by Sally John
“Max,” his dad said from the love seat. “Today is Thanksgiving, not Christmas.”
“And besides,” his mother added, “you’ve given us way too much in recent weeks, and I have to go help Claire in the kitchen.”
“We need to do this now. It’s not exactly a gift.” He cleared his throat. Maybe he should have let Claire help him through this.
“Max?” His mother leaned forward.
“Okay. First of all, I apologize for not remembering sooner. Between the fire and the . . . uh . . .” Divorce papers. “Uh . . . and every-thing, I just did not remember. And you know, emotional kind of stuff just didn’t register with me . . .” His voiced trailed off again. “Before.”
Ben rolled his hand, telling him to get on with it.
“The thing is, I had a safe-deposit box in the bank. It’s full of old things I haven’t thought of in years. Things like my marriage license. Which I thought of recently. Which I wanted to see recently. So I went and, well, this was in the box too. It isn’t much, but it’s yours.” He handed the box to his mother. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mom and Dad.”
Indio laid a finger on the ribbon, as if in awe, as if she sensed what lay inside. Then, very slowly, she untied the bow and lifted the lid. “Ohh.”
It was a long, low moan.
She and Ben gazed into the box and gently touched its contents.
Long ago, after his brother was declared MIA, Max had spent an angry afternoon at the hacienda, rummaging through BJ’s room and his own childhood room. He’d grabbed things, shoved them into a shoe box, and stashed that in a trunk with his old books and other junk. Eventually the junk got tossed, the books given to a library, and BJ’s things put in the bank.
“Mom, I’m sorry there’s no baby stuff.”
She wiped at her cheeks and shook her head softly.
There were photos, mostly of BJ from teen years with friends, one of him wearing the high school homecoming king crown and a grin as big as all outdoors. There were photos of him with his fiancée, Beth, a few of him and Max as little guys in the courtyard and on the backs of horses. There were newspaper clippings of BJ’s school and athletic accomplishments. There were stones, comic books, Boy Scout patches, scraps of this and that, school reports, love notes from Beth, her class ring.
And there was a letter from BJ.
His dad found it. He turned damp, questioning eyes to Max, a faded blue envelope in his hand.
“It came after he was gone.” A letter from the dead,Max had thought at the time. That was the day rage almost consumed him. He’d gone to the hacienda, torn apart their rooms, grasping for pieces of a brother he already could not remember having.
“He sent it to you?” Ben read the address—Max’s apartment at the time.
“Yeah. Nothing profound. No premonition. Just totally BJ. Confi-dent, happy, missing you two, pining away for Beth. His usual crap about me getting my act together.”
Max’s throat felt thick. No more words came. His mom and dad held their arms out to him. He knelt before them, their hands on his shoulders, the box between them all.
Never in a million years could he conjure up such a beautiful scene as the one before him. Of course, it was one of those perfect moments that would dissipate like a downy dandelion in a puff of wind. It would probably fly away before the night was over.
But Max wasn’t going to miss it while it lasted.
He leaned back in his chair and quietly observed his noisy family gathered around the dining room table. Remains of the best Thanks- giving dinner he had ever eaten cluttered the tabletop and buffet, but no one moved to begin the cleanup.
At the far end, opposite him, sat Claire, the love of his life. He prayed that above all he would love her well, that she would never feel unsafe with him again.
Jenna glowed like a newlywed, her hand never far from Kevin’s arm or shoulder. He, in turn, was especially attentive to her. Now and then the undercurrent surfaced, though. Her smile wobbled. His jaw tightened. Max knew in those moments they counted the days to his departure.
Erik’s charm had returned stronger than ever. His gorgeous blonde coanchor, Felicia, sat beside him. Their personalities meshed in a sparkly way on and off the screen. There was no question why they were considered the darlings of local television.
Lexi reminded him of a butterfly, stretching her wings, moving in a new world and liking it. She wore the status of heroine as if it was made for her. Magazine articles about her revealed that his shy, skinny daughter had grown up. The whole family anticipated the arrival later that evening of her first-ever boyfriend, Zak the fireman.
Danny’s change was subtler. While he joked as raucously as the others, a new reserve had taken hold of him. Claire said it was because his black-and-white world had been threatened. If his parents could go off the deep end, nobody was safe. Better he learn it from them than an enemy.
Max looked at his parents and felt a rush of gratitude. They were obviously older than they’d been before the fire, and not just by ten weeks. The experience had sapped their strength. But at least they recognized it. Their new willingness to receive help somehow made it easier for him to love them.
Which was one reason he and Claire could do what they wanted to do.
Max pushed back his chair, tapped his water goblet with a spoon, and stood.
Claire caught his eye and smiled. Eventually conversations stopped, and everyone turned toward him.
“My sweetheart and I have some news.”
“Yow!” Erik shouted, cupping his hands over Felicia’s ears. “Sorry. They’re getting so embarrassingly sappy.”
Lexi groaned. “Dad, please don’t talk like that when Zak gets here.”
Claire laughed.
“Moving right along.” Max settled his expression into one of serious business. “I have an emergency meeting in Fresno tomorrow, and I hate that I have to leave tonight, but these things can’t always be helped.” Fierce glares bombarded him. “What? Did somebody just die?”
“Max.” The sight of Claire’s ashen face promptly ended his joke.
“Sorry, guys,” he said. “Just kidding.”
“Not funny, Dad.” Erik frowned.
“Right. Got it.” He gazed at his eldest, overwhelmed with a deep desire to make it all up to the little boy who must have felt abandoned by his dad. When had he nicknamed Max “The Putz”? Ages ago, and deservedly so. “Actually, Erik, somebody did die. The Putz died. At least I hope he did, anyway.”
Erik glanced away.
“Okay, moving right along again.” He turned to his parents. “Mom and Dad, Claire and I have something to propose. What do you think about us working with you and reopening the Hacienda Hideaway? We’d like to run it.”
For a moment no one reacted.
Then his mother grinned. His dad coughed. The kids burst out with a dozen questions.
Max held up a hand. “We want this to be our full-time job. From remodeling to advertising it as a safe harbor to taking care of the guests. We want to sell this house and move into the hacienda.”
His dad coughed again, harder. It sounded like a choke.
“Dad, you all right?”
Ben waved his hand, and Indio chuckled. “What a wonderful solution! That Realtor woman is coming over tomorrow. Was. Ben, we have to tell her not to bother. We have other plans.”
Ben cleared his throat. “But, Max, you’ve never been the least bit interested in the place. You think you want to take care of guests instead of clients? These people can be downright weird. And, Claire, you’d wear yourself out driving into the city for all your activities.”
Max felt an old familiar twist in his gut.
Claire, however, beamed. “The thing is, we want a brand-new start. We don’t just want a project to do together. We want a life to live together, a life in service to other people. First of all to you, Ben and Indio, and then to as many weird guests that God sees fit to bring into our safe harbor. Will you help us do that? Will you t
each us how to do that?”
Indio said, “Hallelujah.”
Ben harrumphed. “Not to hurt anybody’s feelings, but if I wanted to live in a nursing home, I’d check myself in. I’m old, and I like my quiet and my open space. I don’t want to mess with a retreat center and grumpy guests anymore.”
Suddenly Max intuited what his father was saying. “Okay, Dad. How about Claire and I mess with it? You answer our questions, give us advice. Now and then. We live in the hacienda; you and Mom live somewhere else if you like. I’ll build you a bungalow way down the lane or out behind a new barn.”
Ben squinted at him.
Time felt suspended. Max held his breath.
At last Ben spoke. “I’m not taking any greenhorns out horseback riding.”
“Nope.”
He gave a quick nod. “Deal.”
“Okay, deal. How about the rest of you?”
“Wait!” his mother said. “I’d like a turn.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Ben,” Indio said, “just because you’re antisocial doesn’t mean I am. Claire, can I help more than just now and then?”
She smiled. “Of course. You and Paquita can still have full rein in the kitchen if you want. You can definitely be in on everything. I will be a total fish out of water in this endeavor.”
“All right.” Indio grinned like a little girl. “The place really was getting to be a bit too much for us.”
Max returned her wink. “Now how about you all? Erik, Lexi, Danny, Jenna, Kevin. Felicia, feel free to jump in too.” He looked around the room, into their eyes one at a time. “Will you give us your support? Will you allow your mother and me to start over?”
They exchanged glances with each other.
Jenna said, “You mean we have to drive an extra thirty minutes if we want to see you?”
Danny added, “And call you on a land line? Man, oh man. That’s asking a lot.”
Jenna smiled.
Kevin gave a thumbs-up.
Even Felicia nodded.
Erik’s expression remained frozen in neutral.
The kid was a hard nut to crack. Best to give him some time and just go with majority rule for now. Where was Lexi’s vote?
Her mouth twisted.
Claire interpreted it faster than he could. “Hon,” she said, “we need you to do the landscaping.”
“You’d want to hire a firm. You need more than me and José and a few gardeners.”
Max said, “No. We want you and whoever you want to hire.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Well. Um, I’m like Papa. I love my space. Sometimes I don’t even care to talk while I work.”
“Not a problem.”
Lexi smiled.
Max returned the smile.
Claire sighed. “Thank you. Thank you all. We love you. Okay, who’s ready for pie?”
“Sweetheart.”
All four of his children groaned in unison.
“Deal with it,” he said. “Sweetheart, dearest Claire, I’m not quite finished.”
Max walked around the table to her, pulled a jeweler’s ring box from his pocket, and knelt on one knee in front of her. His heart ka-booming like a huge kettledrum in his chest, he laid the black velvet box in her palm.
Ninety-five
As Max set the ring box in her hand, Claire fought back a nauseating wave of defeat. It pounded in her head, thundered down into her chest, and rumbled in her stomach.
Since their reconciliation had first begun on that rocky overlook at the ocean six weeks ago, Claire had felt similar reactions. Besides frustration, she battled fears, anger, distrust, and outright panic. At least twice she seriously considered throwing in the towel. Things were not going to work between them.
The assaults came in response to things he said, did, or didn’t do. Sometimes she told him about her reactions, and together they pressed on, working out who or what was at fault, figuring out whether those reactions were groundless or not. Some things, she understood, would simply have to be accepted. Some things were based on old thought patterns that she should put to death.
They had discussed the expensive gift thing. He disagreed with her aversion to them. He said they were expressions of love; she said they were guilt offerings and brought to mind all those times he had hurt her and then given her a gift, as if that would erase the pain. He hadn’t presented her with one again . . . until now. Why now? It had been a perfect Thanksgiving Day in every way.
They’d just announced they were starting over. She and Max had spent weeks analyzing what it meant. It meant selling their home. It meant living off of the proceeds. It meant sinking the money made from the sale of Beaumont Staffing into the Hacienda Hideaway, a break-even venture in a good month. And there wouldn’t even be a chance at a good month until they opened for business, which at best might happen a year from now. It meant seeing each other every day. It meant a whole bunch of unknown. It meant—
“Claire.” Max angled his head almost onto her lap to make eye contact. “Open it. You’ll be surprised, I promise.”
The soft expression in those brown-black eyes did a number on her. Her heart physically ached. Tandy said it was that part she’d closed off from Max years ago. She said it would hurt for a while whenever he got close enough to touch it.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
That was her problem, of course. She didn’t.
But she so wanted to.
She tilted back the lid.
Nothing sparkled up at her. “Hmm.”
Stuck in the slot where a ring should have been was a tiny, folded piece of yellow paper. She pulled it out and carefully opened it.
Sweetheart . . . The slanted block print was Max’s. Will you marry me again?
“Oh,” she breathed.
He grinned at her. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a definite . . . maybe.”
“Huh?” The grin vanished.
“Well-l-l . . .” She rolled her eyes, true Jenna style.
“Mom,” Erik said, “collective bated breath here.”
Max whipped around, his eyes mere slits.
“The thing is . . .” she said.
He looked back at her.
She smoothed away the wrinkles on his forehead. “The thing is . . . the last time we did this, we went to Las Vegas. Our friends weren’t there. Your parents weren’t there. I wore blue jeans. Elvis stayed in the motel room next to ours. Two days later, we opened the office.”
“You’re right. Well, we can try, sweetheart, but I don’t know if we’ll be able to duplicate all of that.”
Claire’s giggle started somewhere deep inside. It tickled her from toes to head and burst out in an uncontrollable belly laugh. Her husband understood her. He loved her. He really and truly loved her!
Max kissed her hand. “Is that a yes?”
She wiped tears of joy from her eyes. “Yes, that is a yes. I will marry you again.”
A cheer went up around the table. Then someone mentioned pie. Chairs scraped and dishes clattered and conversations ensued.
Amid the hubbub, Max and Claire didn’t move.
“Do you want a church?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm. And Jenna and Lexi as bridesmaids. Your mom and dad to give me away. The boys to stand up with you. A big party afterward.”
“It’s all yours.”
She smiled. “Let’s invite that social columnist from the newspaper. It’ll be our grand farewell. ‘Old, Already-Married Beaumonts Host Their Own Do-over Wedding.’”
He chuckled. “What would Emily Post say?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. But think of the free advertising for the Hideaway.”
“Are you turning businesswoman on me?”
“Maybe.” She paused. “Max, I want to be the perfect partner for you this time.”
“All I want you to be is first fiddle in my heart and in real life.”
“I think you just put
me there.”
“You always should have been there.” He stroked her cheek. “I promise, from now on, you always will be.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Then I’ll always be at home, safe and sound.”
Acknowledgments
The real writing always happens behind the scenes. Without the help of family, friends, and business associates, my stories wouldn’t even begin to happen. It is a privilege to give thanks to:
Gary Smalley, my wise and gracious coauthor. Long before I had words to portray a picture of emotional safety in marriage, he was teaching the concept in practical terms. His insight into relation-ships added a rich depth to these characters and continues to make an impact on my life.
Lee Hough, my agent who doesn’t quit and doesn’t let me quit. He coaches me far beyond my writing comfort zone.
Elizabeth John, my right-hand woman in this project—researcher, editor, proofreader, idea-bouncer, daughter, and friend.
Joey Paul, Ami McConnell, Natalie Hanemann, and Leslie Peterson, the professionals who made it all come together.
Tracy John, my reader of early drafts and advisor—quite a gift of a daughter-in-law.
Dave and Amy Wilhite, Peggy Hadacek, and Karlie Garcia, my technical consultants who were there at the drop of an e-mail.
Carrie Younce, my writer friend who knows how to read fiction, drink coffee, listen, and encourage beyond measure.
Tim, my husband, who faithfully sailed beside me into our safe harbor.
Reading Group Guide
1. The series title—Safe Harbors— refers to the overall series theme: people need relationships in which they feel completely safe, emotionally as well as physically. What do you think a safe harbor looks like? What doesn’t one look like? Do you have one?
2. Why does Claire leave Max? Why now and not sooner? Is it a conscious decision? What’s not right between them?
3. Discuss the consequences of her actions on herself and on others (Max, their children, his parents).
