Where the Lotus Flowers Grow (32 page)

Sympathy pain shot through my own tongue. “You pierced your tongue?”

“Pierced a lot of things.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you when there aren’t children around.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” I looked around the large room. Groups of women and children sat at cafeteria-style tables. “What is this place?”

Chet held up the dish. “I’ll let Tony explain. He’s an actual employee. I just volunteer. Mary, you mind if I share?”

I took in all the faces. “Not at all. I wish I had made more.”

“I think there will be just enough.”

“Want a tour?” Tony asked.

“I’d love one, if you have time.”

“Time I got. Follow me, kid. We call it ‘the shelter.’ We house about ten families. It’s temporary housing for folks who are down on their luck. The idea is to help families in times of crisis. Unfortunately, there are always more crisis than room and board. We do our best.”

“What made you want to do this?”

“I had a few times of crisis myself. I was homeless for a while. People helped me. I always wanted to return those favors.”

Although the outside needed a fresh coat of paint, the inside of the building was modern with bright colors. Tony showed me the kitchen and cafeteria. He pointed down a corridor where the bedrooms were.

Tony was not only a tattoo artist, he was also a social worker. He’d met Chet at a conference. A year later, Chet moved to New York.

I listened to Tony, but my attention kept drifting to a little boy in the corner, a large box of crayons almost obscuring his face. “That’s Marcus,” Tony said. “He’s pretty introverted. Can’t blame him. His family has had a rougher patch than most. His older brother got involved with gangs. Marcus was there when a car drove by and shot his brother.”

“Oh, my God.”

“He and his mother are staying with us. But she’s out looking for a job right now. We’re trying to help her.”

All the other kids were taking turns playing video games, but Marcus sat by himself. He had the face of a cherub and almond-shaped eyes. I saw Hannah in him.

“How old is he?”

“Physically, he’s twelve. Mentally, he’s about eight. He has autism. What he saw really set him back emotionally.”

“May I talk to him?”

“He’s not much of a talker, but you’re welcome to try.”

I approached him slowly. “Hi, Marcus. I’m Mary.”

He didn’t answer. I took the seat next to him and watched him color in the picture of a turkey.

“I can’t get in the lines,” he said after a while. He broke his crayon in frustration. “There is no brown. Turkeys are brown.”

“Who said you need lines? Or that turkeys have to be brown?” I ripped the paper and turned it over.

He blinked his eyes. “Are you allowed to do that?”

“Sure,” I said, not sure at all. “Draw whatever you want. Any color.”

He drew on the backside. “My turkey is gonna be purple.”

“I like purple.” I pointed to the backpack on the table, which had purple stars scattered across it. “You must like it, too.”

“It’s a girl’s backpack. The only one left. The big kids got to choose theirs.”

“What would you pick if you could choose?”

He shrugged. “Not sure.”

He drew a box with a triangle over it. It had no resemblance to a turkey at all.

“Is that a house, Marcus?”

“Not my house. Someone’s house.”

“It’s a very nice house.”

He held out his arms. “This is my house.”

“I used to live in a place like this, too.”

“A shelter?”

“Sort of.” The orphanage wasn’t exactly a homeless shelter, but it was where I went when I had no home. I took one of the plates Tony had laid out with the gulab jamun on it. “Try this,” I said, passing it to Marcus. “I made it.”

He looked at it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“It’s like…like a beignet.”

He rubbed his hair. “What’s that?”

“A doughnut, Marcus,” Chet said, taking the seat beside me.

“More like a doughnut hole,” Tony offered, taking the other seat.

He took a bite, followed by another. Pretty soon he had an empty plate. “It’s not the doughnut or the hole,” he announced. We all agreed. I wiped his mouth. He started coloring again. “It tasted good.”

“Thank you. May I come back tomorrow and color with you?”

“Will you bring more of those?”

“I can.”

He gave the smallest nod. Then he smiled. It was a brilliant smile that lit up his face. Even though his innocence had been cruelly stolen, this little boy’s spirit couldn’t be broken. Like Hannah, he had a pureness and joy in his heart.

“You’re good with him,” Tony said, walking me out.

“My sister had Down Syndrome.”

“He doesn’t usually open up like that.”

“I don’t think he opened up. He said less than a paragraph to me.”

“It’s a paragraph more than we usually get. We can always use volunteers, Mary.”

I became excited thinking about it. I had been searching for something to fulfill me. This felt right. “I’d enjoy that, Tony.”

Anderson pulled up and Tony arched his brow, which was also pierced. “Maybe you don’t bring a limousine to a homeless shelter tomorrow, though.”

Mary

I had just pulled out the last batch of oatmeal cookies, Marcus’s favorite, when the buzzer sounded. Miss Jenkins was shopping. I answered the door and almost shut it again. Stephen stood there, shuffling his feet.

“What do you want?”

“I’m well and yourself? I know you’re not from around here, but that’s how we traditionally greet people.”

“I have no interest in greeting you, Stephen. Liam’s still in Mexico.”

“I’m here to pay you a visit, Mary. I believe it’s long overdue.”

I backed away.

“And also to bring this.” He held out a brightly colored package. “It’s a Christmas present for Liam.”

“Christmas isn’t for another month.”

“I meant Hanukkah. I believe it arrives earlier.”

I took it and set it on the table. “What do you want?”

“Can we go for coffee?”

“Why would I go for coffee with you?”

“We can do this here if you’d prefer.”

“Do what?”

“What are your intentions with my brother?”

I blinked, wondering if I’d heard correctly. “I care for him.” The statement didn’t reflect my depth of my feelings, but I wasn’t about to share them with this strange man.

“Really? Because where I stand, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense to you, does it? Why don’t you ask him?”

“I would, but every time I say your name, he makes a fist. You know when people say the bark is worse than the bite? Well, that’s bullshit, especially when it comes to Liam. His fist hurts like a mother.” He worked his jaw as if he were in pain. “I have no interest in drinking meals from a straw for the next six months. So I’m asking you. Are you a gold digger? Or do you have some other agenda?”

“How dare you?” I marched toward him. “The man who pays for services to fulfill his loneliness is actually questioning our loving, committed relationship.”

“You’ve got some balls, lady, talking to me like that.”

“Now will you leave?”

“No. I see a change in him. He’s different. He smiles more. He whistles sometimes. It’s fucking annoying.”

“Are you here to do what you did with Melanie? Because I’m not her. I’m not attracted to you or scared of you.”

“She came onto me.”

“It’s no excuse.”

“I know that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing out a long sigh. “Look, can you just have a cup of coffee with me?”

Everything told me I should push him out the door and slam it in his face.

If he hadn’t sounded so concerned when he called about his brother’s health in Jaipur, I might have.

If he hadn’t started several charitable projects benefitting people around the world, I might have.

If I hadn’t been so curious about what he wanted, I might have.

If I didn’t have demons of my own, I might have.

Instead, I grabbed my coat and followed him out.

The snow swirled around us. We walked in silence. He held the door for me.

“Why did you burn his books?” I asked as soon he set down the cups. “What kind of person does that?”

“Someone who’s on very serious hallucinogens. I can’t blame him for not forgiving me. I don’t forgive me, either. For any of it. For all of it. I have no excuse except I was pretty fucked up back then.”

I circled the rim of my cup. How did he know to get me chai? “And now?”

“Not as fucked up.”

“Liam said you still take drugs.”

Stephen rested his elbows on the table, his fingers clasped. “Prescription drugs, mostly. Once in a while, when I need to take the edge off, I snort a little coke. See how honest I’m being right now? I hope you’ll return the favor.”

His honesty did surprise me.

“You should stop.”

“Well, thanks for the PSA. I’ll take it under advisement.” He gestured toward my chai. “Drink up while it’s hot. Think I poisoned it?”

“I was debating.”

He laughed. “Mary, villains aren’t always evil. Everyone needs a day off.”

“Who said you’re the villain?”

“Liam does. If he is the hero, then surely I am the villain.”

“Nothing is ever black and white. Except that I love Liam.” I took a sip of my chai, maybe to prove something. The cup shook when I set it back down. “I believe you love him, too. That’s why you’re asking about my intentions. You’re worried about him.”

“Look, the damage between Liam and me cannot be repaired. I’m not asking you to do that. But if you think I’m going to let you Yoko your way into our company, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Okay, so I was wrong. Maybe this did all come down to checks and balances. In Stephen’s mind, I threw everything out of whack. “I don’t want his money.”

“What do you want?”

I straightened in my chair and met his eyes. “His happiness. Our happiness. If you think you can scare me off, you’ll find out I’ve got some villain in me, too.”

He took a long sip of his coffee, his icy blue eyes staring at me over the rim of the cup. “I believe you care about him. I had to hear it for myself, you understand.”

“Just like that?”

“Not just like that. You’ve been volunteering at a homeless shelter. I know your best pal is Liam’s doorman. You walk a dog every day and pick up his shit without blinking.” He eyed my sweater with a harsh glance. “And frankly, you could dress a whole lot better. I know Liam’s given you a credit card, but you hardly use it. Either you are not a gold digger, or you are just really lousy at it. I think it’s the former.”

That’s how he knew I would like chai. “You’ve been following me?”

He let out a cynical sound, not quite a laugh. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to follow you.”

I tried to focus on something else besides the rise of blood in my ears. “Then how did you know?”

“I hired people to follow you,” he said, as if that made it better.

I laughed because Stephen, in a very strange way, was attempting humor. Or maybe I was the strange one, because I graped the joke. “You’re crazy.”

“Takes one to know one. But hey, you’re all right in my book. Maybe we can be friends.” I replayed his request in my head, detecting no notes of sarcasm. I waited for him to laugh again, but his expression was sincere.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Why would I be friends with you?”

He held up his hand, undoing his gold watch. It landed on the table with a thud.

“Is that some kind of payoff?”

“No, sweetheart, we’re way past the part where I offer you a check. Unless, of course, you want the watch. Take it, friend. It is a Rolex, after all. Although I think it would look odd on you, it would be an improvement on your current choices. Seriously, do you shop at the granny store?”

“I don’t want your watch or anything else. Not that my style of dress is any of your business, but let me explain something. First, it’s freezing outside. If it would be socially acceptable, I’d tie a flock of lambs around me. Second, you’re horrible at this friend thing. You should quit trying.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been told.” He held out his hand, splaying his fingers wide. It was almost imperceptible, but I noticed the tremble. “To answer your original question, we can be friends because we’re part of the same club, you and I.”

The scar was faint and no doubt old, but its purpose clear.

“Getting me to feel sorry for you?” I asked, echoing his words the day we met.

“No.”

Too bad. It was working.

I played with the thick brown packets of sugar on the table. “When did you do it?”

“I was nineteen. I take it Liam didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“After it happened, he visited me in the hospital. Visited me every day, as a matter of fact. The only visitor I had. We didn’t talk much. Really didn’t talk at all. He brought over a game console. We played
Call of Duty
for hours. He didn’t even like video games. He just knew I needed someone to care. And there was no one else. Even though I burned his books and slept with his girlfriend, he still came. Yeah, he’ll never forgive me, but he’s all I got.” Stephen shook his head, his laugh too sad to be cynical. “The only person who cares about me also hates me. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“What about your mother?”

“If you met my mother, you wouldn’t ask the question.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a cold bitch who cares more about her social standing than the welfare of her son.”

“I mean, why did you do it?”

“Things happened. It messed me up. I see the same messed-up shit in you. Some strange part of me believes if I help you, I can get past some of my own stuff. I understand your suspicion, but maybe we just meet for coffee and talk once in a while.” He gestured to my outfit. “Maybe I can give you a couple of tips.”

“You need a therapist, not a friend.”

“I have one. I see him once a week, lately twice. Do you see one, Mary?”

“No, but I’m going to start.”

“That’s good. I attend this group, too. I haven’t gone in a while, but if you’d like, I could take you.”