Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii
James stands outside Natalya’s office debating whether he should interrupt her. She obviously returned. He can hear her on the phone. He can’t stand the thought he’s the reason she was upset earlier. He doesn’t know how he’ll make her feel better, but he wants to see that quirky half smile on her face again. But her voice rises with determination. She’s in the middle of negotiating the price on something so now is not the time to disturb her.
He returns to Marc’s room and selects an assortment of paints, brushes, blank canvases, and the portable easels. He heads for the lanai, passing Julian in the main room, who’s sprawled on the couch. Headphones clamped over his ears and feet propped on the couch arm, his fingers fly across his phone’s screen. A multicolored beach ball sits waiting on his stomach.
Julian slips off the headphones when he sees him and holds out his phone. “This guy keeps texting me. Says he’s Uncle Thomas. He wants you to call him.”
James unloads the art supplies on the coffee table and takes the phone. He immediately recognizes Thomas’s number. It shouldn’t surprise him his brother would stoop low enough to reach him through his son’s phone number. It was exactly the contrived tactic Carlos did not want his sons put in the middle of.
But James is partially to blame. He’s been ignoring him. He reminds himself to call Thomas later, else he’ll show up at Natalya’s door.
“Have you called or texted him back?” he asks his son.
“I’ve only texted Antonio since we’ve been here.”
James checks the phone log. He skims through their exchange, then taps the information icon beside Thomas’s phone number and selects the “Block This Caller” link. He gives Julian back his phone.
“He won’t bother you anymore,” James says with the wry thought he should do the same on his phone.
Julian tucks the phone into his pocket and bounces the beach ball against his raised knees. “What’s up with you and your brother, anyway? He seems nice. I mean, he was nice to me and Marcus.”
“When was that?”
Julian dramatically rolls his eyes. “Last December, when Uncle Thomas visited. All you guys did was yell at each other. I thought Se?or Martinez swore a lot.”
Se?or Martinez was the father of one of Julian’s soccer teammates. His mouth flew as freely as the ball was passed around the field.
But those first weeks last December had been the worst weeks of his life. He hadn’t felt such rage toward his family since Phil assaulted Aimee. Had Phil hit James’s head any harder so that he didn’t wake, he would have . . . Ugh! He doesn’t want to imagine what would have happened.
He sighs, releasing the anger the memories bring back, and sinks onto the couch beside Julian. He presses his back into the cushions and stares at the ceiling. Julian sits upright and hugs the ball. James rolls his head to look at him. “It wasn’t easy between us last winter.”
Julian shakes his head.
“You know a little about my memory loss. Someday, when you’re older, I’ll tell you why I think I lost my memory.”
“Why not now? I’m almost twelve.”
James leans forward, elbows on his thighs. “You’ve watched the news. There are some scary people out there, and some scary things happened to me.”
Fear darkens Julian’s expression, a passing cloud of emotion. “Like what things?”
James debates how much to tell him. “My brother knew I lost my memories but he didn’t tell me who I really was.”
Julian’s brows knit. He bounces the ball once, then again. “Maybe he was trying to keep you safe from the scary people. Maybe he wanted to keep an eye on you, like you’re always telling me to watch Marcus so he doesn’t do anything stupid or get himself hurt. Uncle Thomas is your big brother. Big brothers are supposed to look after little brothers.”
James absorbs the impact of his son’s words. “You know, you’re a pretty smart kid.”
Julian bounces the ball on the coffee table. James snags it on the upswing.
“Hey!”
He holds the ball from Julian’s reach. “Not in the house.” He sets the ball on the floor.
Julian groans and flops back onto the couch.
Marc walks into the room. Bread crumbs and spilled juice mar his shirt like splattered paint. Mayonnaise streaks his chin. He spots the arts supplies and his face brightens. “Are you going to paint, papá?”
“I am. Do you want to paint with me?”
“Sí!”
“Go wash your hands and face. I’ll meet you on the back deck.”
Marc runs to the bathroom.
“Want to paint with us?” James asks.
Julian scrunches his face. “No way, dude.” He slips on his headphones and slides out his phone, back to texting his friends.
Aside from art classes taken during college, James has never painted with anyone. And aside from the Tierney family and the few friends who frequently hung out at Aimee’s house while growing up, no one knew about James’s art. Painting has always been a solitary venture. He never discussed his work, and aside from the canvases the Tierneys hung on their walls, and later on the walls of the home he rented with Aimee, he never displayed his work.
But he had dreamed.
He visualized owning a studio, teaching others what he’d learned and fine-tuned himself. He imagined his paintings on display at galleries. And he dreamed about painting with his own children, where he’d encourage their talent, not repress it.
As Carlos, he achieved those dreams. Would he be able to do it again? He thinks of the retail space in Princeville. Puerto Escondido wasn’t his home and California isn’t his sons’ home. He isn’t sure it’s his home anymore either. Maybe they could start a new life here.
James glances at the house. His gaze roams over the yard and trails to the beach. They already had a foundation in Kauai. Natalya is family. She’s his sons’ aunt and his sister-in-law. She was his lover.
Thoughts lunge to Aimee, his one true love, and he feels that familiar dull pang in his chest, like bumping an old contusion into a sharp corner of furniture. He wonders if he’s capable of falling in love with someone else when he still loves Aimee.
Carlos wanted him to fall for Natalya. He’d spun every phrase and polished each word in that damn journal so that James found himself caring for a woman he had yet to meet face-to-face. But to love her? He doesn’t see how that’s a possibility when Aimee still owns his heart.
He will admit, though, he’d been envious of Carlos for the time spent with Natalya. He’d also been envious of Carlos’s artistic talent, which has kept James from his own art. That’s going to stop today, he thinks. He’s going to paint with the freedom he never allowed himself previously, and he plans to teach his son to do the same. No more hiding.
James sets up the easels in a corner of the lanai and positions two patio chairs in front. He’s arranging paint tubes and brushes when Marc joins him.