“Julian,” James barks. So much for not eating here. He glares back at his son.
“What? I’m hungry.” Julian holds out his hands, silently asking what’s the big deal. His expression morphs into feigned innocence as he walks past him and Kristen. Kristen’s brows reach her ponytailed hairline as they both watch Julian meander his way through the maze of disordered tables. He flops into an empty chair.
Kristen smirks. “I see I’m not the only one who has my hands full.”
James grunts, but the corner of his mouth tugs upward at their shared connection. Parenting.
“Why don’t you join us? We just sat down.” She points out a table near Julian where a toddler in a high chair exuberantly eats her oatmeal. Another girl with jelly-tinged lips stands in her chair humming.
“Sit down, Nicole,” Kristen orders.
The girl sinks onto her chair.
“I’m so happy this one is a boy.” She pats her stomach.
“Boys aren’t much easier,” James admits, thinking of the circles Julian and Marc run around him.
Kristen sighs. “Just different, I guess, right?” She tilts her head toward the counter. “Go order and come eat with us.”
Marc scans the dining area. James nudges him in Julian’s direction. “Sit with your brother. I’ll get your doughnut.”
At the counter, James scans the menu and orders a coffee and omelet. Trish, according to the chalkboard-style name tag, repeats back his order. Anger crawls up his throat as Trish rattles off the items. “That’ll be ninety-five fifty,” she concludes.
Julian had ordered enough for all three of them, for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. James yanks the wallet from his back pocket and shoves the chip card into the slot. Pick your battles, man. Pick your battles.
“Outside of the omelet, doughnut, and pancakes, pack the rest to go.”
“Sure thing, sir.” Trish smiles and hands him the receipt.
James doesn’t bother calling the boys over to Kristen’s table when he sits down. Let them eat alone. They could use this brief respite after the past couple of days.
Kristen passes her older daughter a napkin. “Say hello to Mr. Donato, Nicole. He’s Daddy’s friend.”
“Hey-whoa.” Mouth full of food, Nicole waves jelly-stained hands.
James returns a wave to the little girl who’s a mirror image of the mother he’s known since their youth. After a round of introductions where he learns Nick’s youngest daughter is named Chloe, and a brief conversation about their kids, their ages, and favorite activities, Trish brings their drinks. Regular coffee for James and two giant mugs of hot chocolate under a mountain-size glob of whipped cream for the boys. She also sets down a large Mexican coffee and espresso shot on Julian’s paper place mat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” James grumbles.
Kristen leans over, shaking with silent laughter.
He looks at her. “I didn’t ask for this,” he admits without considering the deeper meaning of his words.
Kristen rests her chin in her hand. “I know you didn’t. But sometimes, the best gifts in life are those we didn’t know we needed.”
James glances over at his sons. Both have whipped-cream mustaches. A quick chuckle vibrates his chest and he feels a slight lift in spirit.
“So, what are your plans?” Kristen asks, pulling his attention back to their table.
He drinks from his mug. “My plans?”
“You know, what you’re doing for work, schooling for the kids, where you’re living.” She circles her hand, inviting him to share.
“You want my life story.”
“I do, but the moment we’re done with breakfast, I’m calling Nadia. She’s in SoCal this week on business, but she’ll want to know everything.”
Nadia, the glue that binds the Aimee-Nadia-Kristen trio. James watches the steam rise from his mug as he considers Kristen’s questions. “Do you plan to call Aimee, too?”
She is quiet for a beat. “I’m not sure. She’s having a difficult time, James. She loves Ian and they’re very happy together. But knowing you’re you now, it’s brought the past back.” She crumples Nicole’s dirty napkin and studies the wadded paper as though it holds all the answers. “You’ll both have to figure out how to move forward in your own separate ways.”
Soon, breakfast arrives, and after he finishes eating, they make plans to meet again. Kristen invites them to barbecue and swim at their house that weekend. On the way home, James drives around town. He shows the boys the school they’ll attend and points out a local skate park crowded with kids Julian’s age. His son sits up straighter to get a better look out the passenger-side window and James makes a mental note to purchase a skateboard. Julian surfs so he might like boarding.
It’s past noon by the time they get home. Scents of toast and bacon assault their senses as James shuts the front door. The boys raise their noses and sniff. Julian scrunches his face at the hard-boiled-egg-and-vinegar odor.
James and Julian look at each other for a heart-pounding few seconds. Someone is here.
James sets the bag of take-out food on the floor. “Stay here,” he orders the boys and cautiously moves through the house. Sweat dampens his armpits. Has Phil been released? He swore Thomas said six more days. Five now, since that was yesterday. He clenches his hands. Damn, he wishes he had a baseball bat. Or a gun. The scar on his hip throbs.
He rounds the corner where the hallway opens up into the kitchen and comes to a dead stop. He blinks as his mind attempts to process the sight before him. Standing at the marble-topped center island slicing hard-boiled eggs is his mother, Claire.
“What are you doing here?” He should be overcome with joy at seeing her for the first time in years. Any good son would be. But he wasn’t a good son, and Claire had never been the kindest of mothers.
He really needs to change the locks to be certain other family members don’t show up unannounced.
Claire sets aside the knife and gives James a critical look. He didn’t shave this morning and his shirt is untucked and unpressed. He doesn’t have to ask whether he passes inspection. Her pinched face is all the answer he needs. She taps her chin, a silent message that he should have cleaned up before he left the house.
He’s thirty-six years old, for crying out loud. He won’t be made to feel guilty about how he looks. He’s already swimming in a cesspool of guilt as it is.
“What’s all this?” He lifts a palm at the food.
“I’ve made lunch,” she says, neatly brushing crumbs from her hands. “Welcome home, James.”
He hears the boys come into the kitchen behind him. Marc squeals. Julian gawks before the first smile since they landed in California appears on his face. His expression goes full wattage. “Señora Carla, what’re you doing here?”
CHAPTER 6
CARLOS
Five Years Ago
June 17
Puerto Escondido, Mexico
Marcus upended a bucket over his head. He squealed, kicking his chubby legs as sand spilled over his naked body, sticking to patches of sunscreen-soaked skin. I added another tower to the castle that I was building and Marcus was determined to destroy it. He waved his arms, knocking over another wall.
“Marcus.” I grabbed him by the armpits and planted his bare ass farther from our sand masterpiece. I passed over his bucket and shovel. “Here, knock over your own castle.” He grinned and stuffed a fistful of sand in his mouth. “Don’t eat it.” I grabbed his wrist and swiped my fingers across his tongue.
Marcus started to chew and I heard the crunch of coarse granules. His face scrunched up like a wad of paper and his brown eyes widened as he looked up at me in confusion.
“See what happens when you eat sand?”
He blew raspberries. Saliva-drenched sand drooled from the corners of his mouth.
I chuckled, turning back to the sand castle, determined to fix the wall Marcus just blasted. Near the entrance to our backyard, Julian passed a fútbol to his two friends, Antonio and Hector. He narrowly missed our new neighbor lounging under the umbrella she’d painstakingly erected in the sand about a half hour earlier. I finished the wall, added one more tower, then went searching for my phone in our pile of towels. Natalya wanted a picture of Marcus’s latest sand castle.