Everything We Keep: A Novel (25 page)

“He’s family, James.”

“We’ll discuss the wedding party later, Mom,” he said thinly.

Thomas set his barely touched glass on the sideboard. “Well then, Aimee, I’ll leave you to discuss the details with Mom.” He crooked a finger at James. “Do you have a sec? We need to talk.”

James’s face tightened. “Yes, we do.” He kissed my brow and asked if I’d be all right. When I nodded, he murmured he’d return in a moment, then we’d leave.

Claire put her glass next to Thomas’s and skimmed manicured nails through my hair, straightening the thick waves. She pulled out a dry leaf and arched a brow. “I think you’ll make a beautiful bride once we fix this hair. So unruly,” she murmured, shaking her head. She tsked. “You wear entirely too much makeup.”

Twenty exhausting minutes later, I extrapolated myself from Claire and her wedding planning with the excuse of needing the bathroom. Thankfully, the house phone rang and Claire took the call.

I went searching for James. His voice drifted into the hallway from the den. Light spilled underneath the double doors, as did Thomas’s harsh murmur.

“I can’t fire Phil. Grant’s stipulations forbid it,” he warned.

Through the partially opened doors, I saw James standing off to the side. Anger distorted his face. Thomas paced the room.

“I’ll handle Phil,” James replied.

“He’s not your responsibility.”

“Listen, I have a plan.”

Their voices lowered. I held my breath, straining to hear. Only muffled tones reached me.

“You bring the DEA into this and we all go down,” Thomas accused when James finished his explanation.

“Then let me deal with him. My plan will work.”

“Bullshit!” Thomas exploded. “Your plan is crap. Phil’s too unstable. You’ll get yourself killed.”

I gasped, slamming a hand over my mouth.

“Jesus Christ! Keep your voice down.” James’s eyes darted toward the den’s entrance.

I drew away from the door. What was going on?

“Give me a year to terminate Phil’s operations,” Thomas implored. “Two tops to cut him off.”

“No, we deal with Phil now. I’m done waiting,” James snapped. “And I’m done turning my head like everyone else in this family when Phil exports merchandise purchased with dirty money. The illegal shit stops now, or I’m out.”

Thomas rubbed his face. “I need time, James. You’re not giving me any . . .”

A wide hand firmly latched on to my shoulder. I jolted, spinning around. Edgar Donato held me with his steel gaze. He pressed an index finger to his lips and smiled, almost jolly. “Come with me.”

Between the champagne and what I’d heard, confusion clouded my head. My gaze darted between James and his father.

Enormously overweight, Edgar wobbled ahead with a cane, dragging an oxygen tank behind him. The wheels squeaked over marble tiles.

With one last glance through the door crack, I trailed after Edgar. I would ask James later what Thomas had meant. One thing was for sure, I wanted James out of the family business as much as he did.

Edgar led us into the library and went straight for the liquor cabinet. He uncorked a crystal decanter filled with an amber liquid. He poured two fingers into one glass and four into another.

“Should you be drinking?” I asked when he handed me the smaller of the two.

“My dear,” he started, clearing a throat thick with mucous, “my health is way past the point of no return. Not much help I can do other than assisting it along the course it’s taken.” He raised the glass to his lips and chuckled. “Bottoms up!” He drank half the glass with the first gulp and added, “Welcome to the family.”

I sniffed the liquor and took a hesitant sip. Edgar tapped the bottom of my glass, angling the crystal higher against my mouth. I gulped quickly. Whiskey burned a ditch in my throat and dug a hole in my belly. I gasped.

Edgar laughed, shoulders twitching. “You’ll need more of that if you want to survive the family you’re marrying into. Might as well start now.”

With the whiskey topper on the champagne from earlier, my head felt light and fuzzy. My stomach twisted.

Edgar retreated to a wingback chair and settled down. He adjusted his cane and tank. A coughing fit consumed him, loud and rough, flooded in phlegm. His entire body quaked.

“Don’t worry,” he choked, spent. “You’ll get used to it. The more you drink, the better it’ll taste. One day”—he pointed at the scotch with his cane—“Johnnie Walker may be the only thing keeping you sane in this family.”

My eyes fleetingly skipped to the door. I swallowed, feeling uneasy. In all the years I’d known James, I’d never been alone with his father. Before tonight, Edgar and I hardly spoke.

“Come, come. Sit.” He patted the chair beside him.

I sat and braved another taste of the fire in my glass. Last one, I promised myself.

“I like you, Aimee. Always have. Your parents are good people, too.”

My brows arched high.

“You’re good for James. He needs you.” He smiled and his eyes turned sad. “Thomas is so much like his mother. He has a relentless purpose that borders on ruthlessness. Thomas believes he can single-handedly take on the world. But James,” Edgar nodded his head, “he reminds me of my younger brother. Spirited. A dreamer.”

“I’d never get in the way of his dreams. I couldn’t force him to be someone he wasn’t . . .” I stopped, remembering who I was speaking to—the man who’d kept James from pursuing the life he’d wanted. I cleared my throat and stared into my glass.

“Advice I should have heeded decades ago. I am afraid . . .” His voice drifted, gaze wandering.

I frowned at his frankness. Perhaps it was a reaction to his medication. That would explain his unexpected openness. Then it struck me. The unfocused stare and the quiet acceptance of his condition. The ease of temperament that comes in the sunset years while reflecting on a life full of regrets.

Edgar Donato was lonely and very much alone in a world I was only beginning to realize James had kept away from me.

When he remained quiet, I asked him, “What are you afraid of, Mr. Donato?”

His head popped up. “Huh? Oh, nothing.” Coughing into his fist, he cleared his throat. The fit ensued, the coughs harsher.

I went to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of water for him. While he regained his composure, my eyes perused the room, drifting to the framed Donato family crest on the opposite wall. “I remember when James brought your crest to school for share day,” I said, making conversation. “That was years ago. He told me all about the eagle.”

“What eagle?” choked Edgar.

“The one up there. Your family’s crest.”

Edgar shifted, looking up. He barked in laughter. “That’s not my family’s crest. It’s Claire’s.” Tossing back his glass, he finished his whiskey.

My mouth fell open.

“Aimee? You ready to go?”

I spun in my chair. James stood in the doorway.

CHAPTER 29

“Aimee, are you all right?”

I blinked at Carlos. He sat stiffly in his chair on the other side of the room, his face pale. I looked around, dazed. I must have been pacing while I spoke. My fingers were latched tightly on the engagement ring.

“Aimee . . . ?” he questioned in a firmer tone.

I took in everything around me: walls painted a burnt orange, mahogany wood flooring, bold furniture with decorative pillows—a woman’s touch, toys stacked in one corner, cleaned up for the day, and numerous pictures portraying a once complete family that had lost their mother. Carlos was needed here more than I needed James.

I understood that now. Looking back at our relationship, while I had loved him something fierce, I also saw our faults. James was good at putting off the things that made him uncomfortable and I was too agreeable. His family should have been told about Phil.

As Carlos stared at me with an appalled expression, I realized marrying James might not have been the best thing for me. In the nineteen months since he’d left for Mexico, despite how difficult those months had been, I’d become a stronger, more confident person. And I didn’t want to lose the life I’d created for myself.

A voice whispered in my head, one I hadn’t heard in a while.
It’s OK to let go, Aimee.

My eyes widened. It never had been James speaking to me in the wind, touching me with a tear. It was me—the part that was brave enough to move forward. The part that knew I was capable to make it on my own.

Carlos crossed the room to me. I slid the ring from my finger for the first time since James had put it on. It had been a perfect fit, but perfection can be an illusion. I stared at my naked finger, the band of pale skin pink and tender. I lifted Carlos’s hand and placed the ring in the center of his palm.

“What are you doing?” He fisted his hand around the ring.

“What I should have done a long time ago. I once promised James never to interfere with his dreams. In fact, I hated when he kowtowed to his parents. I wanted him to leave Donato Enterprises, open a gallery, and paint. He would have had a richer, more fulfilling life. He was going to do it, right before . . .” I swallowed and took a heady breath. “Right before he died.” I lifted my gaze to Carlos and finally found James. “But look at you, you did do it. You’re living the life you’d hoped to achieve. I won’t take this from you. I won’t force you to be someone you aren’t. I’d never force you the way your parents had.”

“Aimee . . .”

“No . . . no, this is good. You’d wanted your own family because the one you grew up with was so—”

“Dysfunctional?” Carlos supplied.

“To put it mildly.” I gave him a smile of understanding. “Your boys need you.”

And I was needed back home. I missed my café, the fresh brewed coffee and warm spices. The sugary scent of cakes and scones. The jingle of the door opening for a new customer or the return of someone familiar. I missed my chef Mandy, and Emily’s scheming, always looking to make an extra buck with her bets. Most of all, I missed Ian. Aimee’s wouldn’t be what it was today without him. I wouldn’t be where I was today without him, emotionally and physically, and every level between. I didn’t want to lose him.

“
Dios
, Aimee . . . everything you told me.” Carlos swore again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Will you be OK?” He frowned, unconvinced when I nodded. I’d spent hours sharing memories, some blacker than others. “Are you sure?”

I looked inward. With the darkness exorcised, I recognized the calm acceptance of my situation. It had been there for some time, patiently waiting for me to grasp hold. Nadia would be impressed. I was moving on.

“For once, I’m positive I will be OK. Better than OK.”

It was 3:30 a.m. when Carlos dropped me off at Casa del sol. I stood alone on the walkway as he drove off, waiting until his taillights disappeared. I had no idea when I’d see him again.
If
I’d see him again. The finality of our relationship seemed more permanent at this moment than it had when I’d buried his body.

Imelda intercepted me as I dragged myself through the lobby. Her clothes were rumpled, hair disheveled. She looked exhausted. “Thomas is here,” she warned.

My gaze snapped to hers. “Where?”

“The bar.”

I looked through the wide entrance to the hotel’s lounge. Underneath dimmed lights, the bartender methodically wiped the counter. The place was empty except for a lone man sitting at a table along the far wall. A single bottle and one glass kept him company.

The bartender looked up when I entered and followed me to Thomas’s table. He set a clean glass on the wood surface as though he’d been expecting my arrival, and then retreated behind the bar again.

I slid into the chair across from Thomas and he slowly raised his head. Dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tie loosened, and suit wrinkled, he appeared years older than the last time I’d seen him. That was several weeks ago, when he’d come to the café for coffee. The lines on his face had deepened. He poured several fingers into the empty glass. Amber liquid splashed around the base.

“He loved you very much. Both of my brothers and I cared for you, in our own demented ways,” he said wryly.

I inhaled a sharp breath.

He gave his head a slow shake. “No more secrets.”

That’s not my family’s crest. It’s Claire’s.

Something shifted inside me, bringing clarity. “Phil’s your brother.”

“Uncle Grant’s son and Mom’s. She and her brother Grant were very close before he hired Dad and Mom fell in love with him. Dad took her surname when they married. I think it helped in his position as president of Donato.”

No wonder James kept so much about his family from me. He must have been ashamed about his mother and her own brother. And Phil was a product of that union. The Donato family hid that secret well.

I dropped my gaze to the table, considered the whiskey in the glass, then looked back at him. He was right. No more secrets. “I don’t believe for a moment Phil cared about me. He attacked me the day James proposed.”

Thomas lurched back. “Fuck, Aimee. I didn’t know.” He looked away from me, staring off into the corner. “It all makes sense now. Why James was hell-bent on getting rid of him.”

“Where is he?”

He turned back to me. “Phil? He won’t bother you again.”

His words sounded final.

“What happened to James? Why did you lie to us?” Nineteen months of pain and loss poured out with those questions. Salty tears beaded in my eyes.

“I was protecting him from Phil, who was trade-based laundering, using Donato Enterprises as cover. He’d purchase our furniture with drug money and arrange for it to be exported to Mexico. The cartel then sold the furniture for pesos, thus getting their money back into the banking system,” he explained in a gravelly tone. “Phil wanted to ruin us. Uncle Grant left Donato to my father, and my father gave it to me, not Phil. Phil felt entitled to the business.”

They’ve taken everything from me.
Phil’s words came rushing back. I’d thought him insane.

“Dad and I were cooperating with the DEA, who were after bigger fish than Phil. We had to pretend we didn’t know what he was doing so he’d keep his operations going until the DEA got what, and who, they were after. The people Phil worked for? They wouldn’t hesitate killing anyone who found out what Phil was doing.”

I remembered James and Thomas arguing. James had wanted to bring in the DEA, but Thomas had already been working with them.

“James didn’t know the DEA was involved,” I surmised.

Thomas shook his head. “Dad and I agreed the fewer who knew what was going on, the less risk to us and the company. In retrospect, I should have told James. He’s whip-smart. He did our finances and discovered pretty quickly what Phil was doing.”

“And you didn’t do anything about it when James told you,” I guessed.

“I couldn’t. There was already a plan in place. But James grew impatient with my lack of action and interest. He took off to Mexico on his own and confronted Phil. Now that I know what Phil did to you, I think James had a lot of pent-up rage inside him.”

He did. James had gone ballistic when I’d wanted to take down the painting of our meadow. “We will not let that sick fuck control our lives,” he’d told me.

“I have no idea what happened when James met up with Phil,” Thomas was saying. “We may never know unless he remembers. Phil said they went fishing and that James fell overboard, so that’s the story I went with. I think Phil tried to kill him.”

Words failed me. It was too much. All the issues with his family James had been struggling with while trying to protect me.

“Because of the DEA case, I had to let everyone believe James had died. They needed to keep Phil engaged in his activities, not running off on a manhunt if he learned James was still alive. James might not have survived another attempt on his life. And if the Mexican cartel knocked off Phil, there went the DEA case.” He thumbed his chest. “I kept James hidden to protect him.”

“But you left him here,” I cried.

“He was only supposed to stay hidden a few weeks, three months tops. But the weeks turned into months, soon a year. The DEA took longer to do what they needed to get done. By then, James was heavily entrenched in his new life as Carlos.”

“He’d met his wife.”

“He was already married with a kid on the way. He fell hard and fast for Raquel.”

Thomas tossed back my whiskey since I hadn’t touched it, then stared into the empty glass. “I thought for sure you’d find out sooner. Your PI almost bled me dry. He threatened to tell you where James was. I had to pay him off to shut him up.”

Like he’d paid off Imelda. He’d paid me off, too.

This was too much to digest. Besides, I’d heard enough. It was time to go home. I stood and smoothed my skirt.

Thomas’s head snapped up. He snagged my wrist. “I’m sorry, Aimee.”

My gaze slowly rose from his fingers clasped around my wrist to his face. “I’m not the one who needs your apology.”

“How is James? Is he coming home?”

“No. He’s needed here, but he has questions. Make sure you see him before you leave.”

“What about you? Are you going home?”

“That’s where I belong. My café—”

His grip tightened. “I knew you could do it. I’d told Joe—” I stiffened and Thomas grinned. “It was me. I covered your lease during build-out. It was the only way I could get Joe to agree—”

I yanked my arm from his grip.

“Yeah, well . . . I wanted to help.” He dragged himself out of the chair and stumbled toward the bar, collapsing on a stool.

I turned to leave, but stopped. “Did James really go to Cancún?”

Thomas shook his head. “He wanted us to think he was there and not chasing Phil.”

“And the casket. What was inside?”

He gave me an empty look.

“James’s funeral,” I explained. “What was inside his casket?”

“Sandbags.” He shrugged like it was of little consequence.

I briefly glanced away and momentarily closed my eyes. When I looked back, Thomas faced the bar, head supported in his hands.

Without a backward glance, or word of good-bye, I walked out of the bar, and out of the lives of the Donato family.