A Time to Mend (38 page)
She put her hand in his. “Thank you for everything.”
“Thank you, Claire Beaumont.” He stood. “Be sure to invite me to Zak and Lexi’s wedding?”
She laughed. “If that happens, of course you’ll be invited. And knowing Indio, she’ll have all three of you up to the hacienda for dinner as soon as the kitchen is open.”
His eyes held hers until she had to glance away. “Well, Claire, I do wish you all the best. Bye.” With a wave, he took off down the beach, his strides long and confident.
Claire felt a new lightness in her heart. He had been a good friend in a time of need. But she didn’t want to need any man right now. She wanted only to turn back to God and need Him. After all, only He had the power to truly take care of her. She’d lost sight of the truth, of the gift Jesus gave by dying for her sin. It meant everything was right between her and the Creator of the universe.
Imagine that. The Creator.
No matter the dreadful things she had done or thought, no mat-ter the good things she had failed to do or think—she was right with God. No matter any less-than-perfect choices she would make in the future—forgiveness was just an “I’m sorry” away. There, in God’s love, lay her safety and security.
Imagine that.
“As Indio would say, Well, God is good. Hallelujah.”
S
hall we sell it, love?” Ben swung an arm around Indio’s shoulders.
She leaned into him, her eyes fixed on the deplorable sight of the hacienda before them. They stood in the courtyard, in the cup of the U. Blackened walls rose on three sides. In its center, the tiered concrete fountain lay on the cobblestones, split into many pieces. Where plants and flowers once flourished, ash piles shifted in the breeze.
She said, “This is like standing inside a charcoal grill.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You were serious?”
“It’s been seven weeks. We need to decide something.”
“Who would buy it in this shape, and especially now, without a second entrance?”
“The horses made it. Kennedy and I talked about blasting a trail through the boulders in the south section between our properties. It wouldn’t be a road, but it’d be enough of an option. Better than the one we had.”
Could have, should have. That night was over. “Ben, I can’t imag-ine selling this place. It’s our life. It’s the Beaumont heritage.”
“Max is giving up the same by selling his business. It’s time for a new start for all of us.”
Indio sighed. She hated the thought of losing the hacienda. “No more Hideaway retreats? We had guests booked for almost every weekend through Easter. Those poor people, missing out.”
“Truth is, the thought of keeping up this place and entertaining guests makes me want to go take a nap. I feel as burned out as this courtyard looks. You know, I am almost seventy-nine.”
“You saying you’re ready for the nursing home?”
“No.”
“Well, where would we live?”
“I don’t know.”
“With Max? He says we can stay as long as we like.”
“Good Lord, no. He really is a chatterbox, isn’t he? Can hardly get a word in edgewise these days.”
She chuckled. “I guess he’s making up for lost time with us.”
“I sure do miss the quiet up here and my horses. Maybe we could park an RV in the yard and live in that. Leave the house as is. Just build a new barn.”
She poked him in the ribs. “You’re a rambling, growly bear today, Benjamin Beaumont, and that makes
me
want to go take a nap.”
“I’ll call a Realtor tonight. See what we can get for this place. What’s that woman’s name in Santa Reina, the one from church? Isn’t she a Realtor?”
“Oh, go soak your head.” Indio moved out from under his arm and marched through the yard. “I’m getting to work.”
O
ut in front of the hacienda, Indio reached Ben’s new truck. She was grateful the burned vehicles had been towed away from the lot.
She lowered the back hatch and reached into its bed for a broom. Although they’d hired a professional group to clean up the fire’s after-math, she wanted to go through the kitchen some more. She kept finding salvageable things, all the while trying not to think of what had been lost that night—especially the photos and keepsakes in Claire’s car.
Ben saves his pipe, and baby mementos get incinerated.
She questioned God’s sense of fairness as never before.
“Mom, need some help?” Max spoke from behind her.
She turned to see him and Claire approach from the side yard. “Thanks.”
He started pulling brooms, shovels, and other cleaning items from the truck. “Want all of it out?”
“Yes, please.”
Indio eyed her daughter-in-law. She prided herself in not butting into the affairs of Max and Claire. She’d kept a muzzle on her mouth the past three weeks, reminding herself that the couple had to find their own way back to each other, outlandish as their behavior seemed to her.
Claire still lived in her apartment, like some misguided feminist who felt the need to prove her independence. She and Max met often for lunch or dinner. A more peculiar setup Indio could not imagine, but it was having an effect. The defensiveness Claire had worn like a neon sign was fading. She’d grown softer. There had been no talk, though, of her returning home.
Overcome by a sudden sense of despair over her house and her husband, Indio could not let go of her last hope: that Max and Claire would reconcile. The muzzle broke off, and the words tumbled out.
“Claire, are you all right?”
Her daughter-in-law blinked a few times. “No, not really. We’re going up to the mine. Max wants to pile the rocks over the entrance.”
Indio thought of Claire’s screams that night, her intense terror, her inability to easily crawl back out. “You don’t need to go with him.”
“And I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.” Claire smiled gently. “You’re supposed to tell me to go face my fears.”
Indio nodded.
“Mom.” Max handed her a broom. “Are
you
all right?”
“No, I guess I’m not either.”
Claire said, “This is really hard on all of us, but the worst part is you’ve lost your home.”
She nodded again.
“We’ll be back to help in a bit,” Max said. “Where’s Dad?”
“In the courtyard. He’s talking about selling the place.”
“No way!”
“Oh no.” Claire’s face showed her disappointment.
“He’ll get over it.” Indio shooed her hands at them. “Now run along. Don’t worry about us here. Take all the time you need.”
Max gave her a quick hug, and they climbed into the truck.
She watched them drive off, a prayer she said often these days on her lips. “Lord, bring them back together.”
Carrying her broom across the yard, she was struck with the need for more prayer.
“Okay, Lord. I’m listening. Yes, I admit it. I have a hankering to leave my husband until he sees the light. I do not like this idea of selling one bit. Maybe he could woo me like Max is wooing Claire, until I see the light.” She laughed aloud. “Lord, bless us all. We’re never going to make it without You!”
M
ax held his hand out to Claire as they walked through what had once been a grove of hardwoods. Now it was a black and gray scene of broken, charred tree trunks and bare limbs.
She slid her hand into his.
He thought he might have to sit until the mushiness receded from his legs.
Claire didn’t always take his hand. Three weeks ago, when they’d first started this odd dating relationship, she avoided physical con-tact with him. They’d advanced to hand-holding and chaste good-night kisses. In the truck, she had moved across the bench seat until their thighs touched.
Progress.
He had begun writing her notes. Love notes. Chatty notes. Thinking-of-you notes. Things he had never thought to tell her before. He mailed them. He mailed her cards, too, sappy ones and funny ones.
Like a flower bud in the warm sunshine, she began to unfold. Almost daily he discovered something new about her. He hadn’t paid attention for a long time, but if anyone had asked a month ago what she was like, he would have said she was confident enough, though not the in-your-face type. She could even be a bit of a pushover.
Forget that.
One night she asked, “What if there hadn’t been a fire?”
He was ready for that. “Then God would have had to use a different two-by-four to get my attention.”
Another time she said, “So what’s the deal with Neva?”
He wasn’t ready for that one. “She resigned.”
“Why?”
He cringed.
“Max, I told you all about Eddie. I even told you I met with him on Sunday.”
“But I . . .” He swallowed. “I kissed her.”
Claire winced.
“And I wanted to spend the night with her to hurt you, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“So why did she resign?”
“Because, she said, she loved me and couldn’t continue to work with me, knowing I would always love you.”
Claire nearly snarled. “Like she didn’t suspect that for the past thirty-plus years?”
He shrugged.
She narrowed her eyes in a “told you so” glare.
Yes, he agreed silently. Claire had always sensed that Neva loved him. How did women know this junk?
“So when is she leaving the office?”
“After Christmas. First of the year.”
“Anything else?”
He tilted his head back and forth. “Kisses. A picnic. A dinner. I’m sorry.”
Claire hadn’t kissed him good night after that conversation.
But they were making progress.
M
ax, look.” Claire stopped near a blackened tree and pointed to the ground.
“Where?”
She crouched, pulling him down beside herself. “There.”
Her nearness distracted him. He felt like an adolescent. He wasn’t all that comfortable with feeling like an adolescent.
“Look. It’s green!”
He saw it then, the slender sprout of a plant, poking through thick debris. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.” She smiled at him. The new shine in her green-brown eyes caught his attention. Flecks of topaz sparkled. They hadn’t always been there, he was sure of it.
She said, “Kind of like us, huh?”
He raised his brows.
“New life springing through old, dead stuff.”
He grinned. “Yeah. Yeah. I like that.”
She kissed his cheek.
She didn’t often kiss him.
He pulled her to her feet before he suggested they remove their clothes. They hiked in silence for a while.
“Max, what do you think about your dad selling the hacienda?”
“He mentioned the idea to me the other day. I think it’s just his way of coping. There’s so much to be done, it overwhelms him. I sure would hate to see him give it up.”
“It’s an extraordinary place.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Are you still okay with giving up the agency?”
He smiled at her. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Her face went all soft.
And the mush hit him again.
He’d borrowed from his dad’s idea of calling his mom “love.” Max had given Claire her own special endearment, not the old “hon” he used indiscriminately with females. The new moniker worked just as his dad said it would: Claire adored it when he called her “sweetheart.” He sensed that she received it as his way of telling her she was more important to him than anyone.
She said, “Did you have something to add?”
“Hmm? Oh yeah. Yes, I am still okay with giving up the agency.” She nodded.
He hadn’t held back. He’d confessed his doubts to her, described the agony of letting his baby go. But his choice was clear: the busi-ness or her? It was a no-brainer.
They’d signed the papers to sell to Phil. Next week they would be paid a lot of money. Arrangements had been made to deposit half in his account and half in Claire’s new savings account. Her idea.
Every once in a while, a fearful thought stabbed him. Would she take the money and tell him to take a hike?
Ridiculous. But unsettling nonetheless.
Probably right where she wanted him.
They reached a steep incline covered with boulders of all shapes and sizes. Claire let go of his hand and started to climb.
He grasped her elbow to stop her. “Claire, are you sure about this?”
She looked back at him. “Is my knight in shining armor with me?”
He smiled. Talk about nicknames. He liked that one. “Right here.”
“Then I’m sure. Let’s go.”
C
laire watched Max pile stones in front of the gold-mine entrance. He wore blue jeans and a brown T-shirt. The muscles in his biceps and forearms bulged with each hefting of a large rock. The sun beat down on the back of his head and accented the salt in his pepper hair. It would turn all white someday, like Ben’s. Perspiration glistened on his neck.
When was the last time she’d noticed him as a flesh-and-blood man?
She shut her eyes. The insides of the lids were bright.
For so long she had considered him the source of all that was wrong in her life. She blamed him for her inability to stand on her own two feet. She blamed religious teachers for garbling the precept of sub-mission and making her think she had to lose her identity in Max’s. She blamed her parents for a crummy childhood that did not equip her to stand on her own two feet in the first place.
Lord, I’m sorry for it all.
It was time, as she had told Max weeks ago, to take ownership. Now she knew how.
She opened her eyes. “Max, wait.”
“Hmm?” He turned to her.
“Don’t close it up. I want to go inside.”
Concern wrinkled his brow, and his shoulders heaved, but he didn’t say anything.
“I have to finish it.”
“I’ll come with you.”
She shook her head. “Just wait for me.”
C
laire crawled and, where the tunnel fit tight as a sock around her body, inched along on her stomach.
They hadn’t brought flashlights. With each forward move, the sun-light diminished.
She was going into total darkness.
And the memory came again.
She didn’t fight it this time.
“Jesus, Indio said You were there. She said You are outside of time. Help me believe that. Help me stop believing the lie—that lie rooted in the past that says people who love me will always shove me into a dark cellar and leave me there.”