CHAPTER 31
JAMES
Present Day
June 30
Hanalei, Kauai, Hawaii
Thomas peers around the flight attendant leaning over James. “Nightmare? You were wigging out the other passengers.”
The flight attendant rests a hand on his shoulder. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
James straightens his rumpled shirt and sits up in his seat. “Yeah, that would be great.” He barely slept last night and as soon as the plane took off, he crashed.
Thomas shows James his empty Bloody Mary glass. “I’m getting a refill.” He walks to the front of the first-class cabin, leaving James to shake off his exhaustion and disorientation.
His hands are shaking, his pulse still pounding. That nightmare was a doozy. He hasn’t thought about his father and their meetings with the belt in years. Memories best forgotten, he thinks, searching for his phone in his carry-on. His fingers find the envelope Natalya gave him and he pulls that out instead.
His name is written on the front. Odd that Carlos’s handwriting is different from his, but he guesses he should expect that. They have different painting styles. The envelope’s edges are worn, as though it had been stored in a drawer with other items bumping into it. Or perhaps Natalya often held it, wondering whether she’d have the opportunity to give it to him.
He tears it open and unfolds the stationery. The emblem printed on top is from El estudio del pintor, the gallery he sold in Puerto Escondido. Neatly penned on the paper is exactly what Natalya told him it would be. A letter to him, from him. As he reads, his hands continue to shake and his heart goes out to the man who somehow knew that his time was almost up.
Dear James,
When you woke up from the fugue state and realized you lost more than years of memories, I’m sure you were angry at the world and despised your brothers. You longed for Aimee and probably hated me. I’m the guy who refused medical treatment. I didn’t want to remember who I used to be, because that meant I’d forget who I am. But I’ve slowly come to accept that the likelihood I’ll come out of the fugue and become you again is definitive. I have also come to understand that there is more than the self-loathing and shame you feel with your failure to protect Aimee from Phil at play here. There is something deeper in your past, for I see it often in my nightmares. It must be the explanation as to why the fugue has lasted as long as it has.
I urge you to come to terms with past mistakes, to forgive those who have wronged you, and find peace within yourself. You might discover that despite the losses, you’ve gained so much more: two incredible and talented sons, a woman who has remained at your side for years and loves you beyond anything, and the freedom of expression through your art. Perhaps you have already. And perhaps, you have also already found your way home. After all, you’re reading this letter.
C.
James slides the key his mother left him at the front desk into the slot. The lock unlatches and he opens the door to Claire’s suite.
Phil lounges on the couch, arms extended across the back. He wears a peach Hawaiian print shirt and white shorts with flip-flops. Always the tall, lean one of the three of them, prison has noticeably changed him. Deep lines etch a face that hasn’t regularly seen the sun. He carries more weight around the middle and less hair on his head. What he does have is streaked with a lifeless gray. He sips a yellow, frothy cocktail with a blue paper umbrella and grins when he sees them.
James doesn’t know what he expected to feel when he saw Phil. The rage that coursed through him when he’d seen his older brother covering Aimee would have been logical. As would the terror that chilled his veins when Phil put a gun in his face and ordered him to swim as if his life depended on it. Thank God he’d been running marathons since college and had been training for a triathlon. He never would have survived. James would also have understood animosity. It was because of who and what Phil is that he suffered through countless conditioning sessions with his father. Edgar Donato had successfully beaten the bitterness toward Phil into him and Thomas.
But he certainly hadn’t anticipated remorse. Phil never asked for his parentage, and he never wanted anything more than to be considered a respected member of the family. He tried on several occasions to slip into the big-brother role and James had scoffed. The less he interacted with Phil, the less chance he’d make the mistake of thinking of him as a brother. It kept his lower back welt-free.
The man Phil is today is the man his family molded him into. All the extra bits—his anger, violence, and maliciousness—is the armor he wore not only to survive in this family but to let them know loud and clear exactly what he thought of them.
“Hola, amigos.” Phil toasts his drink at them, then waves a finger at James. “You know exactly what I said. I hear you spent six years in Mexico. I knew you liked it there, but seriously? That’s over the top.”
“What do you want, Phil?” Thomas demands before James has the chance to.
“What do I want?” Phil looks at them both. He takes a slow drink and settles deeper in the couch. “Nothing. With you.” His gaze narrows on James.
“Then why did you have us come here?”
“He didn’t. I did.” Claire walks into the room like the regal matriarch she is.
“Welcome to family therapy, Donato-style,” Phil jeers. “It’s a grand fucking family reunion.”
“Do shut up, Phillip.” Claire sits on the couch across from him in a flurry of multicolored silk. She smooths the tunic over her legs. “Dr. Brackman will be here in thirty minutes. He’s a family therapist, and comes highly recommended. I flew him in this morning.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Thomas yanks off his blazer and tosses it over the back of a chair. His words and tone echo James’s sentiments exactly. Thomas rolls up his sleeves as the jacket slides to the floor. He crosses the room to the wet bar.
“Thomas, really, your language.” Claire straightens the toss pillows beside her. “Your father passed over seven years ago, God rest his soul, and we haven’t sat together as a family since. I was not fond of his position on many things, or his methods. We need to discuss this. It’s been forever since we talked.”
“Forever is too soon.” Thomas pours himself a scotch, downs it, and refills his glass. He raises the bottle and a brow at James.
“No, thanks.” James picks up Thomas’s blazer. A billfold falls from the pocket. He folds the blazer over the chair and takes the billfold to the window.
“I have some things to say, Thomas, and you’re going to listen.” Claire’s tone is a mother’s order. “I never agreed with how your father treated Phil. He’s your brother. But I loved your father just as much as I loved your father, Phil. I adored my brother—idolized him, if you must know. He wasn’t around much while I was growing up because he went to boarding school, then away to college. When he came home, though, there was a connection. We both felt—”
“God, Mom. Stop!” Thomas slices his hand through the air. “I don’t think any of us want to hear that. I sure don’t. What I do want to know is where the hell you were when Dad was beating us?”
Behind James, Thomas continues to lob questions and his mother complains. Why can’t her sons get along? Why do they keep hurting each other?
Because there’s too much history. They were never encouraged to treat each other with respect. In fact, quite the opposite.
James opens the billfold that holds Thomas’s DEA identification. Why is he not surprised? His role in exports with Central and South America put him in the perfect position as the government’s eyes and ears. Hiding in plain sight, as Thomas once told Carlos.
Outside the window is the crescent of Hanalei Bay. People dot the resort’s beach like paint speckles on a white canvas. While he can’t see it, he knows toward the far end of the bay is Natalya’s house, tucked behind the palms. She’s there with his sons, waiting for him.
He wants to be with them more than anything, especially as the tension between his brothers and mother escalates. Their voices rise, each trying to talk over the other. He knows they must accept and move past how they’ve treated each other. But right now, his sons are his priority. He wants to build a life for them, here in Kauai. He also wants a chance to get to know the woman who remained at his side, even with the knowledge he’d one day forget her. They are his ohana.
But his heart is heavy, and he still isn’t sure he can return the love Natalya freely gives him. He wonders if he’s entitled to another chance with his sons after everything he’s put them through. He’s made too many mistakes over the years.
He grips the taut muscles in his shoulder and slides his other hand into his pocket. His fingertip snags on Aimee’s engagement ring. He holds the diamond solitaire to the light. The platinum band reflects a distorted view of the room behind him. As he watches Thomas argue with Phil and their mother, everything clears.
Had Aimee told him last week she wanted to file charges against Phil, he would have done everything in his power to make sure Phil received the justice he deserved. He’d still do it. Instead, Aimee forgave James for how he’d handled the situation. She’s moved on.
How can he do the same? He’s made too many decisions he regrets. Despising Phil during their youth when he should have loved him as a brother. Lying to Aimee for too many years. Not trusting Thomas to handle the situation with Phil. And following Phil to Mexico. That’s his biggest mistake. One that cost him everything, and one that he can never turn back from.
He isn’t sure he can accept these mistakes, which make him think of the letter from Carlos. The words run through his mind and in between the lines he finds the answer. While he does need to forgive those who have wronged him to move on, he needs to forgive himself above anything else.
“He practically bankrupted Donato and tried to murder James,” Thomas bellows at their mother. “You expect me to carry on as though nothing happened?”
“What’s done is done. We’ve lost too much of ourselves already,” Claire pleads.
“I saved James,” Phil defends.
“That’s bullshit!”
“He’s right.”
Three sets of eyes turn to James. Phil grins. Thomas’s jaw comes unhinged. “You remember.”
“I’ve been remembering bits and pieces for a while now. But, yes. I remember.” James fists the ring. “I’m alive today because Phil warned me to swim and when to jump. There was another guy on the boat. He’s the one that shot me.”
Disappointment twists Thomas’s face. He stares at the white shag carpet, hands on hips. “Are you absolutely sure it wasn’t Phil?” he asks after a long moment. “What about the back room at the bar? Did you hear or see anything?”
“I didn’t see a thing, and I didn’t hear anything about Fernando Ruiz or the Hidalgo cartel that would have helped your case, if that’s what you’re asking. They put a sack over my head and made me into their punching bag as they asked questions about the DEA’s investigation, of which I didn’t know much. I wasn’t of importance to them. That’s why they dumped me.”
Thomas’s shoulders sag and his face contorts into a masterpiece of regret. He’d never had to keep James hidden.
“Actually, I did witness something of importance.”
Thomas lifts his face, his expression expectant, eager almost.
James looks at Phil. “At the risk of his own life, my big brother saved mine. Why, Phil? Why didn’t you shoot me?”
Phil swipes a tongue across his lips. His eyes shift to their mother and back to James. “I couldn’t do it. You’re my brother.” He looks at both Thomas and James, then holds his mother’s gaze. “Ever since I learned you’re my mother, I just wanted to be your son.” Claire softly gasps and Phil turns to Thomas. “As for what I did to Donato Enterprises, I never meant for anyone to get killed. I only wanted you to feel the same loss I did when I didn’t inherit my father’s company. And James, I swear,” he says, looking back at him, “I’ll make it up to you someday. I’ll even apologize to Aimee.” He sets down his drink with a shaking hand, the first sign of vulnerability James has seen him exhibit since he discovered his parents in the woodshed.
Phil fists his hand and a mask falls back over his face. He extends his arms with a flourish and takes a dramatic bow. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call relationship progress. Mom, your therapist will be proud.” He meets James’s gaze, his own sincere. “Thanks for remembering.”
James crosses the room and gives Thomas the billfold. Their gazes meet and a general understanding passes between them. Thomas’s secret is safe with him. Where James grew up wanting to be an artist, Thomas had wanted to be an agent. At least Thomas figured a way to do both, work for the DEA and oversee Donato Enterprises’ operations. He then sets Aimee’s engagement ring on the coffee table. Claire peers at it.
“Is that the ring you gave Aimee? She was never good enough for you.”
“No, Mother,” he says, heading toward the door. “I was never good enough for her. But I’m trying to make myself better.”
She twists around. “Where are you going?”
“Home, to my family. Oh, one more thing.” He snaps his fingers when he reaches the door, then points at Phil. “I apologize for how I treated you when we were kids. But if you so much as contact Aimee, go to her café, shop in the same fucking grocery store, or even breathe her name, I will serve your balls on a platter to local law enforcement.” He may still do that after he discusses it with Aimee.
James quietly shuts the door behind him, leaving the hotel and all the crazy that makes up the Donato family.
On the way back to Natalya’s, James stops at the shopping center in Princeville. He snaps a picture of the lease sign in the empty retail space’s window, then swings into the art store and purchases way too many supplies, including an extralarge canvas. He’ll order more online later. He’ll also research the school district and pick up registration packets.
It’s late afternoon when he arrives at Natalya’s house. He called ahead and they’re waiting for him in the driveway. Marc barrels into his arms before he’s fully out of the cab. James can’t hug Marc hard enough.
The cab driver pops the trunk, revealing James’s purchases.
“Whoa.” Marc slides down James.
“What’s all this?” Natalya asks as he unloads the canvas.
“I have a sunset to paint.”
Her gaze jumps to his. She tugs the end of her hair and her eyes well. “Really?”
“Really.” He pulls her against him and kisses her soundly, amazed at how much he missed her in such a short time, considering they’ve only known each other in person for such a short time.
He lifts his head. He wants to look at the woman who’s been so incredible to him. Her face tightens with emotion and she lightly punches him in the shoulder. “Damn you, you made me cry.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t paint, then?”
“Oh no! You’re painting my sunset. I’ve been waiting for years, and I’m not going to let you leave until you finish.”
“What if I don’t plan on leaving?”
Her surprised expression is almost comical until she bursts into tears. The emotion plows into James and his own breath hitches. “Come here, Nat.” He holds her close as her arms squeeze him tight.
Over her shoulder he sees Julian cautiously watching them. “Give me a second,” he whispers in Natalya’s ear.
Julian slowly dribbles a basketball but makes no move to come closer. James watches Julian and his internal battle. Did his father honestly mean it when he said he’d never leave him behind?
James figures he’ll make it easy on the kid. He asks Marc, who wobbles under its awkward size, to take the canvas, making Natalya giggle. James moves closer to Julian and opens his arms. “Come here, son.”
Julian takes a step, bounces the ball, then takes another step. His mouth, which is pressed into a tight seam, quivers when he finally tosses the ball aside and walks into James’s arms. “I love you, Dad.”