most likely long dead.

Lexi shook her head and opened the producer’s door. Danny’s loud voice covered the noise of her shutting it behind her.

He stood in front
of a desk, red faced and hands on hips. “You can’t do this!”

Beside him, Erik sprawled in a chair, arm over its back, his legs crossed. His smirk was typical
laissez-faire
, as if the whole scene bored him.

Lexi assumed the man behind the desk was the producer. He shrugged and said, “Yes, we can do this. I defer to our legal counsel. Jackie?”

A woman seated next to him flipped through a stack of papers. She wore blue jeans, a sweatshirt, her brown hair in a ponytail, and sleep folds still puffed at her eyes. “Uh . . . yes. Mr. Beaumont.” She glanced up at Erik. “Your contract becomes null and void if you, uh, if you did what they say you did tonight.”

He flashed his charming smile. “You missed it?”

“Sorry.” She flushed. “I mean . . .” She cleared her throat. “My husband just returned from a two-week overseas business trip and we—uh, I don’t always catch the late news.”

“Jackie,” Erik purred. “My own family and friends don’t always catch the late news.”

Danny leaned across the desk toward the producer. “Kipler, you can’t get away with firing him. What you did was let him go on air when you shouldn’t have, and then you kept him there. That makes it your responsibility.”

“How were we to predict his idiotic behavior?”

“Because he was drunk!”

Erik lifted an arm and shook his finger. “I beg to differ. I only had a few.”

They ignored him.

The producer said, “He didn’t act drunk when I saw him. It wasn’t obvious he was out of control until he accused Felicia of—that was when we cut him off.”

“You’re a liar!”

“I think this meeting is over!”

“You let the cameras roll long after the usual time for the commercial break. You trapped him on purpose. You’ve been after him for months!”

“Prove it.”

“We will, you—”

“Dan.” Erik laid a hand on Danny’s arm and sprang to his feet. “Let’s go. Jackie.” He thrust his other hand toward her. “It’s been a pleasure, my dear.”

Shaking his hand, she smiled and blushed.

“Kipler.” Erik shook his hand next. “It’s been . . . well, whatever. Say good-bye, Dan.” He turned. “Ah, Lexi! Everyone, this is my little sister, Alexis.”

She ignored their stares, stepped to Danny, and grabbed the back of his jacket. “Come on.”

While Danny fussed and muttered, Erik somehow got the three of them ushered out the door and down the hall.

“Wasn’t that fun?” Walking between them, he swung one arm over Lexi’s shoulders, the other over Danny’s. “My heroes. Thanks for coming, guys.”

“Erik, can’t you be serious for one minute? They’re railroading you. You’ve got to fight this.”

“Let the lawyers unravel it. The night is young, and we have miles to go before we sleep.”

Lexi slid an arm across his back. “You’re our brother, Erik. We love you. Please stop hurting yourself. Please don’t go out drinking tonight.”

“Drinking?” He chortled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I have other plans. I’m going to kill my best friend.”

“Brett?”

“Yep. Gotta stay sober for something like that, don’t you think?”

Danny said, “Brett? What are you talking about?”

“Dan, Dan. My Boy Scout. What do you think I’m talking about?”

Lexi felt a sudden loss of energy. She knew what he was talking about. “Not Brett.”

“Oh yes, Brett. Of all the males in San Diego panting after her, you’d think Felicia could have found somebody else.”

It was going to be a long night.

T
hey escorted Erik outdoors to the sidewalk for some fresh air. Lexi believed he was fairly sober. He’d been more hurt and angry than blitzed during the news.

“Brett Abbott?” Danny’s shoulders sagged. He looked like a deflated balloon.