Claire stood near the parking lot, on the railroad-tie steps. Heated by the afternoon sun, they gave off the tarry scent of creosote. Its pungency played tag with the softer odors of sage and cedar mulch.
A car approached, dust swirls trailing it. Aside from the pavement in front of the house, the lot was still mostly dirt and gravel, as was the incline leading up to the yard, bordered by more ties. Asphalt and bedding plants would come, in time.
Max stood a step below Claire, and Tuyen one above. Indio and Ben were in the parking area. Claire felt part of an odd receiving line. They all waited to greet Beth Russell.
The car stopped now, and the long-ago fiancée of Max’s brother emerged. Claire had met her on a few occasions, years before. She remembered a petite honey-blonde, down-to-earth, a quick smile, a little-girl voice. That described the woman in blue jeans and oversized white shirt whose ponytail swayed as she cried, “Indio! Ben!” and embraced each one tightly, for long moments.
They hadn’t seen each other in at least twenty years. Tears flowed freely from all three. Claire looked away.
She heard Tuyen’s sharp intake of breath.
Claire turned and smiled up at her. “It’s okay.”
Her blue eyes—so incongruous in the tall girl with her Asian features—were wide. “It okay? Me here?” Her accent had thickened steadily throughout the week, her words often indecipherable. She dreaded meeting her father’s former fiancée—the woman her dad had betrayed by staying in Vietnam with her mom. Surely the woman would hate her, she’d said.
Claire took Tuyen’s hand. The young woman wore her sun-yellow ao dai, traditional Vietnamese slacks and long, embroidered, slit tunic. She’d had her dark hair cut recently. It flowed in its elegant chin-length style.
Claire squeezed her hand. “It is very good that you are here.” She looked again toward the others.
Max stepped forward. “Beth. Hello.” He hugged her, his older brother’s best friend, the one who had been like a sister to him during his teen years while she was dating BJ.
“And Claire.” Beth smiled and moved to greet her.
“Welcome.” Mutual emotions held them in a long hug. There was so much to say, but that was for later.
Beth let go of Claire, a gentle smile on her lips and in her glistening eyes. Holding out her arms, she spoke in a foreign language, an Asian ring to it. Claire heard her say, “Tuyen Beaumont.”
The frightened woman moved stiffly down the steps and into Beth’s embrace.
Claire crossed her arms and cried almost as hard as she did the day Tuyen arrived. She felt Max’s hand caress her back, heard his own snuffles.
Beth cupped Tuyen’s face in her hands. She said more in the foreign tongue. Tuyen murmured replies. The worry seams across her forehead quickly smoothed out.
Claire recalled that BJ and Beth had studied Spanish in college; they’d planned to live as missionaries in South America. He would fly planes, she would teach. Then Vietnam erupted, and he enlisted. Like Kevin, he could not stand by and watch others go. Since BJ’s disappearance, Beth had gone back to school, studied other languages, and become a linguistics professor, wife, and mother.
Beth slid an arm through Tuyen’s, holding the taller woman close, as if she did not want to let her go. “That’s all I know how to say in Vietnamese.”
Tuyen giggled in her shy way.
Beth looked straight at Ben. “This is BJ’s daughter, Ben.”
He moved his head, a subtle shake of disagreement.
“Ben, listen to me.” Beth’s tone grew urgent, but her voice remained soft and high-pitched. “I have a wonderful, godly husband. I have three beautiful children, all in college. And still sometimes I feel guilty for abandoning my fiancé declared missing in action thirty-five years ago. For letting him go. For moving on with my life.”
Ben bristled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You were so young. We never thought you shouldn’t marry someone else.”
“I know, and I always appreciated your support. But the guilt is there nonetheless. My children’s hearts soaked it up. They carry around my brokenness. They sometimes can’t receive God’s blessings. I recognize it now. I’ve asked their forgiveness. God is healing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to preach at you.”
Ben lowered his head. Indio smiled.
Claire thought how her in-laws knew firsthand about asking a son for forgiveness. They were no stranger to brokenness and healing.
Their sons were opposites. BJ was the ideal kid; Max was the rebel. Years later, Ben and Indio realized how they’d hurt Max by comparing him to BJ. Beth squeezed Tuyen’s arm. “BJ would have been happy for me. And I am so happy to know that he was loved and that he knew the joy of fatherhood. I only wish he could have seen Tuyen grow up.” She looked at the young woman. “Do you understand any of this?” She added a phrase in Vietnamese.
Tuyen touched her own chest and nodded.
A sob burst from Ben. He stumbled to the edge of the lot and sank onto a bordering railroad tie. He buried his face in his hands and cried so very hard.
Indio raised her hands for a split second, her typical quick gesture of thanksgiving, and went to him.
Claire sidled up against Max. Tears seeped from his eyes, but he smiled. Like her, he knew Beth’s words had given Ben permission to finally surrender . . . his crazy grip on BJ’s moral innocence, his anger at a world that conspired against his son, his hostility toward Tuyen.
Claire thought she heard music, like a distant choir singing.
Maybe it was just her imagination.
Or maybe not.