by Sylvie Fox
Involuntary detention was no joking matter. Their mother had told some hair raising tales of neighbors who’d disappeared. It made a crappy bus ride to Tijuana sound like vacation.
They didn’t talk much on the long ride down Highland, then La Brea. They settled on a single thing, though.
“Don’t tell Mama,” Dolores had implored the minute they left the station.
Yesenia hated lying, but on this one they agreed. “Of course not. She’d have a heart attack ten times over.”
“You’ll help me?” Dolores’ voice got small for the second time that night. Yesenia wanted to take Cam’s age-old advice and practice tough love. Tell her sister no for once. Make her ask Raul for the damned money.
She wouldn’t do any of that. The money she’d put away for a down payment on her condo would go to helping her sister any way it could.
“Cameron salió en la televisión,” Mama said as soon as they got through the security door. She was so relieved that Mama hadn’t asked where they were or why they’d come home together, that it took a few seconds for her words to sink in.
Cameron on television? What? Yesenia ran to the living room, and her husband’s face loomed larger than life on the ancient projection screen.
“We have breaking news. A channel Five exclusive. A warrant for the arrest of fourth district councilman Mitch Rasmussen has been issued by the Los Angeles Police Department,” the reporter started. Video of police officers, their reflective vests glowing, filled the screen. A dozen perps being marched to the wagon. “This ends the month long city council corruption sting.”
He’d hesitated to tell her something the LAPD was all too happy to share with Channel Five?
For a short few moments, when her sister had been returned to her custody, she’d thought Cameron had changed. That he’d finally placed some trust in her to make the right decisions. A tiny inkling of hope had started to spring up. Maybe they could have tried again.
It was the same old crap. He didn’t trust her. She had changed, but he hadn’t noticed.
Chapter Five
Discretion was what had allowed him to let Dolores go without notifying the feds. One less Mexican face on the bus to ICE detention had gone unnoticed. Discretion was what had pushed him to make his conversation with Yesenia off-the-record even if it wasn’t strictly necessary. It had been a test, a stupid one. But he wanted reassurance that she’d keep a hot story to herself.
Both ways, he was damned.
It was stupid, but he’d expected Jessie to call. He’d put his heart out there, and it had been rebuffed. With a sister facing jail and possible deportation, it was silly to think she’d be thinking about his proposal that they get back together. But he’d been stupidly hopeful.
They’d come together the night of the earthquake because that’s what people did when they faced death. Their bodies called for them to create life. After fear had worn off, everything had gone back to the way it had been. Jessie hadn’t even called him about the condo.
When they came, he’d sign the papers no matter what. If he’d learned anything in the last few days it was that she needed a place of her own, separate from Reina’s smothering and Dolores’ recriminations.
And what he needed, if he wanted his wife back, was a plan. Which was how he found himself answering the door for his brother. Desperate times and all that.
“Hey, bro,” Ryan said. His brother initiated that guy hug/handshake combo—awkwardly. Cameron wanted to bust his brother’s chops, tell him macho stuff wasn’t Ryan’s thing. But he didn’t want to insult the guy when he needed his help.
“Um, have a seat,” said Cam. Maybe he shouldn’t throw stones. He was the awkward one now. He let out a big sigh. He wasn’t a talker. His day job didn’t require much talking. Neither did his civilian life. But this asking for advice thing did.
In a thousand years, he’d never, ever seen himself doing this. But Ryan had two things Cam didn’t: a girlfriend, and the planning gene. His brother had planned out his life, career. The man didn’t make a single decision without listing the pros and cons on a pad and deliberating.
Ryan looked around before taking a seat. “No game on?”
Cam lifted the remote and reluctantly turned on ESPN. He could take or leave sports. But it was the perfect time filler when you had no regular woman. And it kept people from talking too much, asking him too many questions. After fifteen minutes of larger than life men chasing after balls, he lowered the volume, watching the lighted squares disappear one by one from the bottom of the screen.
With degrees from Stanford and the University of Chicago, Ryan was no dummy. “What?” his brother asked, looking straight ahead, sparing Cam his uncomfortable scrutiny.
“I need a plan,” Cam admitted.
“What do you want?” Ryan asked, pulling a yellow pad from the messenger bag at his feet. He clicked a ballpoint pen, poised to write.
“Get my wife back.”
Click.
The pen went back into the chamber. Cam could feel his brother’s eyes boring into his head. He watched Jade McCarthy’s lips move, followed by a video clip from a game. Ryan grabbed for the remote, muting it when a commercial for chips filled all fifty-five inches of the screen.
Then he looked at Cam. “Are you serious?”
“I’d kind of been thinking about it. Then she called me.”
“The quake?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s her family?”
“Not good.”
“Quake damage?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do they need now?”
Cam wanted to cry foul, protest that Ryan’s question was unfair. But it was completely fair. His brother had helped iron out the legalities of the house purchase for Reina and Dolores. He’d referred them to any number of lawyers who all doled out the same advice. There were few paths to citizenship for those who entered the country without papers. But they needed more than money this time around.
“Dolores got arrested.”
“Jesus. Couldn’t have been a surprise, though. What is Jessie asking you to do?”
“It’s not like that.”
“What, she didn’t ask you for a favor?”
Cam didn’t want Jessie to be the only one tarred with a brush. “I arrested her.”
Ryan sucked air through his teeth. Held up his hands. “I don’t need the details. Does she need a lawyer?”
“I can’t get involved this time. Big conflict of interest.”
“And you want to dip your toe in this water again?”
“Watch it, bro.”
“Your marriage was the Titanic.”
“We were young. Didn’t handle things well. We’ve matured. People change.”
“That’s putting lipstick on a pig,” Ryan said, not an ounce of diplomacy in sight. His voice softened, which made Cam want to punch him. “You’re my brother. I want what’s best for you. Now that I’ve found someone—”
“Spare me the single guy pity party. Are you gonna help me or not?”
“How are you going to handle her all-encompassing ambition? Did you forget she cost you two years of your career? Remember the winter it rained nearly every day while you walked a beat in Hollywood? Working the night shift. All the while she clawed her way from reporter to weekend anchor?”
“She’s got weeknights.”
“Will that be enough? There’s bigger local, national. Hell, international now.”
Ryan wasn’t wrong. “The past is the past for a reason. She didn’t run with the Rasmussen story.”
“You told her?”
“I’m learning to trust her.”
“You still love her.” It was a statement, not a question. Cam didn’t feel any compulsion to respond.
“How did you know Sophie was the girl for you? ‘Cause to my way of thinking, you seem like oil and water.”
Deflection worked the same in his living room as it worked in the interrogation room. Ryan wen
t red to the roots of his hair. But he did what Cam needed him to do. He picked up the pad again.
When the seriousness of the occasion penetrated Ryan’s snark, they moved to the dining room table.
“Did you do this for Sophie?”
Ryan played obtuse. “What?”
“Make a plan?”
His brother turned tomato red again. “It had eleven points.”
“Like?” Maybe he could borrow one or two. Didn’t need to reinvent the wheel.
“Not gonna share that. Let’s get back to your plan.”
His brother had never been too good at sharing. Baby of the family was like that. “Fine.”
“What worked in your marriage?”
This was going to be easy. “Put sex on the top of that list, bro.”
“Been on this earth long enough to know you’re gonna need more than the magic in your pants.”
“That’s why you’re here.”
Ryan clicked his pen officiously. “Did you tell her you love her?”
He didn’t need his brother. He had this. “She knows.”
“C’mon man. You know better than that.”
His brain was starting to hurt. Palm on forehead, he rubbed at his temples. Maybe he needed a beer. “How so?”
“Have you ever told her?” his brother asked.
“Not in so many words.” He stood. Paced the room. It was getting hot in the studio apartment. Maybe he should open a window.
“She needs those words,” Ryan persisted.
He gripped the back of the chair where he’d been sitting. “Where’d you learn this? Mom never says she loves us. But you know she does.”
“She used to say it when we were kids,” Ryan said, his voice going quiet. “Dad used to tell her he loved her all the time.”
Cam spun the chair around. Sat on it backwards. He remembered that. His dad had always been kissing his mom, tickling her in the kitchen. It had made him uncomfortable when he was nine. Made him squirmy now. “Only made it harder when he died.”
They were quiet a long time. Their mom had suffered when their father had died. The loss of the stability a good income brought and a father for her kids had been one thing. The loss of the man had devastated her for years. She never dated. He didn’t know if she was over it now. Wasn’t something he was ever going to ask her about, though.
Ryan scratched in love as number two.
“What did Jessie want you to change when you guys were together?”
“Be nicer to her family.”
“You bought them a house,” he said, but wrote in family. “You need something more concrete. You’re gonna have to talk to her, show her why it works.”
Cam rolled his neck from one side to another. Shoulder shrugs down in the gym were probably making his muscles tight. “Like what?”
“Make her dinner. Learn more Spanish. Smooth things over with our mom.”
“Bridget?” His mom hadn’t picked his friends in over thirty years. He certainly wasn’t interested in her picking a wife.
“She thinks Jessie used you. Needed you, but didn’t love you.”
“She told you that?”
“More than once,” Ryan said. “And Jessie knows that. Mom didn’t hide her feelings. You should probably add standing up to Mom to your list.”
Cam grunted. He should have stood up to his mom, but had done the cowardly thing and let Jessie handle it. Damn, he’d fucked this up ten ways to Sunday.
“It’s not that she didn’t like Jessie,” Ryan continued. “She didn’t like Jessie for you.”
“Does she like Sophie for you?” Ryan’s girl wasn’t traditional by any stretch of the imagination.
“Yeah, mostly. You saw they get along. I think she’d be happier if Sophie wanted to get married. But I’m okay where it is.”
“Are you?” He didn’t believe that for a moment. Ryan had already been engaged once. He was built for marriage and babies and kids. They both were.
“For now.”
“Why she’d want to marry a guy with a soccer dad car, I don’t know.”
“It’s a sport sedan.”
“Two words that should never be together.”
Ryan shoved him. Cam looked at his brother. “I can take you.”
“We ended at a draw,” Ryan said, throwing down the gauntlet.
“Brother wars,” they said simultaneously before they hit the floor. Not a few seconds later, Cameron had him in a half nelson hold.
“No fair, you can’t use police maneuvers,” Ryan said from underneath him.
“You didn’t call it.”
“Get me a beer,” Ryan said. Cam let him up and they retreated to the couch and CNN, because the guest got to pick the channel.
Two hours after Ryan left, Cam turned off the third rerun of SportsCenter. The anchors were talking about some crazy people who cycled a hundred miles a day. That wasn’t a sport to watch. That was torture.
The single sheet of yellow paper, held down by a single salt shaker beckoned. He read it again, committing it to memory. Follow these five steps, and maybe, possibly, Yesenia and he might have a chance.
Step one was for him to call her, wherein, Ryan’s word, the rest would fall into line like cops on parade. Cam could get with that. Step four even made him blush. He had to smile a little. Maybe there was hope. He tucked the paper back under the salt, and went to find his phone.
Before Jessie could speak, he told her, “If you bring over the papers, I’ll sign them.”
Clutching her purse close, Yesenia looked up toward the roof of the building.
Three floors.
It figured that Cameron would be on the top. Those third-floor apartments had balconies. Everyone wanted to be high up in Los Angeles. She found it ironic for people living in such a squat city. Taking a deep breath, she drove into the parking structure looking for visitor parking. Of course, the designated path led straight from the car to the elevator bay.
All people talked about in southern California was staying in shape. Despite the local obsession with fitness, however, finding the stairs for any building was always a challenge. She looked right, then left, found and followed the exit signs. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she pushed open the door and no alarm screamed. She’d learned early after arriving in L.A. that the tallest buildings had fire alarms triggered by open doors. One stern lecture from a very pissed off L.A. firefighter and she mostly adhered to the warnings.
She quickly made her way up the flights and to Cameron’s door. Standing on his doormat, she hesitated. Yesenia reviewed her agenda one last time. He’d said he’d sign the papers and share dinner. She didn’t have the papers anymore. That dream was on hold, but she did need to drive the train tonight.
First, she needed his advice on what to do about Dori. Second, they needed to have a frank discussion about divorce and the future. He’d said he wanted to get back together, but she couldn’t see a future with someone who didn’t trust her judgment. She’d made a mistake, a whopper of an error. But she’d grown and learned. Putting her off the Mitch Rasmussen story still stung.
Ernesto hadn’t hid his disappointment that KESP had somehow been overlooked when press had been assembled. She’d been right in the belly of the beast, so to speak, and hadn’t caught a whiff of the biggest scandal to hit municipal government that year.
As if she were a paparazza with no discretion, Cameron had shut her out. Never again would she be so stupid as to compromise a police investigation to break a story. But she would never ignore something she thought the public had a right to know about. Her arm ached, perched as it was between knocking and hanging by her side.
She needed only to remember they didn’t want the same things. Cam probably had some misguided notion that having sex once made it so they should get back together. She wanted him. Yesenia banged her knuckles against her head, banishing the thought. She was human. The sex was good. But what she needed was help for Dolores. That had to be her top priority. All
throbbing and tingling was to be ignored.
Before she could form another fist and make her presence known, Cameron pulled open the door. That uncanny sixth sense he’d had about her must have alerted him. She didn’t even pretend to be surprised. Instead she registered that a bottle of wine was in his other hand. She looked at his waist. He was wearing an apron. Yesenia tried to rearrange things in her brain. Humans craved order. In her job, she’d learned that no matter what happened to people, they strove to make sense of their surroundings. None of this made sense.
“You’re cooking?” she asked, straining to keep the incredulity from her voice.
“I’ve changed.”
Boy, had he. She couldn’t remember him doing anything more than scrambling eggs. Ryan cooked, but Cameron ate. It’s what had always made Ryan a great catch. The more promising of the two brothers. But she’d fallen for this strong, silent one who didn’t cook, clean or do laundry.
Yesenia looked around. There was only a single huge room. The kitchen was in one corner, the living room in another. The dining area and the freshly made king-size filled out the other two. The sheer modesty curtain did little to obscure the bed.
The TV was off. That was another difference. Between the constant sports games or replays on ESPN and KESP news or CNN, they’d had the set on nearly twenty-four hours a day when they’d lived together. She’d sometimes hated it. But its constant flickering presence made avoiding arguments much easier. Instead of talking about her mother’s constant visits or his mother’s coldness toward her, they could stare at the television and maintain civility. She longed to find the remote and turn it on.
“What are you making?” she asked, enticed by the smells coming from the apartment.
“Lemon, parmesan, and pine nut crumb pork escalopes,” he read from a note card on the counter.
Remembering her manners, she offered, “Do you need help?”
“No, have a seat.” He pointed to the couch. She pulled off her heels, and sank into the bachelor white leather sofa. A glass of fizzy white wine appeared on the coffee table, along with a bottle, its neck neatly wrapped in a napkin. “It’ll be ready in a couple of minutes.”