A Time to Gather

by Sally John

  That was definitely the last sib socializing with any of them, together or separate, forever.

  Wiping her paint-covered hands on a towel, Lexi looked through her apartment door’s peephole and saw Erik, hand poised to knock again. Or rather pound. With her music blasting at eardrum shattering levels, she wouldn’t have heard him otherwise.

  She opened the door, motioning him inside.

  He mouthed an exaggerated hello. His dark hair glistened with the rain.

  She went to the CD player and lowered the volume.

  “No need for that, Lex. We could just read lips.” He grinned. “Don’t your neighbors complain?”

  “No. The nearest one is an old woman who’s half deaf. How did you get inside the building?”

  “Someone was leaving. So much for security, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “You’ve got a dazed look on your face. Either I’m interrupting your work or you can’t believe I’m here.”

  “Um.”

  “Alexis.” An odd tone in his voice set her name apart, as if it were spoken by a stranger.

  She stared at him. Erik was four years older. His life never really intersected with hers beyond family gatherings. She couldn’t remember ever being alone with him in the same room. In her imagination, she pictured him as existing on some far edge of her world, all but out of her peripheral vision.

  He’d been the smart, popular athlete. Now he was the charming handsome guy on television. There was no reason for him to pay attention to his mousey little sister who’d barely graduated from high school, dug holes for a living, and painted strange images in her spare time.

  But he always spoke her name with the familiarity of a brother. No big deal. Until now.

  “Alexis,” he said again.

  “What?”

  “Let’s sit.” He sat in the overstuffed chair.

  She sat on the couch and twisted the hand towel.

  “I don’t bite,” he said.

  “I know that.”

  “Seriously, I don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. Now, will you try to be straight with me for once? Either I’m interrupting your painting or you’re flabbergasted that I’m here. Which is it?”

  “Both.”

  He smiled. “Thank you for speaking your mind. Again. You got a good start at the restaurant.”

  She shifted, folding one leg underneath herself. “You’ve never stopped by before.”

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  Of course he was in the neighborhood. Her apartment was most centrally located. The four of them had met at a restaurant near her place.

  He winked. “Besides that, I’ve never been fired before. Nor have I ever been cheated on by my girlfriend. I never knew I had a cousin from Vietnam. And I never realized before how much you and I are alike.” How weird.

  “You just got a funny look on your face, Lex. What are you thinking?”

  She shrugged.

  “Come on. Stay with me here. Stay open. What are you thinking?” “That it’s so weird you’d say that. Max said the same thing.”

  “You still don’t call him Dad.” He held up a hand. “Totally understandable. So what did he say?”

  “That he and I are alike.”

  “I presume you got the ‘woe is me, forgive me’ speech too?”

  She nodded. “He was talking about work ethics.”

  “Oh, that.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s a curse we siblings share. Everyone of us works our tails off. It’s how we win his affection, you know, because that’s what’s important to him.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Kind of a nasty way to think of it, isn’t it?”

  “Well . . . It’s not exactly warm and fuzzy.”

  “Nope.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hazel eyes intense. “Unfortunately, what you and I have in common isn’t warm and fuzzy either.”

  She glanced around the small living room. “We have the same last name that belongs to a wacko family.” Her stomach knotted.

  “Lexi.” Again he pulled her back.

  She looked at him.

  “I drink too much. You eat too much and you don’t gain an ounce.” She shrugged a shoulder and twisted the towel, unable to turn from his gaze.

  “An eating disorder?”

  She tilted her head, a half acknowledgment.

  “Can I help?”

  She shook her head.

  “How long?”

  How long . . . She didn’t want to add up the time.

  “Years?”

  She nodded.

  “Danny doesn’t know, does he?”

  Her eyes stung.

  “Your twin should know. You two are closer than two pods in a pea.”

  At the old family joke, Lexi’s breath caught. If she didn’t exhale, the sobs that felt like bricks in her chest would dissipate. They needed air to survive.

  Erik moved from his chair and knelt on the floor before her. “I still remember the first time you said that. ‘Two pods in a pea.’” He untwisted the towel from her fingers and laid it on the floor. “I think you were three years old. It was so funny. You were the cutest thing I’d ever seen.”

  Her tears spilled over. “Don’t tell him.”

  “But everyone knows about me. It’s so freeing not to have to pretend.”

  She was shaking now. Her teeth chattered. “Don’t tell him!”

  “All right. But that leaves only me to help. Which isn’t saying a whole lot.”

  “Can I help you?”

  “Oh, Lexi.” Erik smiled gently and traced a thumb across her cheek. “There isn’t anything anybody can do. Except maybe cry with me?”

  Air hit her lungs then and gave life to the sobs.

  Her brother—the one who had nothing in common with her but a last name—pulled her into his arms.

  Twenty-Two

  Mm.” Bobby Grey closed his eyes and chewed, lost in a state of pure bliss. “Mm.”

  Across the table from him, Rosie nodded vigorously. “Mm.” She swallowed a tasty bite of an enchilada. “Papi, this is the best ever. You’ve got to put it on the menu.”

  Her father’s grin stretched until his cheeks nearly enfolded his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together atop his ample midsection.

  “Mm,” she murmured again. “Exquisite. Featherlight tortilla. Luscious, creamy white sauce. A hint of garlic. Tasty baby shrimp. Scrumptious buttery scallops that melt in your mouth.”

  Bobby wiped a napkin across his face. “Esteban, my man, thank you. Is this one of your own creations?”

  “No.” His grin remained fixed.

  Rosie chuckled. “Tell him whose it is.”

  He held his sides and laughed loudly.

  They sat at his restaurant in Old Town, a tourist hot spot. Mexico resonated everywhere in red-tile roofs, museums, menus, and shop wares. Bougainvillea, lush colorful flowers, and wide-leafed subtropical plants grew high and low wherever the eye could see.

  Esteban had been a successful proprietor for years. His Casa del Gusto encompassed half a block. It had several dining rooms, two patios, a festive ambience, and a reputation for great food.

  Rosie smiled at him. They were on the back patio, and the early evening sun peeked out from behind rain clouds. It lit his face, making him appear years younger. “Well, Papi?”

  “Okay, okay.” He nodded. “Bobby, I have a new cook.”

  Rosie hooted. “Esteban Delgado, stop acting like a coward!”

  “Rosita, please. This is a sacred moment.” He patted his chest. “Yes, it is true, Bobby. I have a new cook. Her name is Helen, and she created this magnificent dish.”

  Rosie leaned across the table. “And she’s his sweetheart.”

  Bobby smiled.

  “Rosita!”

  “Well, if you’re not going to say it, I will.”

  “I will say it.”

  “When? Next y
ear?”

  Bobby said, “Does she know it?”

  “Now that’s a good question.”

  Esteban frowned. “You two are not funny. Of course she knows it. We do not have to broadcast our business. We are not like your TV news friend.”

  “He is not my friend.”

  Bobby said, “Kind of quick with the denial there. The guilty ones always do that.”

  A mean retort nearly jumped off her tongue. She clamped her mouth shut.

  “You were going to say something?” He grinned.

  “He is not a friend. How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Until you convince yourself, I guess.”

  She kept her face passive, but inside the anger simmered. It wasn’t Bobby’s fault that he hit too close to the truth. The fact that Erik Beaumont had sidled up alongside her heart was her own fault.

  Good grief, the guy wasn’t even likable.

  Bobby said, “You know, Rosie, what you did yesterday could be considered ‘friend’ activity.”

  “Or just friendly. As in kind. As in community angel.”

  “So what happened up there at the Hacienda Hideaway yesterday?”

  She’d put off the question from him and her dad for the past hour. The cop in her had not been able to disentangle her emotions from the visit. Not a good situation.

  “Rosita?” Esteban leaned across the table, no trace of a grin on his face.

  “I guess I’m not sure what happened.” That about summed things up. “It was . . . It was a heart-wrenching event, especially for the grandparents. Such a high and such a low. They gained a granddaughter, but lost a son all over again.” She gave them an overview of what happened.

  “Whew.” Bobby let out a low whistle. “Imagine learning you have a relative via someone you figured was long dead.”

  Her father said, “You are a good girl. I am proud you helped this family.”

  “Thanks, Papi. I’d like to be a fly on the wall so I could watch how things play out.” She bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that.

  “Why not call them?” Bobby asked. “I think you’ve earned the right to do that much.”

  “No!” Esteban shook his head vigorously. “No. You are not to get any more involved with this Beaumont family. You did your duty. You played angel. You are done with them.”

  Bobby slipped a hand in front of his mouth, not fast enough to hide a grin. He always cracked up when Esteban pronounced rules for his adult daughter.

  But Rosie wasn’t laughing. Her father had been the one to pick up the pieces just a few short years ago. “Papi, it’s not like that.”

  “He is another Ryan Taylor.”

  “Not exactly.”

  Bobby raised a hand. “Excuse me. Either of you care to clue me in on what you’re talking about?”

  Rosie frowned at her dad.

  He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then he started again. “It is Rosie’s story to tell. An old boyfriend. Rich and handsome. A no-good. He hurt my Rosita.”

  Bobby looked at her. “That’s your bad history with guys like Erik Beaumont.”

  “Yeah.” Sort of. Details aside.

  She caught the look on her dad’s face and knew he would not shut up until he’d told Bobby everything. She’d rather do it her own way.

  “We were in law school together. He was total WASP, through and through. Never in a million years would he ask me out. I’m sure he did it just to horrify his parents. Or win a bet with his friends. I mean, me. An unattractive, Catholic Latina. Was I an idiot, or what? Anyway, things got ugly. Real ugly. I dropped out of school. Ryan was a . . . a mean person.”

  “Evil,” her dad corrected.

  “Probably. Beaumont is an okay guy, not mean or evil. He’s just in a bad way.”

  Bobby said, “So you open your Adopt the Hopeless Club to him.”

  “Yeah. Entirely different thing than falling for him.”

  The men exchanged a look and then they gazed at her. They weren’t buying into her conclusion.

  “It is!”

  “Explain, Rosa.” Esteban tapped a finger on the tabletop. “Your heart is your heart. You care about this TV man.”

  “As a human being!” She shoved back her chair and stood. “Good grief. It’s time to go to work.” She walked around the table and kissed her father’s cheek. “Good-bye, Papi. Thank you for the great meal. Tell Helen thank you.”

  Without a backward glance, she walked across the patio and down the steps to the parking lot.

  Bobby caught up with her. “Delgado, you’re not unattractive.”

  “Give me a break. I look like my dad. Well, not the belly, but the too-wide nose and thick coarse hair and solid build—”

  “Rosie.” He grasped her elbow, halted their walk, and turned her toward him. “You are a beautiful woman. Your heart’s made of gold and you’ve got this thing going with God that permeates the air with—I don’t know how else to put it but, well, with holiness.”

  The intensity of those cornflower-blue eyes held her attention, as did his words. Bobby didn’t talk that way. He wouldn’t say such a thing unless he meant it.

  She smiled, warmed by his care. The ugliness that took hold whenever the subject of Ryan Taylor came up melted like butter in the sunshine.

  “Ohhh!” She drew out the word in a singsong tone. “You’re talking about inside beautiful. Shucks, I knew that.”

  “You’re really annoying too.”

  “I try.”

  Twenty-Three

  That’s enough for one day.” Lexi rubbed her hands against her pants and surveyed the dusty, cluttered room.

  Rain pattered against the unadorned window, its panes black with evening.

  Erik walked past and ruffled the top of her hair. “We might as well finish it, Lex, as long as we’re here.”

  They were at the house. The House, capital letters. The place she’d called home for all but a few years of her life. The place her parents had sold to strangers at the drop of a hat.

  The room was her studio. Or rather, it had been her studio. Located off one side of the garage, the room was a small workshop that held no interest for their dad. When she and Danny were youngsters, they claimed it for their own toy room. Eventually art supplies replaced Barbie and GI Joe.

  Furnishings were sparse: one stool, tall wooden workbenches, shelves, a dorm-room-sized fridge, a piece of indoor-outdoor carpet an ugly shade of taupe. A portable heater hummed, warding off the dank night air.

  Erik pulled a canvas from a group of eight-by-tens shelved upright like library books and inspected the painting on it. “Hey, it’s the Crystal Pier.”

  “Mm-hmm. My pier phase.”

  “It’s great. Can I buy it?”

  She raised her brows.

  “I’m serious.”

  She never knew with him. “It’s not any good.”

  “But I like it. Isn’t that one way to interpret art? If it speaks to me, there must be some merit to it.”

  “The tones are all wrong, and the—”

  “It’s where I first kissed what’s-her-name.”

  “Felicia?”

  “No. This was back in high school. She was blonde and older. Actually it was the only time I kissed her.” He sighed in his dramatic fashion. “Anyway, what do you think is a fair price? Three, four hundred?”

  “Erik, it’s been sitting in here since I was nineteen. You can have it.”

  He began flipping through the paintings. “Maybe there’s another happy memory tucked away. I could fill my walls. The few paintings I have are nouveau crap.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  He grinned over his shoulder at her. “I bet you have.”

  She turned from him and gazed around the room again. Like Erik, she hunted for a happy memory.

  Out of the entire house, including its big yard, pool, abundant gardens, and canyon backdrop, she adored this spot the most. It had been her hiding place. In it she felt safe from the world’s te
rrors, most especially teachers, homework, failure. She would get lost in her art, paint to her heart’s content, and store food and munch whenever she wanted.

  The new owners would soon take possession, but Lexi had avoided going through her things. It was only at Erik’s insistence that they’d come. He figured it would be a constructive way to deal with their demented coping mechanisms. After all, he had nothing scheduled for the evening except to beat up his best friend.

  They had already filled several trash bags with garbage and loaded a filing cabinet and an easel into her SUV. Although more things remained, she was finished. Saying good-bye was just too hard.

  Her stomach rumbled.

  “Wow, Lex. Did that come from you?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Well, that’s debatable. Neither one of us is okay.”

  “Do you have to keep saying that?”

  “Admitting we have a problem is the first step—”

  “I don’t have your problem.”

  “Aha! The little girl votes for denial.”

  She stuck out her tongue.

  He smiled. “Denial can be a nice break from bawling.”

  “Don’t you ever shut up?”

  He laughed long and hard. “Now I know why you’ve been so quiet your whole life. Between me, Dan, and Jen, you never had a chance to get a word in edgewise, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t.” A smile tugged at her lips.

  “It’s good to hear from you. Finally.”

  “Thanks.” Her tongue had loosened considerably during the hours spent with him. Not only did he not bite, he didn’t judge. But she was done. “Can we go now?”

  “Let’s at least pack up the paintings. You can’t pitch these.”

  “I have nowhere to put them. Let the new owners do whatever they want.”

  “With your work? I don’t think so.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It should. Listen, I really want to hang some on my walls. Meanwhile, we can put them in the storage space in my building. So here.” He handed her a stack of canvases and pointed at a box. “I promise, we’ll eat soon. And drink.”

  For a moment they stared at each other.

  He made his lopsided self-deprecating grin. “Hey, let’s look on the bright side. We made it through the afternoon, right? A leopard can’t change its spots overnight. Come to think of it, it probably can’t at all. Anyway . . .”