A Time to Surrender (16 page)

“They didn’t tell you?”

Jenna shook her head.

“The doctor removed a teensy piece of glass that entered through her neck. It made its way up into her head and interfered with the blood flow. There is some swelling of the brain. She’s in a medically induced coma. Now we wait. And believe in miracles. Five minutes, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Prepare yourself. Her appearance may upset you.”

Jenna nodded.

“Please talk to her. I’m convinced my patients can hear.”

“Thank you.”

Just inside the door, Jenna halted. She clenched her teeth and fought down the impulse to dart right back out.

Amber was nearly hidden beneath tubes, wires, machines, and bedding. Thick, white dressing swathed her head.

“Oh! Your beautiful blonde curls!” Jenna slapped a hand to her mouth. Had they shaved her head? Probably.

I’m convinced my patients can hear.

She should be upbeat.

Jenna moved to the bedside and found a place to lay her hand on Amber’s shoulder. She took a deep breath. “But hey, it’s only hair, right? I’ve heard you say that. It grows back in no time, you say. And just think, for a while you and Joey can have matching ’dos.”

Oh, dear God. Dear God. I don’t know what to say, how to pray. Please tell my Nana to pray. Let her know.

Then she remembered that her mom had called her grandmother. Yes. They had talked. Nana knew. Nana was praying. Nana was carrying them.

Jenna forced her voice into a lilt. “The nurse said your parents are coming as soon as they can get here from England. Of course Joey will come too.” She didn’t mention that he had not yet been contacted. “Those military bigwigs are going to be really ticked at you. What a way to get your guy back home, huh? Brilliant on your part, my dear.”

She talked on, filling the precious five minutes with upbeat words, hoping with all her might that Amber could hear them and take comfort in knowing she was not alone.

Thirty

O
utside the hospital, Skylar kept her arm linked with Danny’s. Apparently Wally Cleaver had gone AWOL. She figured he could use some literal support.

They stepped from evening’s dusk into the hospital’s brightly lit parking garage. She blinked a few times, but it still looked like a maze of metal.

She halted. “I don’t have clue one where I parked your mother’s car.”

“That would make two of us. Got the key?”

She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and handed it to him.

His smile was a jagged slash across his narrow face. “We’ll hit the panic button. That’s appropriate, don’t you think?”

They continued up the ramp. Danny held the key aloft, pressing the tabs, and singing to an old childhood tune, “Oh, where, oh, where has my Volvo gone? With its hood so sleek and its trunk so square . . .”

Definitely AWOL.

As they rounded the corner, a car halfway up the next ramp burst into action. The horn honked, all the lights flashed, an alarm sounded, the trunk popped open.

“Found it.” Danny pressed the buttons some more until at last the car went quiet. “Expresses a mood of panic rather succinctly.”

“Are you okay?”

“Never been better.”

At the car, he held the key out to her. “You should go home. Dump me off at the cabs by the front door.”

Skylar shook her head a little too vigorously. Okay, so she maybe had gone AWOL too. She slid her arm from his. “I don’t want to drive anywhere just yet. I’ll take you home first.”

“If I drive?”

“Right. Then later I can get myself home.”
Home. Oh, God!
The cry of lament, so foreign sounding, swirled and swirled in her mind.

“I’m really not okay either,” he said.

“I know. You’re royally ticked off and upset about Jenna. But it’s your mom’s car.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Besides that, I’m the better driver. The guy always is.”

“Not necessarily, but that stupid remark proves you’re calming down.”

A full-on smile appeared. He strode to the passenger door and opened it with a flourish. “Mademoiselle.”

A sense of relief washed through her. At long last the insane day was over. She’d bumped into her past and one burly cop who, if given half a chance, would have peeled back the layers of that past.

And she’d survived. To top it off, she’d been referred to—by Claire and Max—as
family
. Maybe Kansas was for real.

Before getting into the car, she paused in front of Danny. His demeanor with her had undergone a major flip-flop, as had hers toward him. Naturally the terrifying experience linked them together now. It’d probably fade away in no time but for now, past and future did not enter into the picture. In all honesty, she just did not want to be alone in her rattled state.

She said, “Can we get a pizza?”

His brows rose in surprise. “You eat pizza?”

“With Canadian bacon.”

“No way.”

“Yes, as in pork. But don’t you dare talk about Wilbur.”

Their eyes locked. Skylar saw understanding dawn in his.

He
tsk
ed. “Charlotte would be sorely disappointed in you.”

“She can take a number.” Skylar got into the car.

D
anny, you surprise me.” Skylar wiped her hands on a napkin.

“Let me guess. Because my place is clean?”

“No.” She leaned forward and snagged another piece of pizza. The carton sat on a coffee table between his seat on the recliner and hers on the couch. “I didn’t figure you for a peacenik, but neatnik? For sure.”

“Yeah, it is obvious. I’ve asked others to pray for me.”

“Seriously? About being overly tidy?”

“The key word is ‘overly.’ Jesus was zealous about cleaning His Father’s house, but I don’t think it was because of dust.” He crossed his leg, ankle to knee, and balanced his empty plate on his shin. “Sorry. Don’t mean to preach. What surprises you about me, then?”

Skylar fingered the slice of pizza on her plate, taking a moment to gather thoughts scattered at his abrupt reference to Jesus. Of course, that was part of the surprise, part of his bouncy nature that pinged from hissing at a cop to referencing Jesus and God like he would any other dude and his dad.

She looked around the room. Danny lived with his business partner, Hawk, in a small cottage a block up from the beach, two blocks from their surf shop. She’d heard the story from Lexi, how Danny the computer whiz kid had earned enough money by the time he was twenty to buy what had been a dump. By twenty-five he’d upgraded the place and invested in the shop with Hawk.

The house sat between an alley and a gardenlike walkway between two rows of similar bungalows packed closely together. One tiny parking space was allotted to each, necessitating their leaving Claire’s car blocks away. No matter the smallness, Danny owned a prime piece of real estate that someone would pay several times over what he had—to tear it down and build new.

He was a little Max in the making . . . but he went to antiwar rallies?

He said, “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I’m trying to put it into words. I mean, you’re this successful business guy, devoted to family, dead-set against hiring me without going through proper channels, noisy about your faith—”

“Vocal.” He winked.

“Okay, vocal. And . . . and . . .” Her mind hit an air pocket.

It wasn’t the first time that evening.

She shut her eyes. It had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the black lashes sweeping over brown velvet that shone with ethereal light.

“You were describing a traditional boor,” Danny prompted.

She looked at him. “In a sense.”

“Ah, don’t hold back, Sky. I’m counting on your unequivocal candor.”

Sky?
With an effort, she swallowed a few “uhs.” “Yes, you exhibit gung-ho apple pie-slash-mom-slash-flag traits. But then, whammo. Wally Cleaver morphs into the Fonz. You’re a dyed-in-the-wool radical.”

“The protest?”

“And going toe-to-toe with a cop. Your hair is more long than short. You wear T-shirts, jeans, and flip-flops. You don’t work when you don’t want to. You play this . . .” She waved a hand toward a speaker in the corner and listened for a moment to the music that had been playing softly. “Leonard Cohen?”

Danny’s smile, the genuine one, spread from one ear to the other. “You know his work?”

She ignored the question. “And earlier was Marley and Tom Waits. I just . . . just . . .”
Just sound like an idiot.
She slowed her speech. “I just find you’re full of surprises, that’s all.”

He shrugged.

She shrugged and changed the subject. “I wonder if Jenna talked with her husband yet. I don’t know how she keeps on, with him over there.”

“Me neither.” He stood. “I’ll call her.”

“Find out about her friend too.” She had heard about the other teacher from him, how Jenna insisted on finding her in the hospital. How she was more hurt than Jenna.

While he talked on his phone, he walked around the house. The guy never sat still for long.

Skylar cleaned up, crossing paths now and then with him as she moved between the kitchen and living room areas, which were in one open space. She eavesdropped and rinsed their plates.

He set the phone on the counter.

“She didn’t talk with him?”

Danny’s shoulders heaved. He blew out a breath. “Not yet. Not to wish her a worse injury, but maybe a broken arm would bring him home.”

“How’s her friend?”

“Amber had surgery. So far, so . . . so nothing. They don’t know. She’s in ICU.”

“Maybe her husband can come home?”

Danny gazed at her. “They don’t know where he is. He does special ops. He goes under the radar for days at a time.”

Tears stung Skylar’s eyes. She quickly turned and rinsed the plates again. Jenna was hurt but okay. Everyone else was okay. Except the friend. Amber was an unknown.

What of the emotional side? Posttraumatic stress would impact every single person who was inside that church.

And Skylar could have prevented it.

Maybe.

She couldn’t go down that road. She wouldn’t.
Please, please let them all be okay.

Now she was praying?

“Skylar, the plates are clean enough.”

“Okay.” She turned off the water and picked up a towel. “I better go before I fall asleep on my feet.”
Or plain fall apart.

“I’ll walk you to the car.”

Outdoors, they passed open-air restaurants full of people loudly enjoying a Friday summer night. Danny gave her directions to the freeway as he took them through a labyrinth of streets. He chatted on, pointing out landmarks of shops and bars. Claustrophobia set in, tightening her chest. She longed for the wide-open spaces of the Hideaway.

“Oh, man,” he muttered. “I hope we can find the car.”

She tried to smile but it wouldn’t stick. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he was watching her.

He said, “Call me when you get home.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. It was a rough day, and you’ve got a long drive ahead of you. I want to know when you get there.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Pretend like you’re my sister and I’m your fusspot brother.”

She scoffed. “We are not related, and I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

By now they stood beside the car, on a side street, in shadows. His voice had risen; hers surpassed his.

It was like they were dancing. It was what they’d been doing since the moment they met . . . dancing around each other, moving in close, swinging back away, never quite touching.

“No,” he announced with finality. “You don’t have to.”

“Bug off!”

In one flawless move, Danny enveloped her. He held her tightly, close to himself.

The only sounds were those of whispering ocean waves and her muted sobs against his neck.

Thirty-one

K
evin’s voice was faint and even indistinct at times. There was interference in the line. Jenna didn’t know if her dad’s cell phone was to blame or if the problem was on Kevin’s end, wherever that was, whatever his equipment was. Maybe it was her blubbering that stopped up her ears.

She thought she heard him say “pretty lady.” She thought she heard him curse at the so-and-sos responsible. She thought he said he had been briefed on the situation.

Briefed?
Like she’d participated in some covert operation?

Jenna sat in her dad’s car, parked curbside at the hospital. Her parents waited inside the lobby, giving her privacy. Night had fallen. Tears of frustration soaked her face.

“Jen.” The line suddenly cleared. “I can get leave. Come home for a while.”

“Home! You can come home?”

“For a while.”

“Meaning you’d have to go back?”

“Yeah.”

She kneaded her forehead. How long was a while? They’d have to go through the good-byes again. Would the agony be worth a week together? A month? Six months? No matter. Every single day would be a day of sheer anticipation of his leaving.

“Jen, do you want me to do that?”

“No. Yes, but no. Does that make sense?”

He sighed. “It does.”

“I have to let you go, Kev, like I think you’ve let me go. I don’t mean in a permanent way. Just in a way that admits and accepts that this is our life for now. We’ll get through it.”

He whistled a note of appreciation. “Who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

“Blew her up with a bomb.”

The line went so quiet she thought the connection was lost. Then she heard him crying, taking big, man gulps for air.

She curled up and lay sideways on the front seat, her head on the console, the phone pinching her ear. She tilted the mouthpiece so he would not hear her. The cries felt wrenched from her, as if a hand reached down and pulled them from deep inside her stomach.

Come home, Kevin! Come home. Come home. Come home.

Minutes passed.

“Kev.”

He sniffed. “Yeah?”

“You asked me if you should come home. You
asked
. You actually brought it up for discussion.”

He chuckled softly. “I guess I did. Maybe I’ve learned a thing or two about being a husband. Hey, while we’re at it, I got another question. I was thinking about getting another tattoo.”