A Time to Mend (22 page)

That was all news to Max.

But he needed to move on. The empty house drove him nuts. He needed some social time with a female, maybe even in a physical way. He’d never been into flings. Claire was always . . . available.

Not counting the past ten weeks.

He already felt a naturally close relationship with Neva. She was the likely candidate for . . . for whatever.

“Max.” Neva stared at him, her sunglasses in her hand. “Just tell me one thing. Did you purposely create this romantic encounter?”

He waited a beat. “Yes.”

“To hurt Claire?”

“No. It’s not like that. I just wanted . . . just wanted to be with you . . . in a different way.”

She puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath. “Can we talk about anything but work, Claire, and the guy I’m dating?”

He nodded.

“Okay, then. Picnics can be fun.”

M
ax’s cell phone rang. Seated in his parked car at a curb near the La Jolla Cove, he checked the caller ID. It was Claire.

He cut the engine and flipped open the phone. “Yeah.”

“‘Yeah’? Hello to you too.”

He rubbed his forehead. The glow left over from the hours of pleasant conversation with Neva disintegrated on the spot.

And he’d been wondering if he’d done the right thing spending the afternoon with her.

“Well,” Claire said, “I called to say your mom is not doing well.”

“She never does well the week after BJ’s birthday.”

“This is different. She has chest pains. Your dad called to tell me.” Why hadn’t his dad called
him
?

“Actually, he’s not doing so great either. Of course, he practically falls apart if your mom sneezes, but it’s the fire too. Not that it’s any-where near, but from on top of the mountain he can see smoke—”

“What fire?”

She sighed her “You’re an idiot” sigh. “It’s all over the television and radio. It’s burning to the southeast. It concerns him because they’re expecting a houseful of guests this weekend, and smoke on the horizon is not conducive to a pleasant retreat.”

He had no reply. His parents and their Hacienda Hideaway retreat center did not intersect with his life.

“Your dad asked if I could help your mom this week.”

“That’s why they have Paquita and José.”

“They’re not full-time. And besides, they’re out of town, at their daughter’s for something.”

“Hmm.”

“Your dad never asks for help.”

“No.”

“He wants her to rest, so I’ll go up tomorrow and work around the house.” She paused. “He didn’t ask for himself, but I’m going to. Can you give him a few hours? He’s mending a fence, and the horses need attention. The parking area needs grading.”

“I’ll send up a couple of temps.”

“Max, you know he won’t accept someone you hire.”

“Well, that’s all I can do this week.”

“He’s your dad. He needs attention. It’s not the extra help so much as that.”

“Claire, I have things to do. I can’t go running up there to hold his hand. He’ll be fine.”

“You really are a cold fish, you know that? I shouldn’t have bothered. Good-bye.”

He snapped his phone shut.

Evidently parents and estranged wives never went away.

What more did they want from him? He had given them every-thing money could buy. He had spent his life seeing to their wants and needs. When did he get a break from hand-holding?

He didn’t feel like a cold fish. He and Neva had enjoyed a picnic. They’d strolled the long sidewalk above the beaches and tide pools. They’d bought coffee and chocolate at a small shop and enjoyed them seated on a bench while watching the sunset. He’d felt alive and appreciated.

At least the conversation with his wife answered one concern: would he feel guilty about his time with Neva when he talked with Claire?

Apparently not.

Forty-eight

I
ndio, I wish you would hire someone to help you.” Claire spoke from her perch on the ladder at the foot of the bunk beds. Her back was to the room while she tucked sheets into place.

Seated on the other bottom bunk, Indio massaged a tightness at her breastbone. The pinched-clothespin feeling had been in place for days now. She supposed it was the combination of BJ’s birthday, Max’s floundering marriage, and her age.

Well, God is good
, she mused to herself
. Lord, it says in the Bible that Your grace is sufficient. I take it that means Your goodness and favor are all I need to cope with all this mess. Right? I sure hope so.

“What?” Claire said.

She must have muttered aloud. “I was just telling the Lord His grace is all I need.” She chuckled. “And some help from my daughter-in-law. Not to mention Paquita and José.”

Claire snapped a blanket into place, deftly slid its edges under the mattress, and harrumphed. “José is a smart handyman, but he can’t keep up with Ben anymore. Paquita is a wonderful cook, but she couldn’t climb to the top bunks if her life depended on it. And you shouldn’t. And twelve guests, however infrequent, is too—” She turned. “I saw that. You’re rubbing your chest again.”

“I must have pulled a muscle.”

“Right. A muscle. Like your heart?”

Indio saw the concern on Claire’s face and smiled. “No, not my heart. The doctor says it’s fit as a fiddle, and I should keep chopping wood.”

“He said that six months ago. You know Max would pay for a housecleaning service to come in once a week or so. More when you have back-to-back weekend guests like this month.”

“We could afford a service ourselves. It just isn’t necessary.”

“Yet.” Claire stepped off the ladder and sat on the other lower bunk, facing her. “It just isn’t necessary
yet
.”

“Okay, okay. It isn’t necessary
yet
. But I am not discussing a time-table for
yet
. I refuse to talk myself into
yet
.”

Claire smiled. “You are obstinate.”

“Bullheaded.” Indio returned the smile. “I didn’t even thank you for coming today. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome. You know I love coming to your safe harbor.”

“You haven’t been around much lately.”

“No. It hasn’t been much of a safe place for me.” Claire lowered her eyelids and gazed toward the floor. “Which is my fault, of course. Seeing you and Ben only intensifies my guilt. And our arguing last week here in the parking lot was so disrespectful. Of all places for me to raise my voice.”

“Claire.”

Her daughter-in-law looked up.

“We’ve got enough guilt piled in here to bury an elephant.” She rubbed her chest again. “It’s high time we mucked it out. Or, better yet, let’s just lay it down at the feet of Jesus. You know the whole point of His death on the cross was to forgive us so we wouldn’t have to carry the junk around with us.”

“I’m sure I’ve filled my quota for junk left at the cross. Should you see a doctor?”

“No. I just need to get some things off my chest.” Her smile felt like a grimace. “So to speak.”

“Indio, you don’t have to tell me. I know Jesus died for my sins. I know He loves me. But there comes a point when none of that impacts my day-to-day life. Not to mention I’m willfully disobeying God by leaving Max rather than trying to fix things with him.”

Indio sighed to herself. “That’s between you and God. As far as I’m concerned, I forgive you for hurting Max. But I’m talking about my guilt. Watching you and Max argue just about did me in.”

Claire’s face crumpled.

“Dear, I don’t say that to heap burning coals on your head. It was not your fault.” Indio rallied all the breath she could and thrust it into her voice. “Do you hear me? It was not your fault.”

Claire’s distraught expression turned into one of surprise. “Well, it wasn’t yours.”

“Maybe it was. I mean, in a way. It wasn’t until I was fifty years old that I understood how I wounded Max. I always unconsciously compared him to BJ. And the poor guy always came up short. I hurt him like only a mother can, every which way to Sunday.”

“I still remember the morning you came to our house and admit-ted as much to him. He said he was a hellion and deserved whatever treatment he got.”

“Yep. He said there was nothing to forgive. He’s in denial, of course. If he doesn’t ask God to help him forgive me, resentment toward me will fester in his heart.” She shook her head. “But that’s between him and God. I can’t fix that any more than I can fix your marriage. What I can fix, though, is what’s between you and me. Maybe I can give you back your safe harbor here.”

Claire watched her expectantly. Indio was reminded of the young woman who used to soak up whatever her mother-in-law had to say on the subject of faith. That side of Claire had faded with age. Had Indio pushed it away?
Lord, I am sorry.

Indio said, “In all honesty, Claire, I believed that it was your duty to take care of Max in the ways that I failed him. He needed a woman who did not let him down. And when you left him, my head under-stood why, but my heart condemned you. You had destroyed his home, the safe harbor I had never given him.” Her voice caught. Shame flooded her. “I am so sorry that I could ever think such a thing.”

Claire opened her mouth as if to protest, but Indio held up a hand. She took several breaths, steadying her voice. “Some would argue that you are wrong to leave him. But I believe you gave Max a crucial wake-up call. He has made work his god. His life is out of order. For you to continue living in that disorder was not healthy for either one of you. Will you forgive me for holding you responsible for Max’s happiness? For being angry at you?”

“There’s nothing to forgive—”

“There is, Claire. And I desperately need your forgiveness. Trust me, it will break down a barrier between us.”

Claire gazed at Indio, her eyes filling. When at last she spoke, her voice choked. “I deserve your wrath over what I’ve done. But like always, you just welcome me into your heart. You’ve been more of a mother to me than my own mom. Sometimes I think I married Max because you loved me. And I love you. I’m sorry for letting you down.”

Indio moved to the other bed and flung her arms around Claire. “It’s all right, child. It’s all right.”

“Forgive me.”

“I do, Claire, I do. Forgive me?”

She nodded, her chin bumping against Indio’s shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Indio closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could have sworn that as her lungs expanded, that clothespin popped clean off of them.

Forty-nine

C
laire leaned over the island in the middle of the hacienda’s large kitchen and propped her elbows on the countertop. Forehead pressed against her palms, she studied the travertine. It was a pretty pattern. Swirls of rust and beige and brown. She had helped Indio choose it when she and Ben remodeled. It was a good choice.

“Mom?”

At the sound of Lexi entering the kitchen, Claire straightened.

“What did Dad say?” Lexi slid open a drawer and began pulling out silverware.

To Claire it seemed her youngest had been asking that question for twenty-six years.
“What did Dad say?”
Of course, she’d had to ask because Dad was never around. Dad’s thoughts were always delivered by Mom. Mom filtered what Dad said, added spin where needed so as not to crush the spirit of her all-but-fatherless child.

“Hmm?” Lexi paused on the other side of the island, dinner plates, forks, and knives in hand, on her way to the kitchen table.

Claire sighed loudly. She’d just gotten off the phone with Max.

“That bad?” Lexi’s right brow curled up like a roly-poly bug recoiling at the touch of a finger.

Claire realized there was no longer any sense in filtering and spinning. She had probably done more harm than good to Lexi with all her pretense that Max cared.

“I don’t think I said good-bye to him. The last I remember was he said you shouldn’t have come.”

Lexi did the eye-roll thing. Her rendition never quite captured the essence of Jenna’s “Who gives a rip” flair. “He just doesn’t get it, does he?” She strode off to the table.

“No, he doesn’t, hon. But Nana and Papa do, and that’s who counts right now.” She watched Lexi set the table. “What Dad means, but can’t seem to put into words, is that he wishes you weren’t here because it makes him worry. The fire is too close.”

“Yeah, well, it’s also too close to his wife and parents and the house he grew up in!”

“The house doesn’t mean anything to him, and we’re . . .” Expendable? “We’re, um, adults. We should know better. You’re twenty-six but still his . . . baby.”
I think. I hope.

A plate clattered on the table. Lexi’s petite face contorted like a scrunched-up fist. “Then why doesn’t he come up here and help? Papa’s out there swearing at his horses. Nana’s fretting over her chick-ens.” Her voice rose. “Even Samson and Willow are acting goofy!”

At the sound of their names, the dog and cat lifted their heads from where they snuggled on the braided rug.

“They haven’t stopped nuzzling all day. Why doesn’t Dad come and say, ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be fine’? Isn’t that what a dad’s supposed to do?”

Claire walked over and pulled a shaking Lexi into a tight embrace. “Shh. I don’t know, Lexi. I don’t know.” She really had no clue. After thirty-three years of marriage, the man was an enigma. True, he resented his parents. That was obvious in the ways he ignored them. But what did their relationship have to do with his ignoring his own children and wife?

Holding her daughter close, she eyed the muted television in a corner of the counter. Live video feed shot from a helicopter filled the screen with flames.

On a practical level they did not need Max. The Santa Ana winds had died. The fire was not coming their direction. She and Lexi would spend the night just to give Ben and Indio moral support.

Max apparently didn’t know
moral support
from a hole in the head.

B
last it all!” Ben snarled at an old quarter horse that trotted in a wide circle around the corral. “Chester, get over here now!”

The chestnut tossed his head like a defiant teen.

Claire leaned against the fence beside her father-in-law. “That’s what Indio said to tell you. ‘Get over here now.’ Meaning the kitchen. Dinner’s about ready.”