A Time to Gather (28 page)
She sensed they still tiptoed around that possibility. “Trust me, it’s a good thing. Let’s get out. I have to stretch.”
They climbed from the car and walked around its front. The night was gorgeous: cold, clear air, the sky a sequined canopy.
“Where are we besides the middle of nowhere?”
The house was the only place in sight. Lamplight shone through the windows. An exterior light over the front door bathed a small stoop in a soft yellow glow.
“Welcome to Greg and Jillie Hennison’s home,” she said.
“This is somebody’s
home
?”
“You turned down posh.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t worry. It’s rehab with a cozy twist. Do you know who St. Francis of Assisi was?”
He thought a moment. “Was he the wild guy who renounced family and money and ran off naked into the woods?”
She smiled at him.
He stared back at her. Even in the shadows he looked a wreck. His eyes were slits in puffballs, his hair matted, his jeans and long-sleeved henley shirt something beyond the slept-in phase.
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Got the family and money renunciation down pat. Do I get to do the naked part too?”
She grinned. “Actually, I packed some clothes for you. Grabbed a few things at your place while you were out of it.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Maria.”
“It was an act of faith, expecting you would need them.” She went back around the car and retrieved a grocery bag from the backseat. Unlike the rest of his condo, his closet and drawers were organized to the point of fastidiousness. Gathering a few basics had been easy. The guy was into personal appearance. No surprise, she imagined, considering his public role.
She handed him the paper sack.
“This is it?”
“Trust me, there are no adoring fans out here. Besides that, Jillie does laundry and Greg is about your size.”
“I’m going to miss your smart mouth.”
“And I yours. Ready?”
“Shouldn’t I know more about these people?”
“Nope.”
“A quick synopsis.”
“They’re different.”
He chuckled. “Come on. I promise I won’t wrestle you for the keys and hightail it out of here.”
“The Hennisons are deeply spiritual. Common vernacular: they’re Jesus freaks.”
He waited a beat, as if letting that information sink in. “What do they know about drunks?”
“Alcohol abuse is their specialty.”
“How do you know them?”
“We met through a hospice group. They lost an adult child when I lost my mom. A few years back, they helped me through a difficult situation. Okay?”
He tilted his head, clearly second-guessing his decision.
“Erik, you’ve come this far. Go inside and meet them. They’re expecting you. I called from the ER.”
“You pack for me and make reservations. Why are you doing this, Rosie?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. God told me to.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Certifiable, according to my partner. Can I put the top down?”
“You’re taking my car?”
“I need wheels to get home.”
“What if I want to leave?”
“You won’t.” She smiled. “You’re not a prisoner, Erik. They’ll give you a ride. Most likely, though, I’ll come pick you up when it’s time.”
“Like in twenty-eight days?”
“It varies. I’ll tell your parents not to worry. Now go.”
“You’re not coming in?”
“You’re a big boy, Beaumont.” She walked to the driver’s side, got in, and shut the door on any more questions.
Slowly Erik made his way along the stone walkway, through the wide dirt-and-rock yard, toward the light. As he approached the front door, it opened.
The Hennisons did not disappoint Rosie’s expectations. Greg enveloped Erik in a bear hug. Jillie reached up and laid a hand on his back.
Rosie drove away, wiping at her eyes.
L
exi, you’re welcome to spend the night.” Claire kept her voice light, not wanting to pressure her daughter out of the comfort zone she seemed to have entered that evening at the hacienda.
“I know, thanks.” Lexi rose from the couch and stretched. “But by the time we make up the bed in the RV, I can be home, in my own pj’s, and much nearer the office. I’d rather drive home now than early tomorrow morning.”
“You’ve always been a night owl. Still, we need to designate a guest room as yours, as soon as one
is finished. Like you had before the fire.”
“‘Before The Fire.’ I am so sick of that phrase. Everything keeps coming down to this was”—she sliced the air with a karate motion—“
Before The Fire
.” Another slice. “And this is
After
.”
Claire caught the undertone in Lexi’s voice, the complaining note of a victim. In her past life,
Before The Fire
, Claire would have apologized for the situation. She would have taken responsibility for the construction workers not completing another guest room in time for Lexi’s use that particular night when she just happened to show up and stay late—a first since Claire and Max had moved into the house.
But now it was
After The Fire
and impatient retorts like “deal with it” sometimes sprouted on the tip of Claire’s tongue. She scrambled for a gentler version.
“Well, Lexi, like we said earlier, the fire brought change, no doubt. But . . .” She raised her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “What can we do about it?
C’est la vie
.”
Lexi rolled her eyes.
Claire accepted it as a hint of progress.
One of the large oak doors opened and Indio appeared. “Is Tuyen in here?” Out of breath and red-faced, she scanned the room. “Have you seen her? Oh, dear Lord. She’s not here! Oh Lord!”
“What’s wrong?” Claire strode toward her.
“I went to her room, to tell her good night. And found this.” A piece of notebook paper fluttered in her hand.
Claire took it and read the childish block letters. “‘To Beaumont family. I leave now. No hurt you more. No hurt me more.’” She watched Indio’s eyes widen and her mouth tremble.
Nothing scared her mother-in-law.
Nothing whatsoever under the sun.
Not even
during
the fire. Good grief, the woman served tea during the fire.
“Indio, Tuyen would not leave by herself,” Claire argued, as if denial would wipe the fear from Indio’s face. “Where would she go? We’re the only people she knows. The only family she has.”
Lexi touched Claire’s shoulder. “Mom.” She looked at the paper, her face contorted in pain. “It’s a suicide note.”
Indio moaned. “No!”
Horror gushed through Claire. Its force nearly buckled her knees.
Lexi nodded. “You said it. Where would she go?”
“But I meant . . .” She pressed a fist against the sudden pain in her stomach.
“She’s going to a place where she thinks she won’t hurt anymore.”
Claire shut her eyes for a moment and let the obvious truth of Lexi’s words sink in. “That poor child. She found us at the end of her road, that awful, awful road she’s had to follow her whole life. We were supposed to be her safe harbor. But we let her down, just like everyone else did. We have to find her!”
No one stated the obvious, but Claire saw it in the hopeless expressions that mirrored her own. Outside the door lay over three hundred acres of Beaumont property alone. Bordering that were countless more uninhabited acres of wild land and neighboring ranches. Where did one begin to search for a lost soul?
Indio sank onto a chair. “Lord, have mercy.” Her lips continued to move, forming silent pleas.
Claire said, “She can’t have gone far. We just saw her—when? An hour ago?”
“More like two,” Lexi said. “I’ll see if there’s a car missing. Erik took her driving once.”
“Driving! He took her driving?”
Not bothering to answer, Lexi hurried out the door.
Driving?
Those countless acres just got infinitely multiplied.
“Yes, Lord, have mercy.”
Claire scurried out behind Lexi and yelled at the top of her lungs into the night air, “Max!”
A
short while later, their voices raspy from shouting Tuyen’s name, Claire, Max, and Lexi rejoined Indio in the sala. She still sat hunched in the same chair.
Claire flinched at the sight of Indio’s face. It was almost unrecognizable, not so much because of the presence of agony, but because of the absence of peace.
Lord, please don’t do this to Indio, please. Tuyen is her only link to
BJ. A flesh-and-blood touchstone. Please!
“Mom.” Max knelt before Indio, his voice softly urgent. “You’ve spent the most time with her. Where would she go?”
She did not respond.
Claire sat with Lexi on the love seat.
No vehicles were missing. They’d searched a wide area around the hacienda and horse barn. Lexi had left a message on Ben’s answering machine, but he hadn’t appeared. Hopefully he was awake and had heard it. Hopefully he now scoured the area down the road, near his and Indio’s new house.
“Mom, think.” Max took hold of her hands. “She probably wouldn’t go far. Was there anything special about the property to her? Some place that made an impact on her?”
Claire crossed her arms and held them together tightly, pressing against the ache in her stomach that stabbed relentlessly. Beside her, Lexi breathed heavily.
Father, what is going on? This whole thing is supposed to be about
emotional safety, right? Max and I move here to build a haven. We want
people to come and experience what it is to dwell in a safe place, where
they don’t have to be afraid to reveal their true selves, warts and all.
She sighed to herself.
We thought the dream was from You. It’s looking like it wasn’t.
Everybody keeps running the opposite direction. Ben is a wreck. Erik
could only handle two days here. Lexi had one good evening. A few hours.
And now Tuyen wants to . . .
She squeezed shut her eyes.
Lord, if my family can’t feel safe here, I want no part of a retreat center
for strangers! This must, first and foremost, work for us. It has to!
A muted wail came from Indio.
Claire skipped the “Amen” and looked across the room.
Indio whispered, “BJ’s place.”
Max said, “The memorial? You took her there?”
She nodded.
Technically BJ remained MIA. He was missing. His body was missing. His remains were never buried, his life never memorialized at an official service because his parents never knew when to say good-bye.
But they’d needed something. Over time they created a space on the property devoted to him. It consisted of rock and dirt and whatever native vegetation grew in a given year. There were huge boulders piled high. On one that had a flat side facing the rising sun, Ben had carved a cross. Later they had a professional add “Benjamin Charles Beaumont Jr.” and his birth date. Every September ninth, Ben, Indio, Claire, and Max gathered at the spot and fought to keep the memories from fading.
In daylight it was a fifteen-minute hike through rough terrain.
Max hurried to the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll get the lanterns.”
Claire rushed to take his place at Indio’s feet. “Indio, you know what to say.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head vehemently. “I can’t.”
“Then I will say it for you. God is good. God is
good
. And He—” Her breath caught and her voice failed. An inexpressible sense of otherness overwhelmed
her.
Indio leaned toward her and blinked, as if to focus at last on the scene before her instead of the ugly one in her imagination. “He what?”
Tears stung. She couldn’t speak.
“It’s the Holy Spirit, Claire. He’s giving you words. Let them come.”
A sense of peace washed over her. For a split second it shoved aside the pumping adrenaline. It consumed her litany of complaints and demands. It replaced anxiety with irrational hope.
Trust Me.
She said, “I think . . .” Did she dare believe that still small voice? Why not? Wasn’t it something Jesus would say if He were standing there in the flesh before them? “He says to trust Him.”
Indio blinked again, twice, slowly. Then she gave a half nod. “I’ll call the ambulance.”
Lexi was halfway out the door, Claire on her heels.
D
isconnected thoughts pelted Lexi with every step on the rock-hard path.
She knew the mental activity was a coping mechanism. It kept debilitating terror at arm’s length. She knew because the same thing had happened the night of the fire as she trudged through the darkness, lantern in hand like now.
Again with the talk of fire. Before. After.
And now—
during
?
Prayers formed again, too, darts flung skyward.
God, keep us safe.
God, keep Tuyen safe.
I really don’t like Tuyen. I wish she hadn’t come.
But Nana . . .
God, keep rattlesnakes away. Mountain lions . . .
Lexi wondered if Nathan Warner would contact her. Should she call him? He was nice. Easy to talk to. Easier than Zak. Zak the fireman was all about that night, that night of The Fire. Zak was
during
.
They had tramped a different direction that night, to the east, a much farther distance from the house. There’d been no semblance of a path. No stars shone because of the smoke.
“Tuyen!” Max shouted for the umpteenth time.
Like someone in the middle of killing herself would yell back, “I’m over here! South of the big oak.”
She wondered what method Tuyen had chosen. Lexi always figured the easiest would be to drive off the highway, at the last S-curve on the way up into the hills to the hacienda. It would be the fastest at least. The easiest was probably food. Binge and purge. Binge and purge. Year after year after year.
“Tuyen!” Max was relentless.
Her dad had not been there that night. Max was not
during
. Nor was he
before
. Why was it he thought he could be
after
?
For a fleeting while just after, it seemed the entire family slipped into a Norman Rockwell series of illustrations. “The Beaumonts—A Real American Family.” Scene One: Max embraces a soot-covered Lexi as if she was the most important person in the world to him. Scene Two: Joined by grandparents and brother-in-law Kevin, the siblings camp out at their childhood home. Scene Three: Mother bakes chocolate-chip cookies.
