Amen, L.A.

by Cherie Bennett

  I stopped again. Should I tell her that I had a big family meeting that night? That we might treat this time in Beverly Hills the way I was treating my escapade on the floor of the cabin with Sean? That is, like it never happened?

  “My family is thinking about going home,” I continued softly. I reached for the stuffed rabbit, Twitch, without realizing it and held it to my chest as if it was my own cherished childhood object. “I don’t know what we’ll decide. But I can tell you that right now I think I’ve had enough. I’ll let you know. I promise. Get well, Alex. Just get well. I miss you.”

  There were tears on my cheeks as I kissed her gently on the forehead and placed Twitch an inch from her left temple. Then I closed my eyes and said a quick, heartfelt prayer for God to give wisdom and strength to her doctors and for her to get well—in every sense of that word—as fast as she could.

  That was it. I kissed her again and took my leave, glancing back one more time when I reached the door. She slept peacefully. No sign of the demons that I knew tormented her.

  Now what? There was still three and a half hours until the big family meeting. Not sure where I was heading, I left Alex’s room, turned toward the elevator, and nearly smacked into someone coming toward me.

  Brett Goldstein. Dressed in jeans and a plaid button-down, with his left arm in a sling. Other than being kind of pale, he looked fine.

  “Hi” was his greeting.

  “Hi” was mine.

  He had the same effect on me as always. Various internal organs, including my heart, rearranged themselves. I told my heart to play dead. Brett was just like the rest of Brooke’s friends. Jaded. Self-absorbed. Very, very selfish.

  “How is she?” He shoved one hand in his jeans pocket.

  “Asleep. I didn’t talk to her at all.” I could hear the edge in my voice and I liked it, knowing that Brett had to hear it, too.

  He nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more.

  I folded my arms. “How about you?”

  “They’re going to release me. My elbow is sprained, hence the sling. They thought for a while I had a concussion, but when I counted backward from a thousand by sevens, they decided my brain was fine.”

  I frowned. “Brain, maybe. Judgment? The jury’s out.”

  He frowned back at me. “You’re pissed about last night.”

  I stared at him. “You should have known better than to take Alex to Hollywood!”

  It came out angrier and more emotional than I had intended, but I didn’t care.

  His eyes blazed as he fired back. “Hey, I wasn’t drinking, and I wasn’t going to drink. I was there to keep an eye on her—which you could have found out if you’d merely asked!”

  “You drove, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” I said accusingly. “You took her where you knew—”

  “I’m her friend, not her father. Alex makes her own choices.”

  Our voices carried down the hall to the nursing station, and I saw Nurse Ratched, who was still on duty, stick her disapproving head out of a patient’s room and glare at us.

  I shook my head. “We can’t talk here. We could wake her.”

  “Follow me.”

  He motioned down the hall, and I trailed him past the nurses’ station. Just past the double bank of elevators was a small lounge with two couches, a stuffed chair, a water dispenser, a utilitarian wall clock that read 4:31 p.m., and a wall-mounted television tuned silently to a Dodgers game. He sank into a navy blue faux leather couch. I sat next to him.

  “Here’s what I don’t get,” I said, only slightly mollified. “Last night we had a plan. Why didn’t you answer your cell? I tried you like a dozen times.”

  “Forgot to charge it. It was out of juice by the time we split up to look for her. Only I didn’t know it,” he replied.

  I felt like strangling him. “That’s your excuse? You could have borrowed someone’s phone.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “But that would assume I know your number by heart. Which I don’t.”

  If he was telling the truth about his battery running out, he had a point. But …

  “How about using Alex’s phone from the car?” I asked, challenging him.

  He looked at me cockeyed. “Are you kidding? You called her. She didn’t want to pick up, and let you go to voice mail. You have to know that. She wouldn’t let me touch her phone.”

  If that was true, he had another point, but I wasn’t ready to give up.

  “You understand why I’m so upset with you?”

  He rubbed his cheek. “Look, Nat, you’re making a lot of judgments here about people you don’t really know. You don’t know much about Alex, you don’t know much about me, and you definitely don’t know much about life in Los Angeles. I wish I had your number memorized. It would have made a difference. But the fact is, Alex is old enough to make her own decisions, whether you like those decisions or not.”

  I folded my arms again, feeling the tension in my muscles. “Yes,” I said. “To a point. Here’s the point: when you care about someone and they’re doing something self-destructive, you have a responsibility to help them.”

  “That’s how you see it.” Brett winced and readjusted the sling. “Here’s how I see it. Alex drinks, she doesn’t drink. She parties, she doesn’t party. That’s her call. Whether I decide to drive her or not, that’s my call. Not your call. And definitely not your father’s call.”

  I flushed. “Someone told you.” Not that I was surprised.

  “Someone told a lot of people. Phoning him? Bad move. Astonishingly bad move, actually.”

  I felt my jaw tighten. “I’d risk having all of Alex’s so-called friends hate my guts before I’d risk her life. That’s what real friends do.”

  “Maybe that’s the way it’s done back in Minnesota,” Brett said. “But it’s not the way we do it here.”

  “That doesn’t make your way the right way. Maybe you guys could stand to learn a thing or two about values.”

  He glowered for a moment like he was going to let me have it, but then shrugged. “Maybe. And maybe you guys could stand to learn a thing or two about self-righteousness. Anyone ever tell you you’ve got quite the streak going on?”

  Oh, he was making me insane. Somehow, he had turned this into a discussion of my character flaws?

  “You’re an idiot.” I jumped up, prepared to walk out on him.

  He stood, too, and used his good arm to hold me fast. My face was inches from his. His eyes pinned me. “I think you’re a terrific girl, Nat. Smart, thoughtful, loyal, caring. And pretty. No, not pretty. Beautiful.”

  He thought I was beautiful? With his good hand still holding my arm, his eyes softened.

  “I’m not perfect, Natalie. Never claimed to be. Don’t even want to be.”

  I softened, too. “I guess I feel like … like what we’re supposed to do is try to be our best selves.”

  He pursed his lips enigmatically. “Fine. I accept you the way you are. I can deal with it.”

  Actually, he didn’t know me at all. I had a mental flash to me and Sean entwined on the world’s ugliest rug, and the aftermath. My acting like it had never happened, and then my judging Sean for not being willing to open himself to me emotionally.

  “I’ve made a few mistakes,” I admitted.

  “Who hasn’t?” Brett finally let go of my arm. “I’ve got to get back downstairs. My parents are waiting to sign me out. Want to ride down with me?”

  I did. But I wanted to go back and look in on Alex again. Brett nodded when I told him that. He understood. “You still have my number?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  We stood together in silence. For a brief moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. And in that moment, I wanted him to. Even if it was a kiss goodbye, I wanted the experience of being kissed by Brett Goldstein. It might be the only chance I would ever get.

  That wasn’t what happened. Instead of moving his lips to mine, he took a step or two backward and told me to call him. “If you don’t, N
atalie? Put it on your list of mistakes.”

  With that, he turned and loped to the elevators. I didn’t move until I saw him get into an open one.

  When I got back to Alex’s room, she was still asleep; the Brooke squad was still nowhere around. I went inside, scrawled a quick note to her on a napkin I found, and tucked it under Twitch. It wasn’t easy to leave that note, to say what I had to say, but I did it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Eight p.m. Family meeting.

  I had thought that we would do it at the kitchen table at Ricardo’s mansion, since whenever we’d had big family discussions in Mankato, the venue was always the wooden kitchen table my father had inherited when his parents had last moved. There was a ritual to the thing, no matter how heavy or serious. We would assemble. My father would sit in the chair closest to the refrigerator, with my mom to his left and then us three kids completing the circle, in birth order. Before the meeting, my mother would have put bowls of shelled hazelnuts and pretzels in the center of the table for easy nibbling, plus pitchers of apple juice and ice water.

  Whoever had called the meeting would speak first. Then the rest of us would chime in. Sometimes we’d just share our feelings. Other times, we’d actually take a vote.

  The funny thing is, as I think back on those meetings where we did vote, I remember that the tally was always unanimous … right up until the four-to-one vote to move to California.

  This meeting was different. Different setting, and different outcome. Neither kitchen table, nor unanimous, nor four-to-one.

  Start with the setting. My parents drove us to a neutral location. Will Rogers State Beach, at the western end of Sunset Boulevard, where Temescal Canyon Road dead-ends into the Pacific Coast Highway in the town of Pacific Palisades. If you turn north on the highway, you’ll be in Malibu; south takes you to Santa Monica.

  Even though we arrived at 7:45 p.m., hundreds of people were still on the sand, doing all kinds of beachy things. There was Frisbee throwing, there were several games of beach volleyball under way, including one of Olympic quality, and at least a dozen surfers were in the water, waiting for the perfect wave to ride. The sun was low in the sky, framed by puffy cumulus clouds that promised a spectacular sunset. Terns wheeled over the waves, and a slight onshore breeze tousled our hair.

  I carried the beach blanket. Chad had the drinks. Gemma brought the nuts and pretzels. My parents followed us. From the time they’d told us that we were going to the beach to the time we’d arrived, they’d had nothing to say. En route, neither of my siblings had much to say, either. For that matter, neither did I.

  We found a clear spot of sand and spread out the blanket. A hundred feet to our left, a young couple on a gray quilt macked without coming up for air. Close to the waterline were three girl surfers resting up for one last assault on the water. They looked sleek and confident in their wet suits. I felt anything but sleek and confident.

  We passed around the drinks and the nuts, and my mom, as always, started us with a prayer. Then she was silent. Nothing sounded but the waves and the terns. In that quiet, though, I understood why my parents had brought us here instead of convening us in a mansion that was not our own. This beach, this sunset—they belonged to everyone.

  We waited. Mom had called the meeting; she’d start.

  “Okay. Let’s begin.” Mom looked around the circle, taking in each of our faces. “You know the issue. We’ve been here in Los Angeles for less than two weeks. Part of it has been good, and part of it hasn’t been so good.”

  “You can say that again,” Gemma muttered, shooting Chad a hateful look.

  “You’ll get your chance, Gem,” my father warned.

  “It’s fine, Charlie,” Mom assured him. “Meanwhile, back home, our church hasn’t had an easy time of it with the pastor who replaced me. Bottom line—you know this already—they’ve made an offer for us to come home. We wouldn’t have to be back until the start of the school year, which would give us time to travel. Basically, we can do what we want for two months.”

  “I could go right back to school at Mankato East?” Gemma asked.

  “Yes,” my father told her. “No problem.”

  My mother cleared her throat. “Come September, it would be like we’d never been away. Donna Thiessen has already been in touch with our tenants. If we pay for the movers, they’re willing to move. The church said they’ll handle that expense.”

  I hadn’t heard that part, which meant that my mother had to have had another conversation with Donna while I was out for the afternoon. That conversation had gotten very specific, evidently.

  “Charlie?” My mom put her left hand on my dad’s arm. “What do you think?”

  My father frowned. “Mixed feelings. There’s a lot about this place that’s good—even great—for you, Marsha, people like Kent Stevens notwithstanding.”

  “But what about you, Dad?” Gemma asked.

  My dad nodded. “I’m disappointed about my book. But there are other producers here who could turn it into a movie. Or not.”

  “That’s an argument to stay,” my mom said.

  My dad frowned more deeply. “Kind of. But the fact is, I’m worried about the kids, Marsha. Really worried. After last night, especially.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Chad insisted.

  “Which is exactly why I’m worried,” my dad went on. “And right now, I have the floor. Well, the blanket.”

  His eyes swung to all three of us. “I’ve been watching you guys, and I don’t like what I’m seeing. I figure it’ll only get worse.” He turned back to Mom. “If it were just us two, I’d stay if that was what you wanted. But it isn’t just us. I vote we go home.”

  “I vote we stay.” Chad came in so fast that it was almost like there was no period on the end of my dad’s last sentence.

  “You would,” Gemma sneered.

  “It’s not about Lisa,” Chad declared.

  “Ha!” Gemma barked. “But what am I laughing for? She’s laughing at me! She only pretended to like me to get—”

  “It was a clip for YouTube!” Chad fired back.

  “Sure, but what are you guys going to do for an encore? A clip for Vivid Video?” Gemma folded her arms and scowled at him, then swung toward my mother. “Just in case you’re wondering, I vote we go home. Yesterday. I hate it here. Everyone sucks.”

  Wow. To think that of our entire family, she’d been the one who had most wanted to move to Los Angeles. It showed how deeply she’d been hurt. I wondered if there was more than she was admitting, more than feeling betrayed by her new best friend and losing a walk-on part on a television show. In Mankato, Gemma was a rare beauty who stood out in any crowd. Here? There were beautiful girls on every corner. She wasn’t special at all, and she wouldn’t be until she learned to be special in ways that had nothing to do with appearance.

  So. It was two to one in favor of outta here. I glanced westward. The setting sun painted the clouds pink and purple. The chick surfers were paddling out in the last light of day. So easy, so carefree. Life in Mankato used to be like that. I missed it. So much.

  “Nat?” My mom’s voice got my attention.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you ready?”

  “I’ll take my pass,” I replied.

  You were allowed to do that—pass one time—at family meetings if you weren’t quite ready to speak. I wanted to hear what else Mom had to say before I talked. Possibly, if she voted in favor of leaving, she would make what I had to say moot. There’d be three votes to go, and that would be that.

  “Okay, then.” My mom looked directly at me as she talked. “I didn’t raise you kids to be quitters. I am certainly not a quitter. Yes, there are a lot of challenges that come with this territory. Yes, there’s a lot that we’re not used to. Yes, people are different out here. Very different.” She turned to Chad, who got busy studying the blanket. “I’m not saying there won’t be bumps along the way. But I have full confidence you kids can
be your true selves anywhere. With God’s help, your father and I can do the same.”

  She and my father shared a tender glance. “If it’s up to me? We stay.” She fixed her eyes on me. “Which means, Nat, it’s up to you.”

  I gulped. That was not what I had been hoping for. Early in the day, I’d been sure of what I wanted. Now I was sure of nothing but my love for my family.

  Gemma pleaded with eyes that said Let’s go home.

  Chad’s eyes implored me: Let’s stay.

  My father, who would make the best of it either way, ready to leave.

  My mother, open to whatever I had to say, but obviously hoping I’d agree with her.

  What did I want? There were so many reasons to go home, and so few reasons not to.

  Then, on the wind, in a wave, in the caw-caw of a tern, I heard Mia’s voice from that afternoon in the chapel. How had she gotten through it? I’d asked her. Her mom’s death, the utter upheaval in her life?

  “I suppose faith never makes sense, really. It’s something your heart tells you is true. You can’t prove it, but you believe anyway. And sometimes, Natalie? Sometimes faith is all we’ve got.”

  My mom had that kind of faith. Did I?

  “I think …” I took a deep breath. “I think there’s a reason we’re here, even if we’re not sure what it is. I vote we stay.”

  “What?” Gemma exploded.

  “Yes!” Chad pumped a happy fist in the air.

  I dead-eyed him. “I’m not doing this for you.”

  “You’re sure, Natalie?” My dad checked in with me.

  No. I wasn’t sure. But I’d made my decision and I wasn’t changing my mind.

  My mom stretched and then smiled gently. “Well, then. I guess we’re staying. I don’t know about you guys, but I want to take a walk down to the water. How about we meet back at the car in fifteen minutes? Gemma and Chad, you guys can pack up? Charlie, you coming?”

  Gemma’s eyes were slits of anger, but she nodded as my parents stood and started hand in hand across the sand to the waterline.

  “I won’t forget this,” Gemma told me.