by Sally John
“Not in any one place for long.” Stick close to the facts. “I’d saved up enough money to travel for a while. I’m not exactly high maintenance.”
“Most people your age don’t use alarm clocks. They have a cell phone with an alarm-clock tool.”
“Now, that’s high maintenance.” She grinned. Perspiration trickled down her sides, under her shirt. “I bet you’ve noticed I’m not like most people my age. I don’t have a phone, a car, a permanent home, or a five-year plan.”
“Did you ever find work through a temp agency?”
She wrinkled her nose and then remembered temporary staffing was his specialty. “Oops.”
“It’s okay. Many people don’t understand my business. But we get a lot of applicants down on their luck.”
“I don’t think of myself as down on my luck. I get by fine. I cook and wait tables at funky coffee shops. My bosses aren’t the type to call Kelly Girl. It may surprise you, but in some circles I’m not considered all that strange.”
He chuckled. “It may surprise you that I’m not considered all that strange in some circles either.”
Skylar smiled, stretching tense muscles that ached to form words she could not speak. You’re like every other middle-aged hypocrite, acting like you know my world, pretending like you don’t think I’m a communicable disease that should be eradicated.
Max said, “We’re not running a funky coffee shop here.”
“I don’t know.” She held up her mug. “The coffee would pass muster.”
“My mother’s technique. It’s been around forever.” He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “Danny thinks we should go through a formal process, the whole shebang. Application, references, medical history, drug tests, fingerprints.”
Vertigo crashed over her. Fingerprints?
It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. No prints were on file.
Her stomach squeezed itself into a tight knot. Coffee threatened to work its way back up.
“But.” Max’s eyes came into focus. They’d lost the hard look. “My son tends to be overly pragmatic.” He shrugged. “I don’t know where he gets that.”
The guy was teasing? He was teasing. Skylar managed to take a deep, slow breath and let it out.
“Anyway,” he went on, “I’ve been around people a lot longer than Danny has. I’ve been burned, sure, but usually I read character fairly accurately. In my opinion, I can hire you on that alone. Then there’s my mother.”
Skylar waited, expectant at the mention of Indio. Her heartbeat slowed. Her stomach relaxed. The courtyard stopped swimming before her eyes.
He said, “I don’t have her depth of faith. I do have faith, however, in her ability to hear God. She knows when she knows. And she knows you are a direct answer to prayer. So Claire and I want to offer you room and board and a salary.” He named a generous amount. “She’s working on a job description. Once you see that, you can let us know what you decide. Does that sound fair?”
Skylar sensed the burner under her emotional carafe flip to the Off position. The hot mix would not bubble over. For now she was free to stay at the Hacienda Hideaway.
She nodded. “It sounds totally fair. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He stood and smiled. “For the record, cellular service up here is iffy at best. You’re going to need an alarm clock. I’ll get one for you right after I get rid of that pile of tools.”
She promised herself not to go to seed on the thought that maybe, just maybe, Max Beaumont didn’t think she was a communicable disease.
Wouldn’t that be something?
Ten
The evening after the family dinner at the hacienda, as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled, Jenna sat at the high school football game on a top bleacher. Several rows separated her from other spectators. Her choice.
It was going to be a long night. According to the scoreboard, there were twelve minutes and twenty seconds left in the game. The junior varsity game. The event before varsity warm-ups, pep stuff, band stuff, intros, varsity game, halftime, more varsity game, so on and so forth, ad nauseam.
The game clock stopped. Twelve minutes and fifteen seconds.
“Hey, Mrs. Mason!” The shout came from below.
Jenna scanned the crowd. People moved about every which way through the stands. As someone sat down, Amber Ames appeared, waving like a lost person at an overhead helicopter. She made a beeline up to Jenna’s row.
Yessiree. It was going to be a really, really long game.
“Hi.” Amber smiled and plopped down beside her.
“Hi.”
“Guess what I learned third hour? Our husbands are seven thousand, seven hundred thirty-one miles from San Diego. Isn’t that the most depressing thing you’ve heard today?”
“It is. Thanks for sharing it.”
“I’m a firm believer that misery loves company. Lucky you.” She bumped her arm against Jenna’s. “Go ahead, tell me the most depressing thing you heard today.”
She didn’t have to think long. “Kevin called last night.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!”
“It was.” Past tense. The glow was long gone. “He said he figured tonight was the first game and he sure hoped I would go to it, sort of as his proxy to encourage the guys he coached last year.”
Amber’s face was expectant.
“That’s it,” Jenna said.
“I take it you don’t like football.”
Jenna sighed. “Watching any sport is like watching mold grow, but . . .” She shrugged.
“I know. It’s not depressing that you’re bored. It’s depressing that a football game makes you just absolutely wallow in his not being where he used to be.”
Jenna blinked, surprised at her insight. “Exactly. Not to mention I can also now wallow in the fact that Kevin is seven thousand, seven hundred thirty-one miles from where he used to be.”
Amber gave her a sad smile. “See? Now, didn’t that feel good? To vent all that negative energy with someone who’s just as miserable as you are?”
Jenna looked at the blonde with appreciation. Amber might exhibit a featherbrained persona, but Jenna was beginning to realize Amber was nothing like that. Not only did she teach chemistry, she had plucked Jenna’s heartstrings with the finesse of a master violinist. Twice.
Jenna said, “Thanks. It did feel good. I have friends. You’ll notice, however, that not a one is here tonight holding my hand. My very best friend, Steph, probably would have come but she moved to Dallas last month. Even she, though, can’t quite—well, none of them quite get it, do they?”
“They can’t. Not unless they can say, ‘Been there, done that.’”
“I find myself saying dumb things to defend myself, things like ‘Just walk a mile in my moccasins and then you won’t think I’m such a shrew.’”
“I keep asking for cheese to go with my whine.”
Jenna smiled.
“We could team teach a unit on clichés.” Amber chuckled. “So tell me about this mold growth—I mean this game.”
“I don’t know anything about it. Don’t you?”
“Nope, I just came because it was something to do on a Friday night. And since your Kevin coached last year, I thought you might be here. Given we share the same size in moccasins, I figured hanging out with you might give me a respite.”
Like a cloud moving in front of the sun, Jenna saw a somberness creep over Amber’s face and obliterate its sparkle. The dimples disappeared.
Odd how another’s pain took the edge off her own.
“Thank you, Amber.”
“Thank you.”
“Earlier, when I said that about my friends not being here to hold my hand, I didn’t mean it literally.”
Amber stared at her for a moment, her face going deadpan. “I’m really glad you said that. I was a little concerned about holding your hand.”
“Just so we understand each other.”
“Got it.” Amb
er burst into laughter.
And Jenna joined in.
No way!” Amber stretched her mouth into an elongated oval. “You weren’t a cheerleader?”
Jenna smiled at her reaction. Amber’s exuberance had halved the time it took mold to grow on the football field. Darkness had fallen already and—if she understood the scoreboard—it was almost time for intermission of the varsity game. Intermission? Make that halftime. Talk about featherbrained.
“Honestly, Jenna, I took you for Miss Popular when you were in high school. Homecoming queen and all.”
“Nope. I played violin and piano. Orchestra, private lessons, and all that. My older brother was homecoming king a couple years ahead of me. He says I was always too bossy to be popular. I think I still am. The guys here adore Kevin. The girls are friendly to me because it puts them one step closer to the hottest coach they’ve ever seen. For me, they have a nickname.” She waited to see if Amber knew it.
“Bullhead Mason.”
“Yeah. There might be others.”
“I don’t know of any, but I have heard my best students talk about how hard you push them. They see that as a good thing. There’s respect in their voices.”
Jenna shrugged. “You obviously have a good rapport with the kids.” Students kept calling out to Mrs. Ames and climbing up the bleachers to greet her. Some acknowledged Jenna as well, more as a polite afterthought, though.
Now Amber shrugged. “You and I have different personalities. I grew up an Army brat, all over the world. I learned early to roll with the punches. My four older brothers made sure of that. I wasn’t allowed to whine, cry, be shy, or act bossy. Dating was a nightmare. Joey practically had to win a fistfight with each one of my brothers before we got engaged. Heads up!” She blew out a breath. “Two o’clock.”
“What?” Jenna followed Amber’s gaze to their right. Cade Edmunds was climbing the bleachers in their direction.
“Speaking of holding hands . . .” Amber leaned toward her and murmured. “He can hold mine anytime.”
Jenna studied her face, looking for clues. “Are you serious?”
Amber laughed. “Partly. I mean, I wouldn’t really hold hands with him, but he is magnetic and inviting in that way. Joey says if I like the bald look, he’ll shave his head.”
“You told Joey your boss is magnetic and inviting?”
“Sure. It keeps my guy on his toes. Makes him want to come home in one piece to win the magnetic contest. Hey, Mr. Edmunds!” she called out.
“Hey, ladies.” He sat down on Jenna’s other side and quickly averted his gaze to the field below. “Great game, huh?”
She exchanged a look with Amber and they snickered.
Jenna said, “If you want an enlightened view on that subject, you’ve come to the wrong bleacher.”
“You two don’t have a clue.” He half stood, punched the air, and shouted a cheer along with everyone else on the bleachers. “Yes! Way to go, guys!”
Jenna smiled at Amber’s exaggerated yawn.
Still applauding, Cade sat back down. “You gotta tell Kevin about this. His guys are out there doing what he tried to get them to do all last year. It has come together.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe her. “Tell him the offensive line really jelled.”
“Huh?”
Eyes still on the game, Cade said, “The offensive line jelled. Think of it as the most exquisite dénouement in some Shakespeare play. That’s what you’re seeing down there, all the pieces coming together to execute a work of art.” He threw a brief smile her way. “Maybe when it’s over, you can remember who wins and tell him that too.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “I might even manage to memorize the score.”
He chuckled. Bracing one foot on the empty bleacher below them, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his lightweight jacket. An elbow touched her arm. “I hear they’re doing military salutes everywhere these days. At concerts, Padres games, the zoo, Sea World.” He paused. “Sundance High football game.”
Jenna tensed.
“It was the team’s idea. We’ve got three players with brothers overseas, plus a few dozen other students with some relative in uniform. Then there’s the faculty.”
Amber sighed. “Are these boys sweet or what?”
Jenna slid to the edge of the bleacher, put her weight on her feet, ready to flee. “When?”
“Right about . . .” Cade looked at the scoreboard and counted down the seconds. “Three, two, one. Now.” The horn blared. “Before the team heads off the field.”
The announcer’s voice boomed through the loudspeaker, asking people to remain in their seats for a moment. As he explained what was going on, Jenna met Cade’s stare.
“Jenna, they’re his guys. They need to do this.” He shifted. His shoulder pressed gently against hers.
On her other side, Amber hooked an arm through Jenna’s, not saying a word.
Jenna turned to her. The dim light caught the glisten of a teardrop on Amber’s eyelashes.
If not for being tightly hemmed in by Amber and Cade, Jenna would have bolted down the bleachers and gotten lost in the crowd rather than hear it again. Like at the faculty meeting, names of military personnel were read along with their family members, first students, then faculty. Amber stood. Just as it seemed they might have forgotten Kevin Mason, the announcer began to talk about him.
About his accomplishments at the high school the previous year.
About his impact on the boys whose older brothers had gone overseas.
About his prior service in the Marines.
About his wife.
At last his name was pronounced.
Then Jenna’s.
As one, the football team looked up at her and cheered. Spectators joined in and began to stand until it all became an earsplitting ovation.
Amber motioned for her to stand.
She couldn’t. She didn’t deserve recognition just because she was married to Kevin. All she did was cry, curse the USMC, complain about his absence, and count the days until he would come home. Last fall, when he reenlisted, she had even separated from him for a while and could not imagine how she’d ever remain married to such a man. He looked heroic to some. To her, though, his actions felt like abandonment.
Cade still sat beside her. He slanted toward her. “You can do this.”
His face blurred before her. She shook her head.
“The kids need you to.” In the shadows he took her hand and helped her to her feet.
The crowd went wild. Jenna bawled.
And Cade Edmunds squeezed her hand.
Eleven
Daniel Beaumont, what is wrong with you?” Claire practically hissed in frustration at her son.
She was keeping her voice lower than low because—as she was quickly learning—guests at the hacienda meant absolutely no privacy for the hosts. None. Not one square inch of it in over three hundred acres.
One woman had chatted with Skylar the whole time the girl baked cookies for tonight’s bedtime snack. One couple followed Lexi around as she watered new plants, advising her on the best way to care for the landscape. Another woman had even wandered into Claire and Max’s bedroom and caught Max mid-shirt change.
And the weekend was only six hours old!
Claire vowed to order several Employees Only signs. The ones she had vowed not to order. The ones she had vowed not to post would be going up ASAP.
“Mom, I’ll carry that.” Danny took the empty lasagna pan from her.
They were in the sala, at the buffet near the dining table, cleaning up after dinner. For the moment, no guest was in sight.
She put a hand on his arm. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Nothing’s wrong with—”
“You’re bugging Skylar and you’re bugging me. Why are you here tonight anyway?”
“I told you,” he whispered back, his brows nearly touching above his nose.
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That was true. His roommate Hawk had driven up to see Tuyen. It had become evident the two were enamored with each other. Danny said he simply thought he’d tag along and help out.
Claire said, “I’m not buying it. You came to meddle.”
“And how exactly do you figure that?”
She pressed her lips together and willed herself to slow down. Danny had challenged her since day one, yelling at the top of his newborn lungs, demanding attention a full five minutes before any of them realized his twin sister waited in the wings.
Unlike with her other three children, solid parent-child lines of demarcation did not exist with Danny. Through the years their relationship had often resembled either argumentative siblings or one of total role reversal. Even as a teenager Danny could play the wise father and chasten Claire. Despite his sometimes legalistic opinions that had grown more exasperating in recent years, his connection with God began long before she understood for herself what it was to relate to the Lord.
And she thought she was growing into the matriarchal role of the Beaumont family, sliding on into Indio’s shoes! Mm-hmm, right. In her dreams.
She fixed a stare on Danny now. He was still a cute kid with curly hair and eyes less the color of Max’s and more that of her brother’s. Her favorite brother, the one who had moved to Alaska to get his head on straight. That was over thirty years ago. He was still there. Oh, how she prayed Danny wouldn’t turn out like her brother.
Danny didn’t flinch, but stared right back. “Hmm? How?”
“By quizzing my cook. She is part of this household, and you dogging her all evening while she’s trying to work is not acceptable. If and when she’s ready, she can tell us all about her life, but not this weekend and not to you between courses. Got that?”
He relaxed his hunched shoulders, and his eyebrows separated. “Remember Gunther and Faith?”
“Of course I do.” Claire leaned sideways against the buffet. Danny’s childhood friends, their families, and the Beaumonts often got together for holidays and birthdays. “I remember it was almost spooky how they changed so drastically. Their whole personalities transformed practically overnight.”
