by Sally John
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 tsked. “Charlotte would be sorely disappointed in you.”
“She can take a number.” Skylar got into the car.
Danny, 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
Kevin’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.”
“In your dreams, bud.”
“Aw, you didn’t give me a chance to ask.”
“It would be such a waste of breath.”
“I love you, Jenna. I love you so much. I am so sorry I’m not there.”
“Kevin Mason, that will not change my mind about tattoos.”
The sound of his laughter echoed long after they said their good-byes. It comforted, hurt, and submerged her under an ocean of fear all at the same time. It solidified the reality of what she’d done.
She’d told her husband not to come home.
Jenna.”
The voice came to Jenna in a dream. It was Kevin’s, steady and assured. Wave after wave of warmth rippled through her, flooding her with a sweet sensation of deep contentment, flowing even into the corners grown cold.
“Jenna.”
Consciousness crept in, pushing aside the fog of sleep. She hated waking up from such dreams, of leaving that safe cocoon where she felt wrapped in Kevin’s presence.
“Jenna.”
A touch on her shoulder startled her. She jerked and opened her eyes to a dim light. Where was she? Her cheek pressed against hard padding. She lay on her side. More hard padding supported her back. It was a couch. She was on a couch.
In the hospital.
“Sorry.” Cade Edmunds came into view. “I would have let you sleep but—”
“Amber!” Jenna struggled to sit up. She was tangled in a rough blanket. “Amber.”
“No change. She’s the same.” He sat beside her and tried to help her straighten the cover. “You always wake up like a bear?”
“Oh!” Frustrated, she shoved the blanket aside and rubbed her face, brushing hair out of her eyes. Her heart was about ready to burst from her chest. And what was she wearing? An oversized T-shirt and skirt. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Couldn’t sleep until I’d seen you and Amber with my own eyes. Not that they let me see her. Unlike others, I wasn’t deemed ‘family.’” He paused. “Joey Ames is on the phone.”
Jenna emitted a low moan.
“Will you talk to him?”
“I can’t,” she whispered, gesturing to ward off his request. “No. No. I can’t.”
“Shh.” Cade grasped her flailing hand and squeezed it gently. “He’s talked with the doctor. He’s heard all the medical info, but he needs a firsthand account. Joey Ames deserves a firsthand account. You were there.”
Jenna wanted to kick and scream like an out-of-control toddler in a candy aisle.
Cade said, “If it were you lying in the ICU and Kevin were on the phone, he would want to talk to Amber. Right? You would want him to hear Amber’s voice because it was the closest to your own.”
She gasped to catch her breath.
“Jenna, you can do it.”
The shaking had started again. She gritted her teeth together to keep them from chattering. What had happened to her earlier resolve? All that gung-ho military wife bunk she’d spouted to her parents so forcefully that even her mother left?
Cade reached around her and picked up the blanket. He folded it and draped it around her shoulders. “Come on.” He helped her to her feet. “I’ll stay with you. We’ll do it together.”
She leaned into his sideways embrace and let him lead her across the waiting room.
Let wave after wave of warmth ripple through her . . .
Jenna sat with Cade in a small room. The door was shut. The walls were covered in blue floral-print wallpaper. A single piece of artwork hung. Her sister, Lexi, would be appalled at the paint-by-number depiction of sailboats on a glassy turquoise sea under an azure sky.
On the end table were a low-wattage lamp, a box of tissues, and a telephone base. Five padded armchairs were shoved together into a tight square.
Jenna wondered if doctors delivered horrific news to only four people at a time. If he stood while he did it, though, he could talk to five people. Were such things limited like that?
Between random thoughts about the furnishings, she prayed what her grandmother called “pings”: God, help Joey. God, help me. God, wake Amber up.
She held Cade’s hand, or rather clung to it as if it were a lifesaver, the thing that kept her from going under.
She held the phone to her ear.
And she listened to Joey Ames cry.
Cade gently pressed a tissue to first one of her cheeks, then the other.
Jenna froze. Cade did likewise, his hand midair, centimeters from her face. He knew as she did that an unspoken boundary had just been crossed.
But it was a moment for the unusual.
She flicked her eyes toward him, sending the message, she hoped, that she would not hold it against him.
Through the phone line, Jenna heard Joey clear his throat. “I’m on my way.”
They had already talked about what happened. He kept addressing her as “ma’am” and “Mrs. Mason” until finally she snapped, “Stop it!”
He’d known who she was, of course. Amber had told him all about her, probably like she’d told Kevin all about Amber. Maybe not quite the same. While Jenna said, “She’s such a flake, Kev,” Amber probably said, “She’s absolutely clueless when it comes to the military, Joey.” Then she would add, in her inimitable half-full style, something kind and positive.
Unlike Jenna.
How had the two of them ever sidled into a friendship?
Because Amber was Amber.
Now she said to Joey, “When will you get here?”
“I don’t have the schedule yet. I’ll let you know. Can I have your number?”
She gave it to him. “When she wakes up, you know she’ll chew you out for coming.”
The sound from halfway around the world was part chuckle, part sob. “Yes. But she’ll just have to deal with it because I am coming.”
Jenna heard the steel in his voice. The guy would have to be made of reinforced armor to match Amber’s personality.
“Thank you, ma’am—Jenna. Thank you.”
She nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Good-bye.”
“Bye,” she whisp
ered.
Cade took the phone from her.
Steel. Why was it that Kevin’s steel led him to enlist, to go away, to leave her and be a hero to others?
Why was it that her steel led her to say, “Don’t come home”?
She curled into herself, legs folded on the seat, blanket wrapped around her. Cade’s chair was tight against hers, his shoulder right where she needed it. She leaned across the chair’s arm and nestled into him. He enclosed her in his arms, resting his chin atop her head.
In the midst of her worst imaginable nightmare, the comfort from such an unexpected source warmed her once more.
Thirty-two
Claire heard voices out in the courtyard and looked down at the bowl on the island countertop. Eight unbeaten eggs would not be enough. She pulled another egg from the carton and once again thanked God that they’d had the foresight to black out the weekend for guests.
Next week marked the first anniversary of the wildfire that had torn through the area. Even before Jenna’s tragic incident, Claire’s emotions had gone haywire, inexplicably and uncontrollably at times. Seeing to guest needs might have put her over the edge. Right now, just figuring out how many eggs to cook felt like an insurmountable task.
Max entered through the open kitchen doorway.
She sighed. Having him nearby was making all the difference. “Are Lexi and Tuyen here?”
“Dad too.” He arched his eyebrows. “Checking on the mums. Ready for breakfast. If there is any.”
“Got it covered, so wipe the angst off your face.”
Walking toward the island, he glanced toward the other end of the large kitchen. Skylar was stretched out on the couch facing the fireplace, her head on Indio’s lap. His mother, eyes shut, stroked the girl’s hair with her good hand and hummed softly.
Max laid some rosemary cuttings on the counter. “This was supposed to be a quiet weekend.” He spoke in an undertone. “You and me.”
Claire cracked two eggs, one in each hand, against the mixing bowl. “Ta-da! Look at that. Am I getting more efficient or what?”
