If she’d been able to hide and pretend this hadn’t happened, she would have. “I just don’t understand how this could happen. I can’t believe he’s really gone. I’d just spoken to him over the weekend. He sounded great, as upbeat as ever. Andy said he was faking it.”
“I have to admit, I agree with Andy. Your father has been a little short-tempered lately,” Matt explained. “No, I take that back. He’s been very short-tempered. People have been commenting on it. That scene with Andy yesterday morning wasn’t the first. He’s even been snapping at your mother over nothing.”
Hearing Matt echo what Andy had tried so hard to tell her made it that much worse that she hadn’t listened to her brother.
“That’s so unlike him. He’d rather strip naked and run through Winter Cove at high noon than lose it in front of the customers,” she said.
“I know. We all thought it was out of character,” Matt said. “I kept thinking I ought to talk to him, but I wasn’t sure it was my place. If…” His voice trailed off.
“Say it,” Emma demanded. “If he killed himself, what?”
Matt frowned. “If that’s what happened, then I’m as much to blame for letting this happen as anyone in the family. We all knew something wasn’t right, but this was your dad. He always worked things out for the rest of us. I suppose none of us believed he wouldn’t be able to work out whatever was going on with him.”
Emma fell silent, thinking. What could have been weighing on her father’s mind to change his personality so dramatically? There had been no hint of a problem in their conversations; or, as Andy had accused, had she simply been oblivious to it? Had she been so caught up in her own life that she’d ignored some sign? She’d certainly been eager to ignore the warning signals Andy had described. She couldn’t help feeling that she’d let down not only Andy, but also her father.
She was still tormenting herself with what-ifs when Matt pulled the car to a stop in front of the Spanishstyle stucco house with its red-tile roof where Emma had lived practically her whole life. Before she could get out, he tucked a hand under her chin and forced her to face him.
“This is not your fault,” he said emphatically. “Or your mom’s. Or your brothers’. There’s still every chance in the world that this was a tragic accident. Remember that.”
“I’ll try.”
Slowly, he released her. “Just in case, I’ll be around to remind you,” he promised.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for his hand, clinging to it for one last reassuring second before she went inside to face the reality of her family’s unthinkable tragedy.
Rosa refused to get out of bed, refused to eat. She feigned sleep every time anyone came into her bedroom. If she was asleep, no one could say anything about Don. No one could tell her he was dead. She could pretend that it was all a terrible nightmare and that when she woke up, he would be right there beside her. He would hold her, maybe make love to her, and their day would begin as every other day had begun, with a mad rush to get to Flamingo Diner before the first customers began arriving at 6:00 a.m.
But as the sun began to set and shadows filled the room, she could no longer deny the harsh reality that she’d awakened to just after one in the morning when Matt had come knocking on their door. She’d shouted at him to stop his lies, that Don was not dead, that he knew that curve in the road, that he would never drive so recklessly that he’d wind up in the lake, but Matt hadn’t changed expressions even once. He’d just led her to a chair, then hunkered down beside her and held her hand, pleading with her to tell him who he could call, what he could do.
Rosa hadn’t known how to answer. For nearly thirty years, whenever there had been any kind of trouble in her life, she had turned to her husband. Who else could she possibly call? Who else could offer consolation and support and love? She had the children, of course, but they were young. They would need her support, even Emma, who would be devastated that her beloved father was gone. She needed to be strong for all of them, but she wasn’t strong, not without Don beside her.
Finally Matt had awakened the boys and told them the same awful lies about Don. He’d called Helen and asked her to come over. He’d made sure Emma was notified. He’d done all the things Rosa should have been doing, but had been too paralyzed to do. And she’d hated him, because he’d made it real.
That’s why she’d retreated to her room, so she could pretend that it had been nothing more than an awful nightmare.
A light tap on the door startled her. She thought everyone had given up, had decided to let her grieve in private.
“Mama?”
It was Emma. Rosa sat up in bed, flipped on the light, drew in a deep breath, then called out for her daughter to come in.
As the doorknob turned, Rosa realized she wasn’t ready for this, would probably never be ready for this. From the moment her children had been born, they had looked to her and to their father for answers. Now there were no answers, at least none that made any sense. She doubted there ever would be again.
While Emma was in with her mother, Matt watched Jeff warily. The kid was on edge. He hadn’t said a word, but Matt knew Jeff was craving something that would take away his pain. Maybe he’d turn to alcohol, maybe drugs. Either way, Matt could have told him that the pain would still be there. He’d made his own share of mistakes along those lines. He knew the signs and he knew there were no easy answers.
“I’m going out,” Jeff announced to no one in particular.
“Where?” Matt asked.
“None of your business.”
“Your brother needs you.”
“Andy’s fine.”
“Oh, really? He didn’t seem that fine to me when he left the house.”
Jeff’s belligerent expression faltered. “He’s not here?”
“No.”
“He was right here. Why’d you let him leave?”
“Frankly, I thought you’d go after him. I thought maybe you’d see that he was hurting. We’re talking about your kid brother, Jeff. He needs you.”
“He’s probably outside,” Jeff said, half to himself, as he headed for the back door.
Matt considered leaving it to Jeff to look out for his brother, but he didn’t entirely trust him not to run off. He followed Jeff outside. He had a pretty good idea where Andy had gone. Years ago Don had built his sons a tree house in a sprawling banyan tree in the backyard. Matt had spent many an hour up in the hideaway with the younger boys.
With its twisted trunk and gnarled branches, the tree had inspired Jeff and Andy to claim that the tree house was haunted. At night, the fantasy had been especially easy to believe. It had been years since Matt had climbed up into that old tree, but that was the first place a distraught Andy would think to go.
Sure enough, even from the ground, Matt could hear Andy’s choking sobs. Jeff deliberately made as much noise as he could crashing through the higher branches until he emerged on the rotting platform that had once been the scene of their greatest childhood adventures.
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