A Time to Surrender

by Sally John

“Mm-hmm. Skylar’s spooky, too, Mom.”

  “Skylar?”

  “She dresses and acts like them. Behind that whole New Age, bohemian, save-the-whales persona lies a blatant disdain for all things establishment. My old friends wouldn’t be caught dead working here with four traditional types and their likeminded guests. Why would Skylar?”

  Claire burst into laughter. “You think we’re establishment? Good grief!” Her voice lost its whispery level. “Your father sold his life’s work and I dropped thirty years’ worth of social and volunteer commitments overnight. We moved to the sticks to chase a crazy pipe dream! It is so crazy I may start smoking your grandpa’s pipe, even before this first weekend is over!”

  “Trust me, your new cook knows where to buy the opium to put in it.”

  “Danny, that’s nonsense. This is all about you. I know you stopped hanging out with Faith and Gunther because they got in too deep, but I also suspect they left you in the dust and didn’t bother to look back.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “It was my decision.”

  “Oh, honey, they betrayed you simply by embracing things you wouldn’t buy into. You can’t deny that didn’t hurt.”

  “Okay, okay. So they hurt my feelings. That was eons ago. I’m over it, but I know better now. Their type can’t be trusted, and Skylar Pierson could easily pass for their clone.”

  Claire saw the chink in his armor—a gaping, unhealed wound she couldn’t fix or even address yet. “Methinks thou doth protest too much.”

  “Mom.”

  In his resistant tone, she heard immaturity and thought again of her brother. Despite his spiritual maturity, Danny had a ways to go yet to find his true self.

  Smiling softly, she patted his cheek. “Whatever. Just please don’t move to Alaska.”

  Twelve

  Skylar set a cup of chamomile tea on the island counter and decided against telling Claire she looked like a zombie. “Sit and sip.”

  “I should—”

  “Nope. It’s break time. No ‘shoulds’ for the next ten minutes. Everything is under control. Dishwashers are running. Guests are doing their own thing. Tomorrow’s breakfast is all prepped. I will put milk, tea, and cookies on the buffet at nine.”

  Claire sighed, slid onto a stool, and wrapped her hands around the cup. “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Sure.” Skylar wiped a dish towel across the countertop. “So Danny says you want to take up pipe smoking.”

  Claire groaned.

  Skylar chuckled. When Danny told her that, his mood had actually been mellow. So mellow, in fact, she thanked him for his help with bringing dirty dishes in from the sala. His mouth twitch had escalated to smile status. Briefly, but for real.

  She folded up the towel and looked at a decidedly non–movie star version of Claire Beaumont. “Claire,” she said, “are you having a good time yet?”

  “A good time?” Claire squinted in thought. “Well, honestly, I . . . No, I don’t think so.”

  “It’s only your first night.”

  “Yeah.” There was not a hopeful note in her mumble.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you and Max start this business?”

  Claire sighed. “In a nutshell, we desperately needed a new life. After thirty-some years of growing apart, we were either going to divorce or grow back together.”

  “That’s heavy. No middle ground to shoot for?”

  She shook her head. “Middle ground was a dead end. Ages ago, when we fell in love, we imagined a shared life of helping others by helping them find work. That turned into his one-man show while my show became kids and the home.”

  “It’s a common scenario.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re right. Anyway, Ben and Indio created the Hacienda Hideaway when she retired from nursing. It was low-key. Advertising was word-of-mouth and local. After the fire came through here, they didn’t want to start all over. Max and I saw it as a perfect opportunity for us to start over in all ways.”

  A faraway expression came over Claire’s face. She stopped talking for a long moment.

  “The thing is, what Max and I learned during our rough time was that we didn’t offer each other an emotionally safe harbor. We should have been a place of retreat for each other, a relationship that offered peace and restoration.” Her eyes focused back on Skylar. “That’s why we started this. We wanted to create a safe respite where people could retreat from whatever and be healed. Or at least strengthened and encouraged.”

  A tight feeling crept from Skylar’s chest into her throat. Startled at a rare desire to cry, she ground her teeth together and willed it away.

  Claire said, “Does any of that make sense?”

  Skylar nodded and swallowed with way too much difficulty. “Yeah.” She took a deep breath. “The thing is, well, it’s not the wallpaper that makes a safe harbor.” Again she had to set her jaw and tamp down the buildup of tears.

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the twenty-four hours I’ve been here, I’ve watched you fluff pillows, line dresser drawers with scented paper, color coordinate towels and sheets, replan meals, and arrange flowers. You’ve created an unbelievably comfortable, homey ambience.”

  “Thanks.” Claire tilted her head. “There’s a ‘but’ in your voice.”

  “But all that is not the safe harbor.” Skylar leaned forward, her forearms on the countertop, her tone urgent. “Earlier I saw you with the cleaning women and the construction guys. You treated them like they were family. Then tonight with the guests you went all stiff, like you’ve blended in with the wallpaper, like you’re just part of the décor.”

  “I want them to feel like this is home for them for the next couple days.”

  “Claire, there is no home without personality. You’re the personality. You’re the safe harbor.”

  Surprise registered on the woman’s face. “Really?”

  Skylar nodded.

  Claire grabbed a napkin from a nearby holder and held it to her eyes. Skylar gazed around the room, biting her tongue.

  At last Claire looked at her with red eyes. “Hon, I’m quite sure we’re not paying you what you’re worth.”

  The term of endearment struck Skylar like a blow to the solar plexus. Or maybe Claire Beaumont’s very own, thousand-watt grin was to blame.

  Either way, life at the hacienda had just gotten way too complicated.

  Thirteen

  Eight and a half long days after talking with Kevin, Jenna sat on the low seawall—face toward the ocean, sandaled feet dangling above the sand, Cade Edmunds beside her—and she counted the fibs.

  Fib number one: she had come to the beach that Saturday because she was shopping in the neighborhood.

  Fib number two: knowing Cade would be at the beach had no impact whatsoever on her decision to brave the late summer hordes and sweltering heat or wear her electric blue print sundress that showed a little more of her long legs than her typical school attire.

  Fib number three: she wanted to thank Danny in person for taking the time to teach surfing to Cade’s special group of juvenile delinquents.

  Were three fibs enough to send her to hell? Danny would have the answer. Not that she was about to ask him. She needed the lies. Without them she’d be forced to give up the reprieve Cade Edmunds offered, a time-out from a loneliness that had grown unbearable.

  “Ha!” Cade chuckled. “Those waves ought to take my obnoxious whippersnappers down a notch or two.” He was talking about the four boys he’d brought to the ocean. They were heading out into the water now, surfboards in tow, huge waves in the distance.

  Jenna turned to Cade and instantly regretted coming. He was too attractive in his flip-flops, shorts, T-shirt, and sunglasses, his face glistening with sweat. Mr. Ice Guy’s rare expression of enjoyment was downright provocative.

  Watching the ocean, he said, “Your brother and his friend are something else. Did you know they won’t let me pay a dime for the lessons or the boards?”

 
“That’s Danny and Hawk. They both have hearts of gold. When Hawk was a teenager, he was just like these guys.”

  “A wannabe gang member, huh? I sensed that about him. He had an instant rapport with the kids. Danny’s good with them, too, but I bet he’s always been a straight arrow.”

  “Annoyingly squeaky-clean. If he wasn’t doing homework, he was surfing.”

  He smiled, his face toward the newbie surfers.

  Jenna watched them as they paddled out into the surf. Danny and Hawk waded alongside them, guiding the boards. The experience should be a treat for the guys, all from broken and poverty-stricken families. They lived a mere twenty minutes from the coast but rarely got the chance to visit it, let alone learn how to surf from a pro.

  She said, “I still can’t believe you pulled this off.”

  Cade shrugged. “No big deal. When I mentioned I wanted to give nonfootball players an outlet and you said your brother never did team sports, he just surfed, a light went on. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. One phone call to my friend in Sacramento and my four chief boneheads are having a healthy time of their lives.” He referenced a statewide program for disadvantaged students. It included a local supervisor who was coming later.

  She grinned. “You did emphasize to these guys that Danny’s my brother, right? That their sixth-hour English teacher is partly responsible for this great day they’re having?”

  “You sound desperate to make points with these guys.” He took a swig from his water bottle and grinned back at her.

  “You think it’s funny, sticking me with all four in one class.”

  “Not funny.” He looked at her. “You needed a challenge. You’ve been skating for six years with the ‘Yes, ma’am, whatever you say, ma’am’ kids.”

  She stuck out her tongue at him.

  “Trust me, Jen, by the end of this school year you’ll have them eating out of your hand.”

  She held back a smart retort because—fib number whatever—she was not, absolutely not, flirting.

  Turning again toward the water, Cade likewise fell silent.

  Fib: it was not a comfortable silence between them.

  Fib: she would go home soon.

  If Kevin were there at home, she would go. If he were calling today, she would go. If she knew there was mail from him, electronic or snail, she would go. If the apartment did not resound with earsplitting echoes of his absence, she would go. She would.

  And that was the truth.

  Jenna lingered at the beach.

  She and Cade moved to the water’s edge. At his insistence, she sat in his low-set beach chair. He plopped down in the sand beside her.

  They laughed as again and again the boys tumbled off the surfboards, skinny legs and arms flailing. When one finally managed to stay upright for a few seconds, Cade whistled and cheered.

  Jenna said, “You really are great with them.”

  “Thanks. They remind me of myself at that age. What I want to do is fill in the gaps for them. Be the dad they don’t have.” It was the closest he ever came to revealing personal background.

  Everyone knew he had grown up in a tough Los Angeles area, supposedly fatherless, and carved a way out. His unorthodox approach to the role of principal often took people aback. He got results, though, and the superintendent and board members cut him a lot of slack. He was single but would sometimes bring a date—never the same one—to faculty social events. The man remained for the most part an unknown.

  She said, “Who filled in gaps for you?”

  He waited a beat, his mouth a straight line. “A teacher here, a coach there, a dean.”

  Abruptly he stood and stepped ankle deep into the water. Waving his arms, he let out another fingerless, piercing whistle and shouted, “Nelson! Way to go!”

  Kevin was like Cade, wanting to save every kid who crossed his path. When he saw boys from his classes and teams graduate and enlist, he felt compelled to go with them. It was why he reenlisted with the Marines. His students would be graduating and enlisting. To continue playing football while they and other young guys went off to war became unthinkable for Kevin.

  Men.

  Jenna’s only goal was to get her students to write a complete sentence and read a poem before the year was over.

  Faint music reached her ears above the noise of the surf. It was the theme from the old television show Bonanza. Her grandparents were calling?

  She pulled the cell phone from her bag, guessing her phone-challenged grandfather was not on the other end. “Nana?”

  “Jenna, dear, where are you?”

  “At Danny’s beach. He’s surfing with some kids from my school.”

  “You’re not alone, then?”

  “Hardly. It’s packed. Nana, you sound odd. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong. Maybe the word is—” Her voice broke. “Emotional?”

  “What happened?”

  Her grandmother sniffed and took a noisy deep breath. “Beth Russell called.”

  Jenna felt herself go still inside. She did not know Beth Russell. She only knew that the woman had been engaged to Uncle BJ. She’d been deeply in love with him. And then he joined the Navy, went to Vietnam, and disappeared. Assuming BJ was dead, Beth married someone else and got on with her life. End of the Uncle BJ–Beth Russell story. Not much to it.

  Or too much to it?

  “Jenna, she’s coming to visit next week. She wants to meet Tuyen.”

  And this has what to do with me? Jenna held back the caustic retort. Her cousin, Tuyen, had turned up out of the blue, news to all of them. Uncle BJ, who’d been MIA for thirty-five years and believed dead, was her father.

  “Beth is . . .” Again her grandmother’s voice filled with tears. A long moment passed as she regained composure. “Beth is a beautiful woman. It’s being impressed upon me that you are supposed to meet her.”

  Jenna’s heart pounded in her ears. The sun’s blanket of intense heat enveloped her. The visor pinched her forehead, and the swimsuit cover-up felt unbearably heavy. Her sunglasses cut into the bridge of her nose.

  Indio Beaumont’s being impressed upon did that to people.

  Jenna said, “Why?”

  “I have no clue, dear. I just hope you will consider it. Next Sunday.”

  Jenna’s throat closed up. She could only whimper, “Mm-hmm.”

  “Tell Danny, too, all right? He’ll want to come.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Jenna, I know this is so very hard for you. You’re thinking about Kevin and horrible things that could happen. Like getting injured and lost and, oh my, falling in love.” She echoed what Danny had said last week.

  “How did—” It was Jenna’s turn to fight back tears. “How did—” She gave up.

  “How did your Papa and I get through it? God. God carried us through BJ’s war. He carried us through the news of him being lost. Through thirty-four years of not knowing what happened to him. And through meeting the daughter we didn’t know he had in Vietnam. God will carry you, Jenna. I promise you, He will carry you. Just hold on to Him with all your might.”

  While her grandmother’s conversation slid into a prayer, Jenna cried openly. There was no way—no way in the world—she was going to be able to hold on.

  And that was the absolute truth.

  Fourteen

  His feet planted in the sandy ocean floor, a gentle swell breaking over his shoulders, Danny watched his sister fall apart.

  It was typical drama-queen behavior. Jenna tore off her sun visor and sunglasses. They fell beside the chair onto the sand. She jammed her elbows against her thighs and buried her face in her hands. Her cell phone protruded from between fingers. Even from this distance he could tell she was crying hard.

  Typical and yet . . . Jenna must have just received a phone call. And Kevin was halfway around the world where people blew up other people on a regular basis.

  “Dear God.”

  A humongous wave crashed over his head. Its
force rolled him like tumbleweed underwater. Righting himself, he wiped stinging salt water from his eyes and nose and turned. The boys on the surfboards were behind him. They’d managed to dive through the wave. His friend Hawk was treading water between them. Grins and riotous howls and thumbs-up came at him from all five. They were learning quickly and having a blast.

  Danny looked again at Jenna. Cade Edmunds was kneeling in front of her. He put his arms around her. Her face went against his shoulder.

  Danny swam toward shore. In the shallows he tripped, caught himself, and lunged to where Jenna sat. Prayers and obscenities yammered in his head. How was it he could simultaneously pray for Kevin’s safety and curse the United States government up one side and down the other?

  He knelt next to Cade. A corner of his mind registered that his married sister snuggled in the arms of her boss was not a good thing.

  “Jen? What happened?”

  She raised a tear-streaked face and blubbered. “Nana called. Beth Russell is coming!”

  Catching his breath, Danny stared at her, dumbstruck. “Huh?”

  Jenna nodded.

  He groaned, sat down on the sand, and rolled onto his back. His heart bucked like a bronco as he gulped for air. Uncle BJ’s girlfriend from years before he and Jenna had been born was coming? Big deal.

  “Danny!”

  He tilted his head to look at her. Between gasps he said, “I repeat, huh?”

  “Nana says I should meet her!”

  “Yeah. So? We knew she might come. I want to meet her. Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Oh!” She cried in frustration.

  Cade still had one arm around Jenna. The dude was beginning to irritate Danny.

  Jenna wiped a beach towel over her face. She accepted a water bottle from Cade and took a few sips.

  “Jen,” Danny said, “it’s what I said the other night, isn’t it? Your imagination is in overdrive.” He sat up. “Kevin is not Uncle BJ. He is not in Vietnam. You are not Beth Russell. He is not going to run off on you and create another life with someone else.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s Nana and her—” She pressed her lips together, a combination of pout and wail suppressor.