A Time to Mend

by Sally John

  “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

  Claire 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 u
p 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.

  Blast 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.”

  Ben tugged at the front of his cowboy hat. His eyes were nearly hidden beneath its brim. “Not hungry. Chester’s not either. He knows something’s up.”

  “What do you think?”

  “That Chester knows what he’s talking about.” Abruptly Ben turned on his heel and strode toward the topless jeep parked outside the barn. He had no intention of eating dinner.

  Claire followed. She squinted as the hot wind swirled dirt in her eyes. Temperatures still hovered above ninety.

  It had been a long day at the hacienda. Changing linens, sweeping, scrubbing. Having heart-to-heart talks with Indio. Being mom and dad to Lexi. Claire wasn’t all that hungry either.

  Ben planted a foot on the running board, swung a long leg over the car door, and plunked himself onto the driver’s seat.

  “Can I come?”

  He gave her half a nod and started the engine.

  Within moments they’d left the barn behind in a cloud of dust. As they shot up a steep incline, Claire hung onto the roll bar above her with one hand, the side of the windshield with the other. No road was in sight, but Ben had worn a distinct path through the dirt and dried grass during the past two days.

  They were headed to his lookout on the highest point of the property. Indio had told Claire he’d been driving up there almost hourly to check on the wildfire.

  Officials were calling it the Rolando Bluff Fire, after the remote area where they believed lightning had sparked it. The latest news reported nearly fifty thousand acres burned. Most of the area was remote and uninhabited. The one community in the vicinity had been evacuated, as well as some rural residences.

  The fire was not under control, though, and only 20 percent was contained.

  Ben braked and cut the engine. They got out of the car and began clambering up the dozen or so yards of terrain too vertical and rock strewn even for the jeep.

  Claire was not an outdoorsy woman. When Erik was two, she’d let him hike to his heart’s content in the wilderness surrounding his grand-parents’ home. His little legs hadn’t carried him far—just enough that she was not within shouting distance of the house when she saw her first rattlesnake as it slithered very near her toddler’s feet. The next day she began saving money and soon purchased a good pair of leather cowboy boots. Wearing them now, she was glad she always kept them stored at the hacienda along with blue jeans and T-shirts.

  Claire said, “I remember climbing here with you and the kids. I think Erik was about sixteen the last time.” She always figured out the timing of events by the age of her eldest. She wondered if it was the same with her in-laws and BJ.

  “Yep. The Coyote Bluff Fire. That one came the closest.”

  “The sheriff was at the house when we got back down.”

  “He’ll let us know if we should evacuate, Claire. Don’t you worry.”

  She huffed alongside him. “But you’re worried.”

  “Concerned. There’s smoke, and our last good rain was in January. Santa Ana’s been blowing for days. S’posed to let up tonight, but the damage is already done. The whole county is one dried-up box of kindling.”

  Worried, concerned, anxious, whatever. Claire wasn’t going to argue semantics. “So what do you think?”

  He grunted and climbed the remaining few feet without so much as an audible exhale. Although he seemed fit as a fiddle, he was in a mood, as Indio liked to call it whenever “blast it all” dominated his vocabulary. Or when he quit jobs before they were finished. That afternoon he’d left his big green tractor smack-dab in the middle of the parking area. The grading would not get completed this day.

  Claire had always been comfortable to some degree with her reserved father-in-law. He loved his animals and the outdoors and was nothing at all like the dad she’d lived with growing up.

  Ben was a thoughtful grandfather too. He never made the kids feel as if they were in his way, no matter what their ages. He had an appreciation for beauty. Before retiring he had been a successful car-penter. His lovely wood creations were everywhere inside and outside the house.

  She gazed with him now toward the southeast. Usually the view offered a panorama of jagged mountains the blue-green color of scrub brush. Tonight, though, billowy black smoke encompassed the vista. Although the sky remained blue directly above them, the setting sun to her right could not begin to penetrate the smoke. Two helicopters circled off to one side. The destruction lay on the other side of hills located at least twenty-five miles away, but it was an eerie sight.

  He lowered the binoculars. “I think that the wind is good for us, not so good for El Marino and those other communities to the south.” He glanced at her. “For now.”

  “We have the boxes packed in my car.” Although her in-laws didn’t display family photos, they had plenty of albums and, most important, a small trunk full of BJ mementos.

  He nodded. “Thank you for helping out today.”

  “I’m glad you called me.”

  He squinted toward the wildfire. “I’m not good at asking for help. Max gets that foolishness from me. We’re a lot alike. Can’t ask for help. Get tunnel vision. Think we know what’s what. That’s why we always butt heads.” He paused. “It’s a healthy thing for you to tell him what’s what. Healthy for both of you. No matter what happens, you needed to say it, and he needed to hear it.”

  Claire’s throat closed up. Ben and Indio Beaumont still loved her! More like adopted parents than the proverbial vexations, her in-laws still loved her. They thought she had made right choices! They didn’t blame her!

  For one fleeting moment, the world was a beautiful, comforting place to be.

  Max, please talk to your dad.” Claire sat in the dark, on the porch step outside the kitchen. It wasn’t the best for privacy, but it was the farthest she could go and still be able to use the house cordless phone. Cell phone signals were nonexistent up in the hills.

  “I’m not talking to my dad. It wouldn’t matter diddly-squat what I might say to him. His mind’s made up.”

  “That’s just it. I’m not sure it is. He’s not his usual confident self. I think if it weren’t for th
e horses, we’d leave.”

  “You and Lexi don’t have to stay.”

  Claire propped her chin in her hand and looked up at the stars. Why was it their daughter understood what Max didn’t? No one had to call and convince Lexi to come. She arrived that afternoon and worked in the gardens, fully intending to remain with Nana and Papa to help in any way she could—even if that only meant hang-ing out at the hacienda, keeping them company.

  Claire said, “We do have to stay. They’re pushing eighty, and right now they are, understandably, a little concerned.”

  “Suit yourself. Oh. Sorry.” His sarcastic tone undercut the apology. “That’s the cold fish talking.”

  Claire wanted to throw the phone at the large trunk of a nearby sycamore tree. She resisted the urge. Now that she had Max on the line, she wanted to finish the conversation.

  He said, “The warm fish says the fire is 20 percent contained, and that was before the wind died down. Santa Reina is in no danger.”

  “I know.” Ben refused to turn off the television or radio. They blared in the kitchen and the barn.

  “Then what’s the problem?” Max said.

  “I have no clue! That’s why I want you to talk to your dad!”

  “Calm down. You don’t want to work yourself into a tizzy just because two old people are unnerved by a fire going the other direction.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!”

  “Why else did you call except for me to tell you what to do?”

  Why had she called?

  Claire slid her hand up from her chin until it covered her mouth.

  No, she hadn’t called to ask him what to do. She knew what to do. Either let the eight horses go and then drive down to the city—or trust in the current conditions that indicated all was safe for the Santa Reina area, including the Hacienda Hideaway.

  No, she hadn’t called so Max could tell her what to do.

  She lowered her hand and her voice. It sank to a whisper. “I called because I wanted you to take care of me.”

  “Then I say stay put. Save Dad from having to round up his horses tomorrow or the next day.”