The Heart is a Poor Judge Ch. 08

Miguel motioned back at Gabe with a hand that felt suddenly very empty. "Nice tie."

"Can I get you something to drink, Miguel?"

It took a second for Miguel to fathom the question's originator: Eddie Nguyen. He blinked once, pointed at Gabe's glass. "What he's having--please," he added, stuffing both hands uncomfortably in his pockets.

Eddie left in a flash, clearly happy to have assigned himself a task.

"You boys enjoying your weekend so far?" Lydia dropped a hip beneath her small blue dress, adjusted her ovular sunglasses and ran a finger through her straight blond hair, chopped at the shoulders.

"Guess so."

Gabe grinned at him. "You guess so?"

"It only just started."

"Otero told us we should bring Gabby." Lydia jutted her chin toward some splashing at the far end of the pool. "Those kids look a little old for her to play with, don't you think?"

"I always felt like I was the wrong age as a kid," Miguel offered. "Most of my cousins were my older sisters' age. Or they were babies."

Lydia studied the kids a moment longer, shrugged. "Well. Anyway." Uninvested in their strange social triangle, she stared off toward Eddie, who waited patiently by the bar for Miguel's drink.

Miguel looked through the small crowd at a broad white trellis across the lawn, stood against the fence, erupting in multicolored flowers. An urge to go stand in the beautifully guarded space beneath nearly overtook him.

"Here." Eddie was back with Miguel's drink, which was thrust into his unprepared hand.

"Thanks."

At each other's side once again, Eddie and Lydia embodied glamor. He, wearing an understated suit that whispered modestly of the body beneath. She, belonging anywhere she wanted, knowing anyone could be hers--but she had chosen him. They were the couple people start telling themselves stories about before even learning their names. Combined, their energy was magnetic, and by this point, other people at the party should have formed a line to make their acquaintance. But magnetism and approachability were not the same thing. Miguel knew that as well as anyone.

"The kids want you to come back," Lydia said to Gabe.

"They do?" Gabe looked genuinely surprised.

"Of course they do. You were like the uncle they never had."

"But all I did was play with them."

Lydia sipped her wine, dabbed the corner of her mouth with her pinky. "That's all anyone has to do."

Gabe looked down. Miguel tried but failed to read the expression on his face. "I'll come back and see them sometime."

"We'll have you both over," suggested Eddie.

Lydia looked at her husband.

"I've barely even met them," said Miguel.

"They're not so bad," Eddie said.

Lydia sighed. "They can be little terrors. Especially the twins--my God...you can't imagine the number of times I've thought about pulling a Susan Smith."

Eddie elbowed her.

"What?"

"Don't."

She glared up at him. "I meant it as a joke."

"It's not funny."

Miguel was suddenly engrossed. "Who's Susan Smith?"

"Nobody," Eddie said gruffly.

"Oh, come on, who is she?"

Gabe spoke up: "That woman who ditched her car with two kids in the back seat and watched it roll into the sea."

"Oh, shit." Miguel couldn't help but laugh. "Damn, Lydia, that's cold."

That was when she noticed him for what felt like the first time. His reaction had flattered her, and for an instant, they shared the knowing glance of two people who don't know each other at all. "It was a lake," she said.

"I think we should make an appearance over there," Eddie said, gesturing toward a half-circle of men who laughed boisterously, accessorized by their wives. He took Lydia's hand and she followed, leaving Gabe and Miguel alone.

"There's fucking no one here I want to talk to," Miguel told him.

Gabe turned toward the hydrangea, reached out and felt a snowball bloom. "Sucks to be you, I guess."

"Any idea why we were invited?"

Gabe had apparently become mesmerized by the flowering tree. "Unclear."

"I have a few theories," Miguel told him. He took a long drink from his scotch, which tasted watered-down. "Want me to tell them to you?"

Gabe looked up at him with melancholy eyes. "How about we cool it with the speculation, just for today?"

"Fine, we can 'cool it,' as you say. So what do you want to do?"

Gabe shrugged. "I saw Otero when I came in. He said to feel free to look around the house. Nowhere is off-limits."

"Really? He said that?"

"Maybe it was a show of trust."

"I thought you said no speculating."

Gabe rolled his eyes and left for the patio. He stationed himself at the end of a four-person line and waited for a fresh drink. Miguel waited with him.

The reluctance that had plagued Miguel on his first pass through returned as they entered the home. They went by the doorway to the kitchen, which buzzed with a small catering crew. Endless cuts of beef and fish lay on the countertops. Uncooked, their scent was hardly enough to block the prevailing fragrance--a mix of flowers and spice that Miguel's mother relished both in her perfume and in the wooden bowls of potpourri she had scattered throughout her Allentown home.

They neared the front of the house, rounding the banister of a grand stairway--grander, to be certain, than the one in Miguel's parents' home, but similar in proximity and positioning to the front door.

Just as Miguel gave this door a second glance, it opened. A pale woman entered in a dramatic swirl of movements, like someone who wished to appear in a hurry. She took one look from Gabe to Miguel and said, "Oh, thank God. Would one of you run my bag upstairs? I'd like it to be kept safe. And I can't have any shellfish. Please let the kitchen know? I can't have any, or I'll die."

Miguel and Gabe exchange glances.

The woman looked down, saw both their drinks and let out a shrill laugh. "Oh, pardon me, thought you were the help."

She was gone before either of them had a chance to react.

Miguel smirked at Gabe, who straightened up and said, "Let's go upstairs."

"Fine by me."

They ascended through the house, peering in on bedrooms likely having belonged to Otero's grown offspring, who were both present with families of their own down on the lawn. One room was decorated in a nautical theme, walls crowded with paintings of hundred-year-old ships and shelves strewn with model ships and antique navigating implements.

A confined stairwell at the end of the hall led to the third floor. At the top: a small landing and a closed door, painted the same off-white as the walls. Gabe placed his hand on the tarnished metal knob and looked furtively at Miguel. "Should we?"

"Sure."

They entered. The slanted walls were painted sky-blue. An old leather pilot's cap with glass-lensed goggles lay collapsed on a pine shelf. Next to it was a brown book labeled "Flight Log" on both its front and narrow spine. Model planes sat parked on nearly every surface; bookshelves lining the walls turned into miniature hangars. A twin-engine World War II bomber dangled from a string, dead-still over a single bed with a faded red quilt.

"Weird," said Miguel.

"What?"

"Reminds me a lot of my old room."

"In Allentown?"

He shook his head. "Before that, in Buenos Aires. I wanted to be a pilot, way back when. I had about a million model planes. Most of them were cheap from the corner store, but a few were better quality, like these. I had to give almost all of them away when we moved to America."

"Did you ever buy new ones?"

"A few, I guess. Never anything close to what I had down there. I never really got back into it...not the way I was before."

Gabe slouched a little, glanced around the room. He took a sip from his drink. "Maybe our dreams are different in one place than they are in another."

"Maybe."

Gabe went over to a small window at the far end of the room. Miguel followed, taking cautious steps, rattled by the memories the room conjured. The only material difference was air conditioning (often retrofitted to old houses in the city) which would have felt like a miracle in his childhood days.

They looked down at the spectacle below. Guests now lined the perimeter of the yard as the catering crew set up tables in three long rows down the center. Shimmering satin tablecloths, faintly peach in hue, were unrolled and draped over each with performative flourish.

"Think anyone sees us up here?" Miguel asked.

Gabe pointed. "That lady and her husband are looking right at us."

So they were. "What do you think would happen if we kissed? Got everybody's attention first and really went for it?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

Gabe laughed. "I have no idea what would happen. Nothing good--that's for sure." He eyed Miguel curiously. "Where did you get a crazy idea like that from?"

Miguel set his drink on the shallow windowsill and planted his palms against the wall on either side of the narrow window. He took a long, final look at the backyard scene. "Nowhere."

The room was dead silent. He heard a tiny smack of saliva as the kid's lips parted to speak. At first, nothing. The moment grew heavy. Then: "Are you okay, Miguel?"

A lump formed in his throat. It felt so fucking good to be to be asked. He grabbed up his drink. "I'm fine. Just a few too many reminders of my past, that's all."

Gabe took his hand and led him from the room.

Back down on the lawn, Eddie stood alone once again, along the fence line, casting a despondent look at the grass.

"Where's Lydia?" Miguel asked him.

He looked up, shaken from his daze. Miguel guessed he was well on his way toward getting drunk. "Huh? Oh, facilities. Should be back soon."

They flanked him like inadequate bodyguards.

He kicked a polished black shoe into the lawn. "What do you even say to people?"

Surveying the crowd, starkly white and buttoned-down, Miguel suddenly grasped the spirit of the remark. He reached a hand up, resting it on his boss's massive shoulder. "You make up stories and see how they react."

Eddie chuckled. "I've never had the balls to do that kind of thing."

"What are you going to do--tell them the truth? I'll bet you've been asked a dozen times today about your line of work. It's not like you can give any of these people an honest answer."

Eddie shrugged. "Most of them will talk around it. It's nothing half of them don't know already."

The kid stared up in disbelief. "Is that true?"

"In a roundabout way, yeah."

Miguel wasn't so surprised. He knew the way large families worked, how secrets spread like wildfire.

"Isn't that dangerous?" asked Gabe.

"Don't worry," Eddie assured him. "Anyone of concern gets what they're after."

"What does that mean?"

"It means a windowless envelope, once a year."

A kind of grave silence washed over the three of them as they saw Lydia approaching, edging her way around the tables, now decked-out with elaborate place settings. She had procured herself a fresh drink. Miguel felt like he needed one, too.

Before that evening, Miguel had never spared a thought to how much Lydia knew of her husband's dealings. Evidently she was predisposed, like them all, with an unusual knack for compartmentalization. But how far into the whole operation did her knowledge extend? Miguel's fascination had emerged like a sprout from soil, nurtured by the seemingly paradoxical nature of her being--intelligent, upstanding, raising no fewer than four kids whom she knew would one day face a world harsh enough on its own, absent these extra hazards...and yet she had entrenched herself, just as deeply as any of them had. Did she worry what her children might become, growing alongside this stifling presence like saplings tied to a stake? Had she dared dream up a day in the future when one of them--no doubt the oldest and most precocious--would ask, "What's really going on?"

A call to be seated came not long after. The four of them found their places together at the end of one of the table rows, nearest the pool's edge. The water had become still, gradually collecting a rainbow pallet of flower petals which seemed to hover just above the glassy surface in the late-day sun. Champagne flutes were filled in formation by staff. Candles were lit in each centerpiece. Once this was done, Otero stood at the far end of their table. The guests became quiet. He looked suddenly older than the image Miguel had always kept in his mind, dark hair fast receding, forehead pink with a mild sunburn.

"Thank you for coming. I am grateful to count you all as my close family. I extend this consideration not just to those related by blood or marriage, but to all gathered here beneath this beautiful evening sky." (At this, Otero cast an unmistakable glance their way.) "I pray for many happy returns of days such as this. Please enjoy yourselves."

That was it. Everyone took a drink, Otero took his seat and the night carried on.

They started in on the meal's preliminary courses, drinking champagne replenished earnestly by the hired crew. Miguel locked eyes a few times with the inexperienced male server assigned to their table. Easily younger than Gabe, he stepped back repeatedly to verify the order of events with an older colleague in hushed Tagalog.

Normally, Miguel felt a natural interest in whatever food was being served, but the air on this particular evening buzzed with a distracting energy. He knew nothing of Eddie's drinking habits, but had every reason to assume the indulgence which had brought forth his rare mood was an anomaly. Even Lydia seemed surprised by his openness.

"I'm so glad you both are here," Eddie was saying, face flush and utterly joyful. "I know I've been stern with each of you at times. But tonight, let's forget our roles. Let's treat each other as people--nothing more and nothing less."

"I'll drink to that," said Miguel.

Eddie held up his. "I don't say it enough, Miguel. You've really stepped up this past year, in light of all that's gone down. In light of the place you come from. There are people in this world who get into a bad way...then manage to completely turn it around for themselves. That's you--that's what you've done. You have my total respect for that."

Didn't say it enough? Eddie had never said such a thing to Miguel. He stopped for a moment, letting himself feel the words as truth. "Thanks, Eddie."

"And Gabe, I--" Eddie stopped. For one stunning moment, Miguel thought the big man was about to cry. "I promise you, everything is going to be all right."

Lydia placed a hand on Eddie's arm. Miguel couldn't tell if it was meant to comfort or modulate.

The kid seemed to welcome the remark. "I know, Eddie. I know it will."

"You two deserve a lot of credit for holding all this together. Whatever it is you're looking for, I hope you find it. I'll do what I can to help." Eddie paused for a moment, stealing the briefest glance up the long table. "Look, I know Otero's little nod our direction seems benign, but hear me out, because I'm only going to say this once: You want to go stand under what trickles down from above? Be my guest. Just don't expect to get clean."

Lydia spoke her husband's name, barely loud enough to be heard.

He looked over at her, then back at Gabe and Miguel. "That's all I'm going to say."

Eddie hardly slowed his intake of champagne as the meal continued, and though he handled his alcohol well (indeed, seemed only moderately drunk after consuming enough to leave two lesser men babbling), the indulgence inevitably caught up with him. Lydia and Gabe were not far behind him, settling into lazy laughter at his strange antics. Miguel realized that through an unlikely turning of the tides, he might be the least intoxicated person around--barring the party's cohort of children, who sat clumped together at a short stretch of table across the lawn.

He saw it as an opportunity. The table next to them had grown so loud that he hardly worried about being overheard. "Hey Eddie," he said, keeping his voice low. "What's so wrong with Otero calling us part of the family?"

Eddie straightened up. He looked over at Lydia, whose minute expression seemed to offer her blessing. She knew something. Of course she did. They both did. Miguel glanced at Gabe to make sure he hadn't fallen off the wagon--to the contrary, Gabe's focus had narrowed drastically on his boss.

Eddie looked once to his left, up the long table, back at them. "Otero seems to have it in his head that he can become a father to anyone."

"Doubt I could ever see him that way."

"You say that now." Eddie stared down at the table, drawing a small circle repeatedly with his index finger in the satin cloth.

"What's his motive?" asked Gabe.

"Your allegiance. Your loyalty. What else?"

"He already has that."

"He doesn't want to gain it. He's looking to keep it."

Miguel leaned in. "What the hell has him so worried about losing it?"

Eddie snapped back at that. The spell had broken. "This is not the time. Obviously."

"Name a better one," said Gabe out of nowhere.

"When I know more."

The kid sunk back into himself. He had clearly been disarmed by this reply, and so had Miguel.

The same young server from before approached their table and began clearing what remained of their place settings. While doing so, his hip accidentally brushed against the shoulder of a white woman sitting to Eddie's right. She smeared her cloth napkin across her lips and said, "Excuse me, young man. I can see that people in your country do not apologize when they bump into someone."

The server stammered a quick apology and made his way around their table to finish.

The muscles in Eddie's jaw twitched. He turned to the woman. Her livid-blue eyes met with his.

"What?" she said sharply.

But Eddie said nothing. He just kept staring straight into her eyes until she turned completely away.

He stood, adjusting his tie in a sober motion. "I saw a table for four back by the pool house. Nice and quiet."

Miguel watched him go over to the young server, pass a bill of large enough denomination to make him blush, then point across the pool at the small round table shrouded in half-darkness.

Once they had settled there, Eddie pushed his drink away. "Sometime around '86 I was given a list of suitable neighborhoods to move to, here in the city. It was a pretty short list--just a few places someone with a face like mine could feel welcome." He cleared his throat. "...And not have to put up with bullshit like that, over there." Eddie gestured out across the water at the table where the woman sat. Miguel made out her distant form, laughing and carrying on.

"She may seem like the enemy," Eddie continued. "But she's just a parrot. One who learned to be afraid."

"My father used to say that about people."

Eddie turned to stare at Gabe, then slowly nodded. "He said it to me, too."

"You never moved to any of those neighborhoods, did you?" asked Miguel.

Eddie smiled. "Humboldt...Trenches...Little Saigon--avoided them all like the plague, except when I got hungry for my parents' cooking." He looked very sad all of a sudden. "That's the problem with people like Otero. The day he learned I came over alone, he started treating me like an orphan. Started talking as if there were some vacancy for him to fill. Well, fuck you: I remember my parents enough to keep their spirit alive. I can still hear their voices some days like they're calling from the next room. They were good people, both very strong-willed. The stubbornness that made me avoid living in those neighborhoods--I got it from them. That's how I know...once the North finally found them...well...I'm sure they fought it to the end--"

Eddie stopped himself. Lydia lay her head on her husband's shoulder. Their small round table fell silent. For a long time, Miguel felt no urge to speak. It seemed no one did.