A Time to Mend (36 page)

Max shifted in his chair. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Guess you wouldn’t. I never was much of a sit-down-and-explain kind of dad, was I? That wasn’t the manly Beaumont style. Leastways I didn’t whack you over the head all the time, like my dad did with me. The first time I hit BJ, your mom packed her bags.”

“Really?”

“Yep. She didn’t care much for my dad. Said she sure as heck didn’t marry him.”

Max’s overriding memory of his grandpa was one of extreme fear. He remembered a distinct sense of relief when he was eight and the old man died.

Ben said, “We reached a compromise. Paddling your behinds was okay, but never when I was angry and only under certain circumstances. So we got through that milestone. Next time she packed her bags, it was over my mother meddling in our affairs and me not taking Indio’s side. There were other situations, but you get the drift.”

“This is all news to me.”

“’Course it is. You were too young to understand. Later you were too busy with your own life, rebelling and working and meeting Claire.”

“I suppose.” He thought about the stories he’d just heard about his mom. “Were you always in the wrong?”

“Not always.” Ben grinned around his pipe stem. “But mostly.”

“Dad, I already know I’m in the wrong. I don’t blame Claire for any of this.”

“Don’t be too quick to let her off the hook. It takes two to tango, as they say. But there’s a way through all the muddle.”

“At this late date? Doubt that.”

“And don’t be so quick to give up.” His father lowered the pipe. “The secret your mother and I have learned is to make each other feel safe. So safe we don’t have to hide anything. We can be mad, sad, happy, and say whatever we want, even if it’s wrong, because we know nothing can kill our love for each other.”

Max rubbed his forehead. It was what Claire had said.

“We didn’t get here by accident. We had to make some conscious decisions along the way, set some goals. They’re kind of like promises we make over and over.”

Max sighed to himself. Apparently his dad wanted to be the teacher he had never been. Okay, he’d bite. “Promises like what?”

“Like we promise to believe God loves us and cares about every detail. When we’re seeing life through that belief, all is right with the world. Down-deep-inside sort of stuff like emotions get put in order. It’s not up to your mom to make me happy. That’s between me and God. If my eyes are fixed on Him, I’m okay. Same goes for your mom.”

He was talking about feelings.
“How does that make you feel, Max?”

“The hardest promise we ever learned to make was when the bad times come, we don’t give them the power to destroy us.”

“BJ.” His brother’s disappearance in Vietnam was the worst imaginable difficulty his parents had ever faced.

Ben lowered his chin in a half nod. “Another thing we promise is to honor each other. I try to call your mom ‘love’ often. It reminds me that she’s more important to me than the hardware clerk I’m so polite to.”

Max nodded.

“Your mom and I try our darnedest to be like Jesus. Even though He is God, He decided to put some skin on so people could recognize Him better. He gave us His all just to prove His love. I try to give Indio my all. I choose—because I don’t always feel it—to focus on her. I choose to show her in any way I can that I love her.”

“So these promises that you live by—do they explain fifty-eight years of marriage?”

“Darn right, they do. Bottom line, Max, they make safety and security.”

“That’s a strong statement.” He exhaled wearily. “Hindsight is a marvelous thing.”

“Yes, it is. And you can have all mine, no charge.” Ben pointed his pipe at Max. “Don’t let her go.”

“It’s not my choice. She’s the one ending this marriage.”

“But isn’t there a six-month waiting period?”

“I’m sure I could prolong it even longer if I contest it. But I don’t see any sense in dragging things out. She can have whatever she wants.”

“That’s not my point, Max. I’m saying take the next six months and shower your unconditional love on her. Make her feel safe and secure when she’s with you. Don’t let her get a whiff of blame coming from you. Soon as she feels secure enough, she’ll come ’round to taking responsibility for her part. Win her back, Son.”

“Kind of tough, considering we don’t live together, and she doesn’t want to see me.”

“Don’t make excuses. You’ll figure it out.” Ben smiled. “You got all that hindsight going for you.”

Eighty-five

T
he hauntingly beautiful Brahms Quintet still rang in Jenna’s ear as she packed up her viola and set it by Tandy’s front door.

The other members of the music group had left, except for her mom and Tandy. They’d just finished a session. Her mother’s quirky friends were growing on her. They still balked at her idea of scheduling a gig, but she didn’t mind. She’d fallen in love with the making of music as never before.

Similarly, she had fallen in love with Kevin as never before. She unabashedly flirted with him in the halls at the high school and never missed a football game or failed to cheer for the coach. His plans hadn’t changed. He was still a Marine and was still leaving her. But at least they talked about it, and at least he wouldn’t report for duty until January. That was months away.

Was she becoming like an ostrich with her head buried in the sand?

The thought snuck up on her at odd moments. She cast it aside by remembering the long night she spent wondering if half her family was alive or dead. The trick was to live in the now, loving them all and being loyal.

Always the fire. She could delineate her entire life by the before and after of The Fire. The “after” only covered four weeks now, but it accounted for the most significant changes in her twenty-eight years.

Humming to herself, she found her mom and Tandy in the kitchen, giggling about something. She smiled at the sound of her mom’s laughter. It happened too rarely. Would she ever settle things with Max? Jenna could not understand their lack of reconciliation. At least her dad hadn’t up and joined the military and abandoned the family.

Claire said, “Well, ladies, I have to go. Early morning tomorrow. It’s inventory time at the store.”

“No time for a cup of coffee?” Tandy said as they hugged.

“No, thanks.” She picked up her handbag.

“Jen?” Behind her mom’s back, Tandy raised her brows in a quick up-and-down motion, an obvious prompt for Jenna to stay.

“Yeah, sure. I have a few minutes. Kevin’s not home yet.”

After Claire left, Jenna sat at the table with Tandy. “What’s up?”

“How are you?”

“Great. I already told you. What’s up?”

“I worry about your mom.”

Jenna studied the woman she sometimes called her “other mother.” The redhead was a fireball of energy. As little girls, Jenna and Tandy’s daughter had explored the canyon behind their houses. Hours later, after the police had found them, Claire had needed a sedative. Tandy laughed, fed them junk food, and wanted to hear all about their adventure. Tandy was not a worrier.

“Mom looks good. There’s color back in her cheeks. She adores her new job. She’s busy with the symphony. She’s got furniture in her apartment. She seems calm. Settled. She’s not taking the sleep-ing pills anymore.”

“She is definitely progressing. I think she’s discovered her ‘own voice,’ the one she kept saying she wanted to find.”

“Then why are you worried?”

“She won’t talk to me about your dad.”

“Yeah. She is avoiding that whole subject. I figure she needs more time. It’s only been a month since the fire. That seriously set her back.”

“How is your dad?”

“Mellow.” Jenna snickered. “Max Beaumont, mellow. Do you believe it? He sometimes gets this faraway look in his eyes, but mostly he’s in the moment. Totally unreal.”

Tandy smiled.

“He hasn’t missed a dinner with Nana and Papa in weeks. I wish Mom would . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. She wished so much: that her mom could see him now, give him half a chance, spend a little time with him, at least talk to him.

“Yeah,” Tandy said. “Me too.”

Eighty-six

F
riday afternoon, in the attorney’s office, Claire twiddled her thumbs and counted the feminine touches that adorned the pretty room. Three vases of silk flowers on the desk and bookcases. A crystal bowl of potpourri. Another filled with wrapped peppermints. Embroidered throw pillows on the love seat. Flocked rose-patterned upholstery on two chairs. Framed floral prints. Family photos on the credenza.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, the serene ambience totally lost on her. Could a prisoner on death row feel any more intimidated or remorseful?

Why were there papers to sign already? She’d only filed for divorce five days ago.

“Claire.” The smiling lawyer entered the room, her hand extended. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

Claire shook her hand and tried to smile.

Gloria Tinley shut the door, swept around the large oak desk, and settled into her chair. She was a large, confident, steel-gray-haired woman with a reputation for taking husbands to the cleaners.

Claire didn’t want to take Max to the cleaners. She didn’t even want anywhere near half of their property. Tandy had found the lawyer when she divorced Trevor. Tandy had been immersed in revenge, and Gloria did not disappoint. Claire just wanted out, but for convenience’ sake she chose the path already laid to this woman’s door.

Gloria chatted about traffic and weather as she rearranged file folders on the desk.

Claire said, “I didn’t think Max would contest this.”

“As I said, you never know. True colors aren’t always what we perceive them to be until we shove someone into a corner.” She pulled a folder toward herself and opened it. “Be that as it may, your husband is not doing any contesting. Not yet anyway.” She glanced down at a set of papers and then looked back at Claire. Rhinestones sparkled from the silver frames of her glasses.

“Claire, Max is selling Beaumont Staffing Agency.”

Selling . . .
The words made no sense. “What?”

“He wants to sell the agency. Technically, because the two of you own it, you’re both selling the business. You both need to sign the papers.”

She stared at her. Thirty-three years ago she had signed a paper that made her co-owner with Max. She hadn’t given it a thought since.

“Claire, I don’t know why he’s doing this, but obviously you’ll get half of the proceeds, sooner rather than later. Actually, this will prob-ably all happen long before the divorce.”

“He’s selling it now? As in right now?”

“Yes, as soon as possible. To . . . let’s see.” She read from the paper. “Philip Singleton. For an extremely large amount of cash up front as well as scheduled payouts over a number of years, adding up to, um, several millions of dollars. Max will be retained as a consultant for twelve months.”

Claire put a hand to her mouth. As the enormity of the news sank in, she felt a cry building in her chest.

Gloria said, “I recommend you give this some thought. Take as long as you need, a week or two. I’d like to study the terms. At first blush I’d say this is a more than fair selling price, but that’s only a guess. Do you have any questions?”

She shook her head.

“You look very surprised.”

She nodded.

“I believe it’s a good thing. You’ll get money right up front.”

Claire lowered her hand and grabbed a tissue from a box set strategically in front of her on the desk. She pressed it to her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Gloria’s steady voice sounded far away.

Oh, dear God. Not now. Not now!

“Claire, would you like us to call someone?”

Again she shook her head. “I know—” Her voice was a low whis-per. She took a deep breath and looked at Gloria. “I know why he’s doing this.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked him to.”

I
n another lifetime she had asked him to.

Claire stumbled from the attorney’s office. After several moments of staring blankly at the big parking lot, she walked through it, up one row and down another. She had no clue where her car was.

At last she found it. The brand-new car that she didn’t need, want, or deserve.

She popped the locks remotely and got inside. Her hand shook so badly, she couldn’t insert the key into the ignition. She sat. Her whole body shook.

She dumped her purse upside down. Its contents scattered over the passenger seat. There was her cell phone. Should she call him?

No. She was coherent enough to realize she had nothing to say to him.

Was she capable of driving? Should she call someone for help? Tandy or Jenna?
Meet me. I can’t drive. I can’t think straight. I don’t know what to do!
She would frighten them. She was frightening herself.

What about Eddie, the stranger who’d been feeding her soul with simple acts of kindness? Coffee and conversation. There was none of the pressure she sensed from Tandy or her kids. Occasionally he shared words of wisdom gleaned from the Bible, which he was reading for the first time in his life. There were no strings attached, like the ones she tied to herself whenever Indio spoke of God’s truth—strings that convinced Claire she wasn’t good enough for Indio’s son.

Help! I’m losing my mind.
She would sound like a lunatic to Eddie.

No, she needed to be alone to think through what Max had just done. She had to come to terms with the fact that he’d presented to her exactly what she had wanted.

Three months ago. A lifetime ago.

Eighty-seven

M
ax drove several car lengths behind Claire. They headed west.

Maybe he should have intervened. He’d watched her in the parking lot outside the lawyer’s office, obviously distraught, unable to easily locate the car. Then she had sat for a long time. He’d been near enough to see the tears glisten on her cheeks.

But he waited. He didn’t want to intrude. She would feel pres-sured to respond.

The truth was, he didn’t feel ready to hear her response. What if this, his ultimate sacrifice, wasn’t enough?