CHAPTER 17
JAMES
Present Day
June 27
Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii
That evening, they barbecue chicken—chicken Natalya purchased at the local fresh market. The sun sets in a vibrant array of lavender and gold. A spectacular sight, one he’d paint should he have the inclination to do so, which he doesn’t.
Natalya watches the sun drop below the horizon and he feels a similar drop of disappointment in himself. She’d longed for him to paint her sunset.
James steals glances at her from where they eat on the lanai, twirling his fork like he does with paintbrushes. Conversation between them has been stilted, and at times he’s convinced she keeps the chatter going with his sons so she doesn’t have to engage with him.
“Today was awesome, Tía Nat.” Julian yawns the announcement and Marc follows suit. He rubs his eyes. “Can we catch some waves tomorrow?” Julian asks.
“I want to build more sand castles.” Marc yawns again.
James covers his own yawn. They are used to a later time zone. Puerto Escondido is four hours ahead of their current time. He rises and collects the plates. Natalya reaches for them.
“I got it,” he says. “Why don’t you help them get ready for bed?” He remembers reading that she likes to participate in the nightly ritual during her visits to Mexico. He takes the dishes inside.
There isn’t much to clean. Aside from the salad, which the boys had a hand in assembling, the cooking had been done on the grill. He finishes quickly. Natalya is still with his sons, so he returns to the lanai to have a few moments to himself, and he keeps walking, down the stairs, across the yard, and through the park. He sits down where the long blades of grass meet the cool sand and listens to the ocean. He matches his breathing to the rhythm of the waves and thinks about the years he’s lost, his instant fatherhood, and how he won’t feel settled until he’s settled things with his brothers, which could land Phil back in prison. He has the scar, a stark line across his hip, but he doesn’t have the memory. Yet. He wants more proof than Thomas’s conviction Phil tried to murder him.
His mother won’t take kindly to another family scandal, not after what she’s been through. Apparently she had a breakdown after his death. Sending her oldest son back to prison might send her back to the “retreat” Thomas took her to the summer after James had been “lost at sea.” But at this point he doesn’t care. His sons’ safety is his top priority, and he wouldn’t put it past Phil to threaten them to get back at him. Because Phil has lost as much as James. His place in the family, his birthright to Donato Enterprises, and five years of freedom.
The ocean plays its song, reeling his mind back to Puerto Escondido and her violent shore that lures experienced boarders. They ride her waves, a race to the beach before she devours them whole.
James feels himself go under, spinning, his world going dark until he’s standing at a table in a dive bar. The sunlight is murky and the air thick with cigar smoke.
“You walked into the hornet’s nest, Jim.”
He glanced down at Phil, dressed in a black shirt and teal shorts. Phil took after their mother’s side of the family more than he and Thomas did, which made sense considering both his parents were from that side of the family. Phil turned those hawkish features up at him, his mouth twisted in a cynical grin. He slowly shook his head. Dark Ray-Bans hid his eyes, but James knew they’d be narrowed in warning. Phil had told him not to follow him into the bar. His brother slowly shook his head, dipping his chin, seeming more fascinated with the bottle cap he spun on the tabletop. James’s stomach bottomed out. He knew whatever happened next was his own damn fault. He swore at his impatience. Raged at his own anger and drive for vengeance.
“Is this the guy you were telling us about?”
James’s gaze swept over the other two men. The one who’d spoken and sat beside Phil had an arm across his bloated stomach, his hand tucked under his other arm, hidden from view. James crossed his arms, hiding his clammy hands. He didn’t want to think about what the man kept out of sight from him and the other patrons in the bar.
“No, Sal,” Phil said, his tone adamant. “That’s my other brother. Jim was just leaving.”
The second man, decked in a silk shirt and linen trousers, forearms inked, kicked out the empty chair. It hit James in the shins. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
“Mind if I have a seat?”
James blinks and looks up, disoriented. A beer bottle hovers in his line of vision. Condensation beads on the side, and sweat dots his hairline. He takes the beer and adjusts his position so his forearms rest on his knees, and Natalya eases down beside him. “How are the kids?” he asks.
“Marcus fell asleep in the middle of the story and Julian was already out before I went to his room.”
He sips the beer and flavor explodes in his mouth. His eyes widen at the citrus and mango taste. He checks out the label.
“Beer, Hawaiian-style.” Natalya drinks hers.
“It’s . . . different.” He prefers darker brews, but on an evening such as this, where the humid trade winds are more pleasant than the blistering heat of Puerto Escondido, he welcomes the change.
“What were you thinking?”
He frowns. “When?”
“A moment ago, I called your name and you didn’t hear. Maybe you were just ignoring me.” She laughs softly, nervous.
“No, I wouldn’t do that.” He plucks at the corner of the label. “I was thinking about my brother. Nothing in particular.” He tries to grab the memory again, but it’s like grasping smoke. Details recede like the tide with every passing second.
His skin pricks. He senses Natalya watching him, so he angles his body toward her. The night sky casts her skin in blue. His expression is questioning, inviting her to ask him anything. She must have plenty on her mind.
Her eyes buzz over him; then her chest rises with a deep inhale. “I’m going to come right out and say this. It’s very hard for me to look at you and not see Carlos.”
“My conservative clothes and shorter hair aren’t enough to differentiate us?” he quips, trying for humor in hopes of unbuckling the tension he’d felt strapped around her since their arrival.
“I wish it were that simple, but no. For a long time, Carlos saw his situation differently than I did. He separated himself from you. He talked of you as though you were a brother or cousin.”
“How do you see me?”
“You’re the same person. Almost,” she adds as an afterthought. “The same blood pumps through your veins. You have the same heart and same soul. So, tell me, James Charles Donato. Who are you?”
He doesn’t know. There isn’t much of his old life left. He gulps back his beer.
“Come on,” she prods. “You have to give me something. What makes you different from Carlos?”
“I don’t collect newspapers?” he points out.
She nods, considering. “That is something. But you know he did that for you?”
James palms the sand and lets it rain between his fingers. There’d been more stacks of newspapers than he cared to count, boxed away in the garage in Mexico. Left behind by Carlos for James, so he wouldn’t miss out on one day’s worth of news. He’d tossed them without opening the boxes. The clutter had been overwhelming. It only added to the staggering number of issues he had to contend with.
“There are quite a few similarities between you. You both run, God knows why.”
James chuckles despite his heavy mood. He finishes his beer.
“You both paint.”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Not feeling it.”
She studies him for a moment. His skin itches from the way she watches him. He’s not her Carlos, and he’s tired of being compared to a man who no longer exists. He’s already compared himself enough with Carlos. He pushes the bottle into the sand beside him and considers returning to the house. Maybe they should talk tomorrow. His mood has darkened with the night sky.
Natalya digs her feet into the sand and wiggles her toes. “I was four when my mom passed. My dad didn’t surf for a long time. There he was, at the pinnacle of his professional career, and he couldn’t compete. Surfing is like any sport. It’s about where your mind’s at.” She taps her forehead. “Dad’s mind hadn’t been on the water, so he decided to take some time off and mourn. Then he took another year off to start his company. But the ocean called to him, and in time he was back on the water and winning titles because when he went back, he was ready to go back. Now he has a booming business, travels the world sponsoring tournaments, and has a gal in every port.”
“You and Raquel were sisters, right?”
“Half sisters. Dad’s a free spirit. He’s always been open about his relationships. I love all my siblings.”
“How many do you have?” James recalls reading something about her family, but not the details. These would be his sons’ aunts and uncles. Their family.
“My sister, Tess, is in Sydney, Australia, and my brother, Calvin, is in South Africa. He’s the baby. I’m the eldest.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“You probably already know I’m thirty-six. I feel like I’m thirty.”
“Hmm, I wonder why.”
He taps his temple. “In my head, I’m drinking a beer with an older woman.”
Natalya looks at him with a blank expression; then a laugh bursts from her chest. He grins. “Couldn’t resist.”
“Anyhow, there’s a point to my story.”
“Which is what?”
“You’re not ready to paint.”
“Well . . . ,” he says, rising and brushing off his shorts. “Send me a memo when you figure out when that’ll be.” He means it jokingly but the crass undertones are unavoidable.
“Oh, I already know.” Her tone matches his. She stands and takes his empty bottle. “You’ll start painting again when you stop hating on yourself and your life.”
He tenses. Carlos didn’t write anything about Natalya’s bluntness. Other than telling her last December he didn’t need her help, he can’t figure out what he’s done to deserve the icy attitude she keeps tossing his way.
“You’ve got me all figured out.” He crosses his arms. “What’s your story? Who the hell are you, Natalya?”
“Didn’t Carlos write all about my deep, intimate secrets?”
James clicks his tongue. “Ah . . . so you know what he wrote about in the journals.”
Her face turns crimson in the pale light. “I’ve read some parts.” She takes a deep drink of beer and he doesn’t have to guess about the parts she’s referring to. Like his paintings, Carlos’s writing was very detailed.
“Awkward.” The word echoes in her bottle. She looks sad and he can’t help feeling like an ass.
“I don’t remember anything about, um . . . us.” He motions between them.
She presses her lips tight and nods. Her eyes glisten. “Maybe it’s for the best. It’ll make tomorrow easier.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“I call the attorney so he can start drafting the adoption papers.”