A Time to Surrender

by Sally John

The light above his front door lit up. A moment later, she reached it as he opened it. She paused on the threshold, her heart beating too hard, too fast.

  He was dressed casually in khakis and knit shirt. He waited, hands in pockets, his expression soft, concerned, patient.

  Stupid glitch in the system. Ridiculous e-mail. Senseless twist of events that ripped her husband from her side and filled the space between them with darkness that grew more impenetrable by the day.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, whether to Kevin, Cade, God, or herself she did not know. What she did know was that when Cade held her, the ache would go away.

  She stepped inside.

  Fifty-four

  Rosie had dropped her bombshell on Monday night. Danny lived in a red haze through the following days.

  Daylight hours were spent in the water surfing, nighttime ones at the desk researching domestic terrorists. He forgot to eat, forgot to work, forgot to listen for God’s voice. His prayers became tirades against loggers and environmentalists alike, warmongers and antiwar demonstrators, the whole entire unfair world at large.

  The anger never went away.

  Friday morning his roommate, Hawk, got in his face and said Jenna had called him at the store because Danny didn’t answer his phone. Hawk said that probably had something to do with Danny’s phone being turned off.

  Jenna sounded off. She needed to see Danny at the rental house now.

  He picked up his cell phone, saw ten missed calls from Lexi and would have headed to the surf if Hawk weren’t blocking the door. In their many years as friends, Danny still wasn’t sure if the guy was a curse or a blessing.

  His twin would have to wait. He only had energy for one sister at a time. He called Jenna back and learned nothing more than what Hawk had told him.

  He drove to the rental house, thinking of how Kevin e-mailed less often these days. His references to increased fighting weighed heavily on Danny. Jenna’s pleas had broken through the roar in his own head.

  Jenna opened the door.

  “Why aren’t you in school?” he said.

  “I got the house.” Her face didn’t reflect the gladness he figured would accompany that announcement. “I took the day off to get started on the move.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You look like you’ve got prerecital jitters.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not asking your permission to move in here, but aren’t you the least bit happy for me?”

  “Did you tell Kevin?”

  “Not yet.

  “Jen—”

  “How am I supposed to tell him if he doesn’t call? I’m not doing it in an e-mail, thanks to you. You convinced me he’s going to be upset. I need to tell him face-to-face. So to speak.”

  Danny slowed himself down. Agitated vibes fairly hummed off of Jenna. There was something different about her. Eye contact wasn’t happening. She didn’t stand still. Her hands flittered in nervous gestures.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I’m sorry about Skylar. How are you doing?”

  “Let’s change the subject. Why did you want to see me?” he asked.

  “Mom’s coming. She hasn’t seen the house. She’s in the city interviewing a chef at Dad’s old office. Do you want a juice or soda? I brought a cooler.”

  “Sure.”

  They took cans from a cooler in the kitchen. He noticed boxes on the floor as well, marked in her neat handwriting. A coffeemaker sat on the counter, two mugs next to it.

  He followed her through the patio doors. They sat on lawn chairs.

  “So Mom’s coming,” he prompted.

  Her eyes darted around the small yard. “I can’t handle her by myself. You always know how to handle her. That’s why I called you instead of Erik.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean by ‘handle’?”

  “Sometimes it’s not like she’s your mother. She’s just another person.”

  “Why don’t you want a mother?”

  “Because she makes me feel responsible and accountable.” She swiped at her eyes. “Like I should be able to deal with Kevin’s absence better.”

  “Jen, did you forget? Mom left Dad because she didn’t want to deal anymore with his absence.”

  “But then he made this huge sacrifice for her and they’ve been like honeymooners ever since. She gets this dose of religion and sounds more adamant than you and Nana put together about living by faith and getting through the tough times with flying colors.”

  Danny sensed that Jenna talked around what was really going on inside of her, but had no clue how to zero in on it. “Do you want me to pray before she comes, like I did before your recitals?”

  “No! I just want you to run interference. I mean, life is just really, really hard for me right now. I’m dealing with it the best I can, okay? I don’t need anybody’s advice.”

  Even in the midst of his own confusion and hurt, he heard hers. A renewed fear for Kevin emerged, and for their marriage.

  He didn’t need his sister’s permission to pray.

  Lord, please take care of Jenna and Kevin. Preserve their marriage.

  Unlike Danny, Claire oohed and aahhed in all the right places over Jenna’s house find.

  He watched the women. Jenna’s complexion carried a shade of their dad’s Native American heritage, but there was no mistaking a resemblance between mother and daughter. Perhaps it was a touch of the musician’s personality, an obvious bent toward detail, toward dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s.

  “It’s great, Jenna,” Claire said as they sat again on the patio. “Are you sure you don’t need your dad to help the movers tomorrow?”

  “I’m sure, thanks.”

  Danny listened as they discussed mundane details of moving. Jenna crossed her legs; they bounced with nervous energy. Their mom was obviously worn-out. She had hired two women to help with that weekend’s guests, but the loss of Skylar in the kitchen multiplied her distress.

  When she had arrived, Claire reported there was no new news. Her car, discovered at a train station Wednesday, was still impounded by the police. They presumed she got on a train. There were a zillion directions she could have taken.

  Skylar had not called. Like that was going to happen, he scoffed to himself.

  “Danny?” His mother eyed him in a distinctly motherly way.

  “No, I’m not doing so hot.” He answered her unasked question. “I’m like Jenna. Life is just too hard to talk about today.”

  “Are you both giving yourselves permission to feel that to its fullest extent?”

  He and Jenna exchanged a surprised glance.

  “I mean,” Claire went on, “to let yourselves feel tired, hurt, violated, hopeless, all that junk? To grieve? Fighting it doesn’t help. Or pretending that it’s not there, eating away at your insides.”

  He said, “You’re supposed to smile and tell us it’ll be all better soon and that you’re praying. And maybe take two aspirin while we’re at it.”

  “Well, you both know I’m praying. I pray that you’ll trust that God is carrying you through. I pray that you’ll be able to extend forgiveness to Skylar and Kevin for the choices they made that hurt you. That as you stumble in your pain, you will not be hurled headlong off the path.”

  “Psalm something or other.”

  She nodded.

  He gave her a sad smile.

  Jenna had grown still as a statue. “What’s the path exactly?”

  Claire tilted her head back and forth. “Of going in the right direction, I suppose.” She stood. “I have to go. Jen, I can help you unpack next week.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re taking off all next week?”

  “Monday and Tuesday, anyway. Cade said to take more, but I’ve spent too many days out of the classroom already. It’s like you said, Mom. I’m giving myself permission to quit pretending that life is normal.”

  Danny tuned her out. He’d heard more than he wanted. Th
ere was an odd tone, almost a false note, in the way she referenced Cade.

  In her pain, had his sister stumbled so badly she’d hurled herself right off the path?

  How could she?

  And how could Skylar run off without a word? How could she have committed even a fraction of what she was accused of ?

  An ache pierced him, so sharp it nearly took his breath away. He suddenly saw himself as a legalist consumed with the black and white of rules, with no space in his heart for grays.

  Grays? Maybe it was grace.

  Fifty-five

  After Danny and her mother left, Jenna sat in the dark on a lawn chair in her new dining room, reviewing the days since her self-propelled hurl off the path of going in the right direction.

  Her mother’s prayer must have been said too late.

  Monday night Cade had provided all the comfort and respite Jenna craved.

  Tuesday, in the wee hours of the morning, she slipped away while he slept. At home she called in another sick day and spent thirty minutes in the shower attempting to scrub off the shame.

  Wednesday she returned to school and successfully avoided him until he called out as she left the building that afternoon.

  “Jenna, wait up a sec.”

  She kept on walking across the parking lot. As she opened her car door, he grasped its frame.

  “Talk to me.”

  She tossed her bag onto the front seat. “I really don’t have anything to say.”

  “Well, I do,” he murmured and then barked a laugh, shouting, “Hey, Turner, way to go!”

  Jenna glanced across the lot and saw another teacher. The two men bantered in loud voices for a brief moment.

  She forced herself to meet Cade’s eyes. “I can’t do this.”

  “I know.” Mr. Ice Guy was absolutely nowhere to be seen. “But let’s put some closure to it. Tonight.” He named a casual chain restaurant. “Meet you there at seven.” Then he turned on his heel and walked off.

  Wednesday at six-thirty she received the call that the rental house was hers. It helped. It offered a glimpse of hope, of a future. It lessened the image of herself in Evie’s shoes, living with her parents, resembling a dead person walking.

  She met Cade. They ordered dinner at the counter, sat in a back booth, and began to talk.

  She said, “I shouldn’t have gone to your place Monday night.”

  “And I shouldn’t have opened the door. But you did and I did. It’s over. We will not wallow in what might have been.”

  She shivered at his authoritative tone.

  “Jenna, I crossed several lines I always promised myself I’d never even consider approaching. For starters you’re married, a faculty member, and in a vulnerable situation. I cruised right on over without a backward glance.” He stopped talking.

  “Wh-why?”

  His chest rose and fell in rhythm with audible breaths. “Because I’m a little bit in love with you.”

  In love with her? In love? Love had never entered her mind!

  “Yeah,” he said, “surprised me too. I realize, though, that because of it, I can say, ‘Whoa.’ This ends now. Having an affair is not what’s best for you. Me offering a shoulder for you to cry on isn’t either. We have to recapture a professional distance.”

  She whispered fiercely, “I committed adultery!”

  “With me. I’m sorry. I am so sorry, but I can’t change that fact.”

  “I don’t know how to live with that fact!”

  “It doesn’t mean you’re a horrible person, Jen.”

  “Then why do I feel so filthy?” Her low voice nearly screeched.

  The compassion on his face made her want to cry. “Do you have someone you can talk to? Family member? A pastor?”

  She shook her head.

  “These things happen, especially when our world is falling apart. None of us are perfect. We need to forgive ourselves. Sometimes we need help doing that.”

  He was going spiritual on her too?

  “That’s why,” he said, “there are counselors in the world. The military probably has all kinds on staff. I will help you find one. I will find the best substitute teacher for you so that you can take all the time off that you need. I will do whatever I can, Jenna.”

  “Except hold me.”

  He nodded, his lips pressed together.

  They eventually ended the conversation, her schedule set to take time off in order to move, his eyes losing the softness to which she had grown accustomed.

  Fifty-six

  Oh Max! I just want to gather them like a mother hen with her chicks.” Claire stretched her legs across the love seat and Max’s lap.

  He chuckled. “I know you don’t mean that.”

  “I do! I swear I do!”

  He kneaded one of her bare feet. “Sorry, sweetheart. We’re into ‘push them out of the nest’ season. Don’t worry. They’ll get those wings a-flapping before they go splat on the ground.”

  She glowered. “Ha-ha.”

  “Seriously, I’ve been thinking about our safe harbor here. It’s not enclosed on all sides. It’s a big hug, open for anyone to sail into or out of, a port in a storm.”

  “That’s a better analogy than going splat.”

  He smiled and massaged her aching feet.

  It was late Saturday night. They were huddled in the master suite with a fire in the fireplace and tea. It was their treat to themselves, bidding good night to six guests and a cook who—bless her heart—agreed to stay over until Sunday noon.

  The phone rang near Claire’s elbow. “Hello. Hacienda Hideaway.”

  “Claire? It’s me.”

  She bolted upright. “Skylar?”

  “Yeah.” The voice was small. “Can I come home?”

  “Oh, honey.” Claire burst into tears. “Of course you can!” Blubbering, she handed the phone to Max.

  “Skylar?” he said. “Yes . . . yes . . . all right. Yeah. We’ll be there. And Skylar . . . I’m glad you called.” He turned off the phone.

  Claire blew her nose. “What’d she say?”

  “She’s at the train station downtown.” He paused. “She asked if we’d bring Rosie instead of a stranger.” He stood and held out a hand to her. “We better get dressed. One of your chicks needs you ASAP.”

  Fifty-seven

  Skylar found herself in Galesburg, Illinois. Literally she was there on Thursday, but figuratively it was where she realized who she was.

  It felt like being smacked over the head with a pair of ruby-red slippers.

  The train’s regularly scheduled stop south of Chicago turned into a six-hour delay due to tornadoes, thunderstorms, and debris blown onto the tracks. She could have hitchhiked to the Windy City by the time the train got going again.

  Instead she prayed.

  Sitting now in the San Diego train station she smiled to herself. Evidently she’d been majorly bummed to resort to prayer.

  She had talked to God like Indio had told her she could, in everyday language, eyes open. She wanted desperately to believe—like Indio said—that He longed for her to talk to Him, that He would laugh out loud with joy when He heard her voice directed to Him.

  And so she talked to Him. About all the Beaumonts, plus Kevin, Rosie, Nathan, and Hawk. About the horses, even. About Amber and her husband. She talked most especially about Danny.

  Then, after a time, she knew deep in her heart two things, without a clue how she could possibly know them.

  She knew God laughed.

  And she knew what she had to do.

  The first step was to get back to California. The Beaumonts had paid her well, so money was not the problem, just train schedules. The return trip took awhile.

  The second step was about to present itself right now. Claire, Max, and Rosie walked through one of the train station’s big open doorways.

  Rosie must have been on duty. She was in uniform. Another uniform walked beside her. He fit Rosie’s description of her partner, with a wiry build and an in
tensely blue glare.

  Skylar stepped into Claire’s arms spread wide. For one long moment nothing else mattered.

  Max hugged her. “We’ll get a lawyer.”

  “No, I don’t need one. I did it.”

  Rosie said, “Skylar—”

  “I did—”

  “Hold on. You don’t even know what we’re arresting you for.”

  “Of course I do. I did it.” She held out her hands, wrists together. “Let’s go. Somebody get my backpack, please?”

  Max grabbed one of her hands, Claire the other. He said, “Rosie, we’ll be her handcuffs, okay? She’s not a flight risk.”

  “Sure. Wait, we gotta do the Miranda thing.”

  The partner rolled his eyes. “Delgado, you’re losing it.”

  Rosie flicked a finger across her damp cheek. “Give me a sec, Bobby.”

  Claire sniffed back tears. “Officer Gray, would you mind carrying Skylar’s backpack?”

  Eventually they moved to the door, an odd group walking through the station and onto a broad sidewalk. One cop cried, the other carried her bag. Max and Claire clung tightly onto each of her arms, not because she was a flight risk, but because they loved her.

  Skylar’s courage did not waver through the ride in the back of the police car, the formal booking, the good-bye to Claire and Max, the entrance to a cell where a motley group of women hung out.

  The hard part, the scary part, was the phone call. That was when her courage wavered.

  She knew no lawyer to call; Max promised to take care of that anyway. She needed to hear Indio’s wisdom, but Skylar couldn’t call the elderly woman in the middle of the night. She thought she should call her parents, but Claire said she would do it the next day, a better time to hear such news.

  And so Skylar followed her heart. She called Danny.

  “H’lo.” He’d been asleep.

  “Danny.” She bit her lip.

  Silence hung between them.

  “Is this Annie Wells or Laurie Ann Rockwell?”

  She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  No reply.

  “I’m at the San Diego police station. I-I turned myself in. Your mom and dad met me at the train station. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”