by Sally John
“Aw, sweetheart.” Max moved to her side of the table and knelt beside her. “You decided what?”
That night rushed at her. Ben kept driving the Jeep up to a high point. From there he could see the fires in the far distant mountains. Although he knew what shifting winds could do, he initially believed the fires would not reach them.
She had ridden with him one time to view the scene. And that was where it all started, the gnawing deep inside of her that the world was being flung out of control.
“Claire?”
“Your mom and I decided to go up to that spot where your dad watched.”
Max nodded. He knew the story and the place. “I’ve got something to add. Wait here.”
He went through the side door, into the laundry and mud room. A moment later he reappeared, a twist of blackened metal in his hand. He walked over to her.
“It’s a cross,” he said. “Not very pretty but I made it from—” Now his voice cracked. “From your car.”
Her car. They’d had to leave it in the parking lot when they evacuated. It burned, its trunk and backseat loaded with Indio’s special things.
“Oh, Max!”
“I remember that morning, when we drove up behind the ambulance. The first thing I spotted was your car. It was just a black shell. All I could think about was if you’d died.” He laid his gift on the floor and pulled her into his arms.
And then they both cried.
Thirty-nine
They were beyond Estudillo Corners in Danny’s truck and on the downhill stretch into San Diego before either of them spoke. Not that Jenna was going to breathe a word unless her brother did first.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Jenna stared at him.
“I forget how awful this is for you, having Kevin fighting in that . . . that far-off war.”
She heard the unspoken expletive in his stutter. Despite his love for Kevin, his anger at the situation was always there just beneath the surface.
Danny reached over and touched her injured arm. “And now this. Truce?”
She was too tired to argue with him anymore. “Sure. Okay.”
He flicked on the turn signal. “Mind if we turn off for a few minutes?”
Every nerve in her body screamed in protest. “Yes, I mind! What are you doing?”
The truck slowed. “I need just a minute here.” He turned left onto a side road.
Jenna recognized where he was taking them, and her anxiety jumped another notch. “The lookout? Now?”
“You do know what the date is, right?” He glanced at her. “Or maybe not, considering.”
The date? All she could think of was Amber lying in the hospital. Or the morgue. Or wherever it was they took—
“The fire, Jen. It happened a year ago this week. I have to, I don’t know, have a moment of silence or something.”
Exasperated, she tilted her head back with a thump against the headrest.
“It’s good to remember,” he said.
“It’s one of the worst memories I have. Why would I want to remember?”
“To mark its passing. To thank God for keeping us all safe through it.”
“Oh, Danny! Can’t you do it some other time? I am so worried about Amber.”
He pulled into a parking lot along the side of the road and braked. “I want to do this with you. Dad says he’s coming later. Erik’s bringing Rosie up tonight.”
Jenna looked through the windshield. A panorama of mountains stretched forever toward the east. It was an incredibly gorgeous sight—one she had avoided for an entire year.
The afternoon sun threw the most distant ones into a purple haze; the nearer ones glowed in Technicolor: vegetation greens, blue-grays of rock . . . and black scars beneath it all.
“Oh, Danny,” she said again.
“Come on.” He got out of the truck.
She joined him at the edge of the lookout, at the low stonewall where one year they’d had a family photo taken for Christmas cards. It was a favorite spot of their mother’s.
Jenna linked her good arm with Danny’s and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Mom loved this spot.”
“I think she still does. It was bizarrely appropriate that we gathered here that night.”
She shuddered. The memory sprung upon her, fresher than the one of her mom bringing coffee to her that morning.
That night of the fire, the road up to the hacienda had been blocked off just beyond the lookout. No one had been allowed up to Santa Reina or even Estudillo Corners, the turn for the hacienda. Emergency workers and vehicles had filled the place where they now stood.
Jenna and Kevin had joined Danny, Erik, and their dad. The five of them waited through the cold night, huddled together, inhaling thick smoke, ash collecting in their hair. They flailed about in a no-man’s-space, having not one clue whether their mom, Lexi, Nana, or Papa were dead or alive. A firefighter pretended to update them; in truth he only repeated again and again, “No news. We can’t get in.”
It was such an unbelievable nightmare.
Danny unlaced his arm from hers, draped it around her shoulders, and hugged her tightly.
As he had done that night.
“Thank You, Lord,” he prayed, “for keeping them safe.”
As he had done that night.
She looked at him. “Danny, you prayed those words before we got to them. Before we even knew.”
He nodded.
“It was more than your twin mojo, right?” Through the years he and Lexi had often felt things about each other from a distance. That night he’d sensed that if Lexi were not safe, he would somehow know it.
“Yes.” He smiled. “More than the mojo. It was faith.” She saw a shimmer in his dark eyes.
“How do I get it?”
“You have it, Jen. You know God’s real. You recognize Him in this vista before us. In Nana’s love and wisdom. In your music and literature. The thing that takes practice is recognizing when He speaks to you.”
She didn’t bother to ask how and leaned her head against his shoulder. Danny was a mystery to her, which probably explained why he made her nuts at times.
After a moment he said, “Just now you knew my prayer that night came from something besides my connection with Lexi. That’s how faith is. When you know something in that intangible way, trust it. Go with it. Be open, and God will reveal Himself.”
She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up a knowing, an intuitive sense of something being true.
Her arm hurt. Bottom line, it hurt because the world was messy and unfair. Her heart ached. Same reason. Her husband was too far away. Same reason. She was afraid for Amber. Same reason.
Everything had a reason. She knew nothing by faith.
She felt the soft cotton of Danny’s T-shirt against her cheek and viewed the mountains from an angle. For the moment she was at peace, content to be still in the presence of her goofy brother who for once was still himself.
The two of them at that awful place of remembrance and yet at peace? She couldn’t explain that one away. Did that make it faith?
She highly doubted that conclusion.
Danny braked near the hospital’s front entrance. “You should go home.”
She gathered her bag of clothes and opened the truck door. “Your reluctance is duly noted.”
“I can wait.”
She sighed. They’d already been through the argument of whether he would take her to her car or to the hospital. She would pop, she’d told him, if she didn’t see Amber as soon as possible. Given the fact that her car was still parked by the church, which was way beyond the hospital, he’d finally agreed.
“Danny, don’t wait. I’m sure others will be here by now. She has so many military wives for friends. I’ll get a ride to my car.” She smiled. “That’s what we Marine wives do, you know. We help each other out. We stick together. We semper fi.”
He chuckled. “But have you met any?”
She scrunched her
nose at him. “Not yet.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Danny! Go home.” She slid from the car.
“If you need to, take a cab home and I’ll get you to your car later.”
“Good-bye.”
“You don’t look yourself.”
“Do I care?”
“Usually.”
Jenna imagined what he saw. She’d done her best. Thanks to Lexi and Tuyen, she wore a knit black skirt, a long-sleeved sea green top, sandals, and makeup. She really didn’t care. She had work to do. The love of her life was seven thousand, seven hundred, and thirty-one miles away.
“I showered,” she said.
He pointed to his eyes. “You need to recuperate.”
“Go home, Mom.” Jenna slammed the door and walked off, never glancing back.
She entered the hospital. Finding her way to the ICU floor required almost too much effort. The building was a maze. Every staff member she begged directions from asked if she were family because if she weren’t, she may as well forget about going there.
At last she recognized a hall and began eyeing nurses in hopes that Cathy—the helpful one who’d allowed her into Amber’s room—would be on duty again,.
“Jenna.”
At the sound of Cade’s voice, she turned. He approached.
And then, like a sudden clang of cymbals in a symphony, she heard what Danny was saying in all his words about not going to the hospital. He figured there was a chance Cade would be there again.
She had figured the same thing.
Danny was concerned about their connection.
So was she. Now that she saw him.
He smiled easily and stopped before her. “Amber’s the same. Don’t look so frightened. They keep saying ‘same’ is best for now.”
Jenna nodded, her throat too tight for vocalizing.
Not that she really had anything to say.
Mr. Ice Guy was in place. The smile belonged to him, the steady gray eyes. The proper space between them was his doing.
But it didn’t matter. She’d gotten more than a glimpse behind that cold persona. The lips she now watched moving in speech had kissed her.
“It’ll get easier,” he said.
She jumped. “What?”
“Us. It’ll get easier.” He spoke in a low voice. No one else was near them in the hall.
“Huh?”
“Neither one of us wants to go down that road.” He cocked his head.
She nodded, then shook her head. Yes, she agreed. No, neither wanted to go there.
“I came here for two reasons: to check on Amber since they won’t tell you a thing on the phone, and to see you. I didn’t want this to happen at school. There’s nothing between us, all right?”
“Mm-hmm. No.” She looked down at her feet. She needed a pedicure. Those heels she’d worn the other day mussed the polish.
Cade cleared his throat. “Your nurse friend is here.”
Jenna raised her chin and focused beyond his shoulder. “Cathy.”
“Yes. She informed me that you’re family, but I’m not.”
“Is anyone else here?”
“No real family yet. There were some friends, but they’ve gone. You might get in to see her if you want.”
Jenna nodded and moved.
Cade grasped her elbow. “The other way.”
His touch burned her skin. A heat wave engulfed her.
She wanted to fall into his strong arms. She wanted to depend on him. He would take care of everything. Amber’s situation. The hospital staff. Jenna’s classes. A ride to her car or straight home. The loneliness . . .
She knew all those things, knew Cade Edmunds could fill every empty space, calm every anxiety.
Was that faith?
Probably not.
God, help.
Jenna said to him, “Thanks.” She moved away. His hand slipped from her arm. She walked. And kept on walking.
She walked toward the nurses’ station. She would find Cathy. She would sit with Amber and talk to her. She would take a cab to her car and drive herself home. She would fix herself dinner. She would make new friends who were in the same swamped military boat as she. She would wait for Kevin to come home.
All of that she knew was impossible.
Which could mean, perhaps, if Danny was right, that she had just recognized God speaking to her.
Forty
Dear.” Indio beamed at Skylar across the tiny table.
Skylar couldn’t help but return the smile. Indio’s endearments always ignited a warmth within her. It didn’t matter that they sat in a fast-food chain restaurant eating a questionable taco. Its fried breaded fish was of undetermined variety, its overly white cabbage of the mechanically shredded sort, done nowhere near the premises nor within the past week.
“Look at this.” Indio held her taco up in both hands, obviously happy to have her cast off.
Skylar had driven her to the doctor’s office. They’d stopped for lunch at this horrid place because Indio declared she hadn’t had good junk food in ages. It was Monday, the day after Sunday, the day after church. A part of Skylar lingered in the twilight zone, unsure what was real and what wasn’t. She probably would have said yes to a request from Indio to fly to the moon.
Indio said, “God is so good. Maybe I broke my wrist just so you and I could meet.”
“How do you do that, Indio? Add an optimistic sidebar to everything?”
“Might as well as not.” She shrugged a shoulder and munched on her taco.
She was a curious sight in her “going to town” outfit of suede-fringed skirt and vest. Her hair in two long, thick braids accented her pudgy face. Skylar had noticed passersby either stared rudely or smiled in delight at her. The latter, she figured, related because they had their own senile weirdo hanging from the family tree.
A quirky appearance meant nothing. Indio was the farthest thing from senile or frail or wacko that Skylar could imagine.
“Anyway,” Indio said, “I was afraid that once my wrist healed, you might think we wouldn’t need you any longer at the hacienda.”
Skylar saw the gleam in those bottomless pools. As she so often did, Indio was talking about more than the obvious, drawing upon a knowledge she gained by who knew what. It was like she had an osmotic relationship with some unseen entity.
Entity? She might as well admit it: Indio was all about God.
A chill went through Skylar. She thought of her knapsack, still packed, still shoved under the bed. Somehow, Indio knew. Like Danny. Uncanny the resemblance between grandmother and grandson.
“Skylar, I must confess, I don’t have the energy or interest in doing what I promised Claire I would do to help run the center. I’ve spent most of my life in that kitchen. It’s where I first met my mother-in-law, Lord rest her fractious soul. She reluctantly passed her home on to me. Then I raised my boys there. Then Ben and I turned it into our retreat.” She sighed. “Now I believe that season is over.”
“I can’t promise—”
“Oh, dear heart, I don’t want you to! And I am not laying a responsibility on you. Claire will understand. And as my son says, he knows the staffing business. He can staff the Hideaway kitchen like that.” She snapped her fingers. “No, I just want to say that you have been a godsend in countless ways.”
A too-large bite of tortilla worked its way down Skylar’s throat. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Indio tilted her head. “Do you mind if I talk straight?”
Skylar stirred a plastic fork through the glob of lardy refried beans on her plate, waiting for her heartbeat to slow. She looked at Indio. “Do you ever not talk straight?”
“You have no idea how much I hold inside.”
Skylar burst into laughter. The woman won. The woman would win every time Skylar dared try matching wits with her. “You play with a stacked hand, Indio.”
Her smile was nothing less than enigmatic. She understood what Skylar meant although Skylar herself di
d not. At work was that unseen entity for which there were no words.
Indio said, “Yes, indeed I do.”
Skylar knew it was pointless to hope for a sudden drenching of senility to hit Indio and make her forget what she’d been saying. She didn’t bother trying to change the subject.
“As I was saying, Sky—Danny calls you that, doesn’t he? ‘Sky.’ It’s nice. It makes me think of endlessness and timelessness, kind of like God.” She smiled. “But I won’t steal Danny’s nickname. Anyway, you’ve been a breath of fresh air to him and to all of us. We adore you. We hope you’ll stay just because you’re you, not because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to that kitchen.”
“I’ll-I’ll think about it?” Her voice went up. What was with the wavering? She couldn’t stay. She simply could not stay. “M-my schedule isn’t quite set yet. I’ll, um, I’ll let you know?”
“That’s all I can ask. I just wanted you to know what we were all thinking.” She winked. “I took a poll. Even Nathan and Rosie agreed.”
“How come?” Uh-oh. Skylar was falling where she didn’t want to go. “I mean, why would they all—I am not a good person, Indio! You must know that.”
Indio reached across the table and patted her hand. “Jesus wiped your slate clean, Skylar, like He did all of ours. You must know that. Now.” She smiled. “Let’s have some of that fried ice cream.”
Skylar pressed her lips together and blinked, gazing about the dining area. At last the garish colors and faux Mexican décor came back into view. Indio had put her through a wringer once again and now it was time for dessert.
“Fried ice cream.” Skylar nodded. “Sure.”
Whatever. Maybe she could remain at the hacienda a few more days.
Skylar neither unpacked her bag nor put back in the clothes she removed from it to wear day by day. She felt like she had one ruby-red- slippered foot in Kansas and the other on the Yellow Brick Road leading out of town.
Was Fin searching for her? How could he ever track her down? More to the reality of his ability, how long before he tracked her down?
Maybe, though, maybe, maybe, maybe he doubted the person he’d seen was, after all, her. There was that chance.
