Coast Road (20 page)

Early on in those bottom-rung days, when such dreams were a mainstay of survival, they decided to form a firm together someday. It made good business sense. Between their different strengths, their shared goals, and the diversity of their cultural backgrounds, they covered a good many bases.

For two years, the dream remained a dream. They slowly climbed the ladder, becoming junior architects, then project architects. Then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. On the day when David charmed a large company into hiring them independently of the firm where they worked, they resigned and formed Sung and McGill. In the thirteen years since, they had been of one mind as to what was needed to make the firm a success�and they might still be. Jack just wished his partner was more sensitive.

"I need understanding here, Dave. I need help."

"I gotcha. But for how long? She's your past, we're your present and future."

"Da-ad?

" Samantha made two impatient syllables of his name.

He put a finger in his ear and turned his back. "Do you want to call Brynna, or should I? No. Forget that question." David could be abrasive.

He feared what the man might say to Brynna. "I'll call her. I'm driving up tomorrow morning. I'll meet with her and make sure she understands what has to be done."

"Have you talked with Boca? " "Oh, yeah. I've talked with Boca. The problem is with the footprint, which means altering the whole fuckin' design." Why did he fear it wouldn't be for the last time? His stomach churned just thinking about it.

"Listen, David, I have to get off the phone�" "To do what? Jack, I'm the front guy here. I'm the one running around drumming up work. I need to know you're making progress on something.

You are working down there, aren't you? The girls are in school all fuckin' day, and there isn't a hell of a lot you can do for Rachel. " For a minute, Jack was angry enough to hold his tongue. When he was in control again, he said, "Actually, there is. I can paint. Hey, my daughter needs the phone. I have to go, Dave. Later." He hung up the phone.

"Paint what? " Samantha asked, tossing her hair back in a gesture that was at the same time negligent and powerful.

"Your mom's stuff, " he answered.

She screwed up her face in horror. "You can't do that. Mom's stuff is hers. You can't mess with it." The phone rang again. He beat her to it. "Yes? " "It's Victoria. How's my daughter? " "You can't, " Samantha insisted.

"She's the same, " he told his mother-in-law, returning the finger to his ear. "The doctors think that's good news."

"I don't. There must be something they can do. I've been asking people here, and they all agree. You don't just sit around and wait.

I can't tell you the number of horror stories, horror stories, I've heard about times when action wasn't taken that should have been taken.

If I were you, I wouldn't want to find myself six months from now looking back and regretting that I didn't push. Didn't my man have any suggestions? " "None that were different from the doctors here."

"The doctors there.

Huh. The one I talked with the other day sounded too young to know much. I'd like to consult with someone in New York.

I'll be back there later tomorrow. My board was sending flowers. Did they arrive? " "A few minutes ago, but she's in the I.C.U, Victoria.

It'd be best if you asked people not to send things. We'll only have to give them away." It wasn't the whole truth, but he envisioned Victoria spreading the word and an entire flower shop materializing in Rachel's room.

"You told me not to come, Jack. Has that changed? Is there anything I can do there? " Samantha tugged at his arm. Wait, he mouthed, then said to Victoria, "We're marking time."

"Has your mother been down?

" "I haven't talked with her."

"She doesn't know? That's terrible, Jack. Give her a call. She should be told. I'll call you again tomorrow. In the meantime, you know how to reach me."

"It isn't right, " Samantha said as he hung up the phone.

"Tell me about it, " he muttered, thinking about motherly devotion. If Victoria came to see Rachel, she would drive them all up a tree. And his own mother? A phone call would be bad enough. Somehow, some way she would blame him for the accident.

"So you won't? " Samantha asked.

"Won't what? " "Mess with mom's work? " He shifted gears. "I wasn't planning to mess' with it. I was planning �I was toying with the idea of finishing a few of those pieces so that Ben can go ahead with the show."

"She wouldn't want you doing that."

"Oh? Did you ask? " Samantha made a face. "That was a mean thing to say."

"Well, did you? No, because your mother is in a coma, which means that none of us can ask, so we don't know what she wants. She did want this show. Do you doubt that? " Samantha grunted what he took to be a no.

"And Ben says the show can't be postponed, so what are we supposed to do? " "Some of her pictures are finished. They can be in the show. " And f your mother doesn't ever wake up or, worse, dies? It may be now or never, toots, he wanted to say, but he held his temper in check.

"Know the picture at the gallery of the bobcat pups in the meadow? " "Of course I know it, " she said in disgust. "Any one who's been in this house knows it. It was in the living room for years. It's Mom's favorite."

"Right, " he said, gaining strength. "Do you know that I helped paint it? " Her withering look said that not only didn't she know it, but that she didn't believe it for a minute. "You were six years old.

Your mother and I went hiking in the mountains not far from here. When we came back, that was one of the pictures we painted."

"Like, what part did you do? " Samantha mocked. "A tree? " There hadn't been many times when one of his children had angered him to the point of losing control, and this wasn't one, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Very deliberately, he tucked his hands in his pockets. Had he been his father, he would have used one of them to take the scornful look off Samantha's face. There had to be a better way.

"Have you ever drawn a tree? " he asked.

"Every one's drawn trees."

"Yeah? " Catching her wrist in a way that was loose but locked, he strode toward the front door.

"Where are you taking me? " she cried. "I have things to do! " He didn't talk, didn't look back, didn't stop until they were in the woods and standing face-to-face with the trunk of one of the largest of the redwoods. It wasn't one of the giant sequoias that grew farther north and inland, just a coast redwood, but it would do fine.

Drawing Samantha in front of him, he held her rigid shoulders and said over the crown of that straight blond hair, "What do you see? " "Bark, " she snapped.

"What else? " "Bark."

"Okay, what color is it? " "Red, " she said, then slowly, pedantically, "This is a redwood."

"Bright red? Brick red? Mahogany? Maroon? " "I don't know.

Whatever."

"Ifyou were to paint it, what color would you make it? Bright red?

Brick? " When she didn't answer, he squeezed a shoulder.

"Darker than that, " she muttered.

"Mahogany? " "Maybe."

"All of it? " "What do you mean? " "Would you paint all of it mahogany? " "Yes, " she bit out.

He released one shoulder, reached over it, and touched a piece of the bark. "But what about this part? The way the light hits, it's darker by a shade or two." He moved his finger. "This part's a shade or two darker than that." And again. "This part's almost black. Can you see that? " "Yes, I can see it."

"If you paint the whole thing mahogany, you'll lose the texture." He swept the pads of his fingers over the bark. "Look at the shape of this piece, wider on top, tapering down. And the way this one waves back and forth. And this sickle-shaped piece? You'd lose these shapes if you did the whole thing one color." He looked higher. "And up there? Where the sunset slants in? It makes the bark more orange than red. So you'd miss that, too, if you did the whole thing mahogany."

He looked way up.

"Now look at the needles."

"You've made your point."

"Look at them anyway, " he said, framing her head with his hands and using only enough pressure as was necessary to tip it up. "The needles are feathery. Rich green. No�more blue-green in this light, I think.

Warmer, almost lime, where the sun hits." He paused. "Is it the needles that smell so good, or the bark? " "I don't know. Is it my fault that I'm the only one in this family who can't draw? " S Jack was so surprised by the question that he let her go when she twisted away.

"And just because you know about colors, " she blurted out, turning from ten feet away, "doesn't mean you painted part of Mom's picture.

If you did, why would she have it hanging in the living room? She divorced you. She wanted you out of her life! " She stomped off, .

leaving Jack feeling empty again.

"MY FATHER is a jerk, " Samantha told Lydia. She was breathing hard.

"Who does he think he is, barging in here and taking over? He doesn't know what my mother wants. He hasn't lived with her in six years. No, longer.

He wasn't there for at least another six years. Probably even more. " "Aw, Sam, he's not that bad."

"You don't have to live with him.

You're not the one he's watching all the time. You don't see him trying to take over everything. You're not the one who can't borrow your mother's clothes because he's in there all the time. He said he used to help my mother paint, and I'm like, Why didn't she ever tell us that? and he doesn't have an answer.

I'm sick of having him around. I can't do anything right when he's here.

Know what he wants? He wants me to shut up. He wants me to be sweet and silent and obedient like Hope. But I'm not like Hope. I don't want to be like Hope."

"I don't think he wants that. Did he ever say it? " "He wouldn't say it. But I know. I can see the way he looks at her and the way he looks at me. It's different."

"I thought he was pretty nice."

"That was what he wanted you to think. It was an act.

" "He seems really worried about your mother." -"Yeah. Because if she doesn't get better, he'll be stuck with us.

That'd cramp his style. Why are you sticking up for him? You don't know the half of it. You should meet the woman he dates. Jill. Jack and Jill.

Can you believe it? She's nice enough to make you sick."

"Is he gonna marry her? " "Poor her, if he does. He's fickle. Before long, he's out looking for better."

"Is that what he did to your mom? " "Why else would they get divorced?

" Call waiting clicked. "Why are you taking his side? You're supposed to be my friend, Lydia. Hold on.

" She pressed the button. It was Brendan. Normally, talking with Brendan wouldn't hold a candle to talking with Lydia, but Samantha was furious with Lydia just then, so she took the call. "Lydia's being a dweeb, " she told Brendan straight out.

"So you know about the party? " "Know what? " "Didn't she tell you?

She was supposed to."

"Tell me what? " There was a pause, then a meek "Maybe you should call her."

"Brendan. Tell me."

"Her parents are staying home, " he blurted out.

"What? " "Lydia let it slip that the guys were coming back afterward, too, so they changed their plans. They're gonna be there all night. " "Lydia let it slip? " Samantha sighed in disgust. "How could she do that? " "Some of the other parents started calling her parents, so they started asking her questions, and it slipped out."

"I should have known." Lydia had been her best friend since third grade, but lately she was too soft. All along she had been nervous about the party. She was scared that someone would throw up, her parents would find out why, and she'd be the one punished. So now everyone would miss out. "She is a dweeb. This ruins the whole thing.

"Why? " "Forget the beer, if her parents are there."

"Yeah, but my mother thought her parents were going to be there all along, so now I won't get in trouble. Besides, they'll stay in the other room. It won't be so bad."

"Oh, yuk! You're as pathetic as Lydia is." When he had nothing to say about that, she made a guttural sound. "This prom is going to be totally boring. I'm not sure I want to go." He was silent for a long minute. "What do you mean? " "I may not go." He should have protested. If it had been her, she would have. But that was asking too much of Brendan. Instead, after another silence, he said, "What about me? " "I think you should take Jana, " she decided.

"You do? " "Yes." She wasn't going with a wimp.

"You really don't want to go? " "I really don't. Call Jana." He couldn't think of a thing to say to that but a weak "Oh. Okay. See you tomorrow." Samantha hung up the phone and fumed. She had been waiting forever for a prom, for limos and all-night parties and beer.

She had been to a zillion dances. If she'd thought this was going to be another one, she'd have bought the dorky blue dress her father liked. But this was a prom.