Slightly Imperfect

by Tomlinson, Dar

  She laughed, tilting her head to insert one of the birthday diamonds into her ear. She fluffed her straightened, gleaming, raven hair.

  The doorbell rang. Zac shot up like a geyser.

  "I'll get it." He deposited the Corona on the counter and left her there, her laughter dwindling to a knowing smile.

  He held the door open and stepped back into the marble foyer slightly. "Hi. I'm Zac. Maggie's husband."

  "My ex-husband," Maggie said from behind him.

  "Hi." The perpetrator stepped inside, his smile a little wary. "I'm Paul Hindley." He made a jutting move with his hand, then stuck it in his pocket.

  "My friend," Maggie said.

  Zac tried to push the door closed. She stepped deftly around the two men and held it open.

  Built along formidable lines, Paul Hindley was taller than Zac's considerable stature and bulky beyond muscular. Zac wondered if muscles had attracted Maggie or if they were insignificant. He did a quick study of the man's indistinct features: brown hair, hazel eyes, fair complexion, thin lips. Zac came up void, other than realizing she wouldn't use this Anglo as a possible father for the new baby, but that didn't mean—he stalled at considering what it might or might not mean.

  "Are you gay, Paul?"

  Paul hid his surprise behind a good-natured, appraising grin. "No. Are you?"

  "No." Zac didn't return the grin.

  "Paul is a realtor," Maggie interjected quickly. "We've been looking for a house for my next project."

  "Our next project," Zac corrected. He heard Angel banging on the chair tray in the kitchen and remembered their rule of not leaving her alone. "Maggie has a thing for gay men."

  She laughed outright. "Let's go, Paul."

  "Where will you be, querida. In case—"

  "Wentletrap," Paul provided.

  Yeah. The red dress was perfect for the champagne and caviar crowd, and Paul's Anglo name would get them the table she deserved.

  "Should I wait up?" His gaze permeated hers.

  She stepped into him, just enough to qualify as a promise. He bent his cheek to her kiss.

  "I'll let you decide, Zaccheus."

  He waited up.

  * * *

  The sound of the front door opening, then closing, initiated a pounding in his chest she could probably hear. He glanced up from his book as casually as possible. "Hi. Did you have fun?"

  He checked her over, as closely as he dared. She seemed unscathed. He thought of Angel and considered it good training for the years ahead, if he was that privileged.

  "Wentletrap," he mused. "Nice. Of course you were the most beautiful woman there."

  "I'm not sure I was. Considering my dress was too short and too tight. And the wrong color."

  He smiled penitently.

  She crossed the study and knelt next to his leg, her hand on his knee. "How did Angel behave?"

  "Great. We went to Baskin-Robbins, then to see Mama and Papa for a while. Luke and Jan were there with Tita. Angel mimicked everything Tita did. We had fun." He put his hand over hers. "I missed you, though."

  "What did you tell them?"

  "The truth. We made a doll that looked like you and everyone threw poison darts at it."

  She laughed. "You're reading your philosophy book again."

  He had re-enrolled for the fall semester in the class he'd ended up dropping from the summer session. This session wasn't faring much better.

  "Yeah. I could learn it on my own except I can't get my PhD until I go the distance like everyone else. I've got all this money, but I can't buy a degree. It's ironic, Maggie." He thought of how ironic. "But fishing is really off right now—until spring. I'm switching my night classes to days. Somehow, I'm going to do this."

  "Why is it so important to you?"

  "I want to teach. In the worst way. I want to get off this treadmill of trying to do a little of everything, not doing a great job of anything." Hearing his conclusion voiced felt good. "Papa will be too old and too feeble to fish before long, even with all the strides he's making. When Ruffin gets back and we get our fleet together, maybe I can convince Papa just to go out with Ruffin now and then and—"

  "He wants to fish with you. He wants to be with you."

  "Yeah. I'm lucky he does."

  "You still want it all, Zac."

  "But I want the right things now. God knows that, and He'll kick in. I just have to keep humping."

  "I knew the money would change you," she confessed. "I just didn't expect it to change you for the better."

  "Thanks, Maggie." He let that sink in. "Paul's a realtor, huh?"

  "Yes. I think we've found the perfect house. You can look at it this week. If you agree, we can close immediately. Some sections of it are better than others. Angel and I can easily live there while I refurbish."

  "What about this place?"

  "I don't want to overstay my welcome."

  "My construction. What about that?"

  She smiled again, penetrating his transparency. "No problem, Zac. I can easily do both places at once. Fischer's Landing is winding down."

  He thought of standing, lifting her and carrying her to bed—her bed—making love to her on his terms, maybe right here on Carron's oriental rug. "I have to know something."

  She raised her brows, held her hair back when she cocked her head upward.

  "Who is the one guy you've slept with since—since I went crazy and walked all over you and broke your heart?"

  "You." She spoke so quietly he had to watch her lips and allow them to seal the hope he hadn't let himself have. "After you, Zac, my standards were so high no one else met them."

  "God." He let his breath out, stashed the book, leaned forward and caught her face between his hands. "I want to say that's great, but I don't really know what's the right thing to say. For your benefit."

  "But you approve?"

  He leaned to kiss her lightly, waiting to see where she would take it.

  She sat back. "I told you you'd approve." She rose and slipped her shoes off, a move he recognized. But then she said, "Victoria called this afternoon."

  His heart plummeted before he remembered and allowed it to soar. "Did she leave a message?"

  "She said she'd call back."

  He rose quickly, dumping the book on the floor.

  "Good night, Zac."

  He stood there, giving up her heat and scent and the essence of her, trading it for a phone call that could mean only one thing.

  * * *

  "Hello, Victoria. Maggie said you called."

  "Yes." Her voice was quiet, almost surreptitious.

  "If it's about Marcus and the papers—"

  "I'm so glad you're eager. That you haven't changed your mind."

  No communication had passed between them. She might have been a flaw in his imagination if not for the constant coverage of her life in all the local papers, and the Houston paper, endorsing Pierce Chandler.

  "I haven't changed my mind." He felt ambiguous about the fact she hadn't either. Marcus was near the top of his personal list of things to long for, but somehow he had wanted Victoria to want him more. Then he reminded himself that her relinquishing Marcus possibly had nothing to do with want, the way she claimed. He tried to grant her the benefit of doubt and settle on that theory.

  "Can you be at the suite Monday morning? Around ten?" She asked tentatively. "Ray Trazinski—Tommy's—the attorney—will bring the papers."

  He waited for the payoff.

  "You can take Marcus with you. I mean—" She faltered.

  Zac felt his own throat tighten. He got a mental picture of her face, a familiar portrait of confusion and pain struggling within a maze of determination.

  "Is that all right, Zac? Are you prepared for—"

  "Yeah, I am. Are you?"

  "No." She spoke so softly he thought he might have imagined her answer, or wished it into being. She replaced the phone gently, and Zac sat savoring the word "no" with mixed emotions.

  CH
APTER TWENTY-SIX

  At the hotel suite on Monday morning, the legalities proved short and bitter sweet. A discussion about changing Marcus's name from Cordera to Abriendo erupted, but Zac held his ground. The papers had been prepared that way, but Victoria was having a last-minute change of heart. A silence, weighty with memories only she could have, settled over the little group. Zac tried not to care how she felt, tried not to admit that she loved Tommy Cordera this moment as much as she ever had. Zac had been only a brief respite in her agony.

  Finally, she wordlessly scrawled her name on the papers and passed them across the granite-topped cocktail table. His own signature was so hasty he hoped it was valid.

  They rose. Victoria was just as beautiful, just as delicate, still in need of protecting, guiding, nurturing, but the responsibility was apparently Coby's now. He hadn't left her side. His hand had never ceased touching her in some fashion since Zac had entered the room.

  Zac avoided her eyes, unwilling for her to search his skittish soul, to read any promise for the future she might imagine there. He was not eager to follow in Tomas's footsteps should she grow weary once more of the life she had again chosen and seek yet another respite.

  "Well, that's everything," Ray Trazinski said in a brusque, matter-of-fact tone. He capped a Mont Blanc pen and put it carefully inside his jacket pocket. "Congratulations, Mr. Abriendo. He's a fine boy."

  Trazinski would never know how fine. To him, shuffling lives was probably like shuffling cards, as necessary as shuffling cards in a poker game.

  "I'll send Marcus down," Victoria murmured. "He'll take only a few things now. I don't want him to feel—I'll send the rest later."

  Her voice seemed to come from far away. She lifted her eyes to the lawyer, then shifted them to the document Zac held in his hand. Envisioning her asking him to return it, hearing paper ripping, in his mind, he folded the document and stuck it inside his canvas jacket. She tilted her head, brought her chin to a perfectly level angle, squared her shoulders.

  At last she said, "Thank you, Ray," dismissively.

  She waited while Ray Trazinski and Zac shook hands wordlessly. Coby released her and walked Ray to the door. She swiveled, extended her hand to Zac. He took it. This time he had to meet her eyes. Pools of moss torment.

  "I love him, Victoria."

  "I know." She nodded, smiled. "So do I, Zac. Tell me you believe that."

  "I'll always tell him that. Somehow I'll make him believe it."

  She pulled her hand away and went up the steeply winding staircase.

  Sensing Coby's presence, Zac faced him, met his eyes, serene reflections of the azure Gulf beyond the wall of windows. Other than that, looking at Coby was like looking into Victoria's face. Just as she'd said, the resemblance was too intense for cousins.

  Coby offered, "No hard feelings, I hope."

  Considering Coby had won. Zac wasn't sure he considered himself the loser, though. "I haven't decided yet."

  Coby cocked one brow, Victoria fashion. "It's probably all for the best. At least I won't have to kill you."

  Zac waited a long time for Coby's smile. Even then it didn't seem quite focused, exactly genuine. As a chill moved up his spine, Zac laughed into Coby's implausibly handsome face and into his gall. "You are a crazy bastard."

  Coby shrugged. "Probably. Or maybe I'm accepting what fate handed me."

  "Maybe I am, too."

  Drawn by a noise on the stairs, Zac looked up, welcoming fate into his life and Marcus into his arms.

  * * *

  "Do you believe in God, Marcus?"

  The boy glanced across the Toyota bucket seats as they pulled away from the hotel. Zac found his expression a little humoring. Tomas Macario Cordera Abriendo had gotten a lot wiser in the last nine months.

  "Sure." He smiled, shrugging.

  "What do you believe?"

  "He created us, and now he's watching to see how we act."

  Close enough. For now.

  He took Marcus directly to the dock, locked his one little suitcase in the Toyota and helped him scramble eagerly onto the Ramona Tres. They culled the first pitiful haul of the day while dragging the nets a second time, just out from the yellow house on Bay Shore. Zac's gaze kept straying to the red van, visible in the distance, a beacon in a dying storm.

  "Well, compadre. It's you and me now. Just us guys." Zac reached for a rusty can top before Marcus could cut himself.

  Marcus looked up, nodded, black eyes a little cloudy.

  "Except for Maggie and Angel," Zac assured him quickly. "We have them for now anyway—actually for always, because Maggie and I love each other."

  "You still love each other?"

  "Yeah, still. We always have. We probably always will. And God created Angel to prove it to us—in case we ever forget."

  Marcus stopped the rake, looked toward the house. "Zac?"

  "Qué , amigo?"

  "Did God give me to you today?"

  "Yeah, He did."

  Marcus lowered his eyes, raking listlessly.

  Zac ached to reach for him. But there would be time later. The rest of Zac's life. "God works in mysterious ways, mi hijo. That may be a little much for you right now, but you'll get it eventually, and it's important that you remember it. When things are going crazy in your life, you remember I told you."

  Marcus nodded, head heavy.

  "God went a funny, round-about way to get you to me, but that's okay. You touched a lot of lives along the way. And just remember, hijo, that's your privilege. You can go on doing that, touching people and making their lives better, as long as you live." He paused and searched the young face, satisfied Marcus understood. His intelligence and pliability were gratifying. If Za c never got that philosophy degree he coveted, he had a student in Marcus. "You've made my life better than I deserve it to be. I'll try not to let you down, Marcus."

  "Me, too."

  Zac swallowed, touched his jacket sleeve to the end of his nose and blinked until Marcus's face cleared in his vision.

  "I like Maggie, Zac," Marcus said as though he'd just remembered. "She's pretty, like Victoria—and nice. I like Angel, too. She's funny." Having been pinched in previous culling attempts, he gingerly extracted a crab from the pile, tossed it into a nearby bucket. "Angel's fun like Ari and Alex."

  "Yeah." Zac braced himself, sharing their aches.

  "I miss Ari and Alex. I can't stop missing them."

  "God wants you to miss them."

  Marcus looked surprised, doubtful. "Why? It hurts."

  "He wants you to hurt, mi hijo. When you hurt, you're living life to its fullest. The goal. You know what a goal is?"

  "Something to get."

  Zac liked the way he hadn't said, "Something to try for."

  "Right. The real goal is not to hurt anyone else. That's the very best life can possibly be, going to bed at night knowing you didn't hurt anyone that day."

  "Like talking mean or being selfish."

  "Very astute."

  Marcus gave him a puzzled grin.

  "That's right. Should we make that our goal? We can work on it together and check up on each other. Give stars if we earn them, and take them back when we don't. What do you think?"

  "I like you, Zac."

  Marcus put down the rake, crawled on his hands and knees through the slimy shrimp. Zac leaned forward and he slipped his little arms around Zac's neck. Zac prayed not to cry, at least not to sob.

  "I love you, Marcus Abriendo."

  "That's what I meant, too." He pulled back, knelt on his haunches, dropped his hands to Zac's folded knees.

  "I know that, hijo. Remember this. It's okay for men to love each other, and that's what we're going to do. My papa always loves me, even when I'm wrong. If your father were alive he'd love you like I do." He stopped, searched Marcus's eyes, gave him time to understand. "But if you ever feel like you can't love me—or I'm not loving you enough—you tell me, and we'll fix it right then. Is it a deal?"

  He nodded,
smiled.

  "Let's always tell each other what we really mean, Marcus. Papa Alejandro and I try to do that, even when we don't like what we're saying or hearing. Comprendes, compadre?"

  "Comprendo, amigo."

  "Would you like to call me Poppie? Like Angel is supposed to?" Zac smiled, shrugged. "Someday she will. I hope."

  "Maybe." He mimicked Zac's shrug. "Someday."

  Zac pulled him to his chest, hugging him tight. He kissed his temple, ruffled his mass of black hair. "Fair enough. When you're ready, you jump right in." He got to his feet, drawing him up. "Let's get these nets in so we can go home and see those women God gave us."

  * * *

  Maggie was gone when they got home. Marcus stood in the bay window, watching for the van. Near dinner time, as the rich aroma of Sylvania's cooking filled the house and her voice, along with Delia's, and Angel's, floated out from the kitchen, Maggie came through the door. The satisfaction in her eyes moved Zac, affirmed his actions. She lowered her bundles to the floor and held out her arms to Marcus. He went to her, threw his arms around her hips, and buried his face in her middle.

  She ruffled his hair. "What a nice surprise. Can you stay a few days?" Her eyes met Zac's, underlining the question.

  Marcus pushed back, gazing up at her, but he and Maggie weren't that far apart in height. Soon, almost before they could enjoy the innocent years, he would tower over Maggie. Someday, when the years stooped Zac, Marcus would tower over him, too.

  "I can stay forever," Marcus said.

  Zac watched curiosity flick across the plane of her dark eyes before she lifted them to him again, searching for answers. He nodded. "Another little surprise, querida."

  After she had seen Angel and dismissed Delia for the evening, Zac followed her into her bathroom. He stood in the doorway, one shoulder against the facing, one hand braced against the opposite side, watching her step out of her shoes, shrink before his eyes. She went into the closet and closed the door just enough to block his view. Momentarily, she appeared in leggings and a long sweater, barefoot still. Smiling, she took up her brush and began stroking it through her hair.