A Time to Surrender

by Sally John

  Another moment of silence passed. He said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “God told me to.” She could hear him breathing and imagined the fire in it. He would have a ton of things to say, but he was suppressing them all.

  Totally un-Danny-like.

  She rubbed her temple. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, you said that already.”

  “Okay. I-I’ll let you go. Bye.”

  “Ciao.”

  The line clicked.

  Her heart clicked and then it clacked. It was the sound she had listened to on the trip halfway across the country, train wheels against rails, over and over. The words she couldn’t say out loud to him now had echoed in her head the whole way.

  I love you, Danny. I love you, Danny. I love you, Danny.

  Fifty-eight

  The judge set bail.” Jenna ripped a long piece of packing tape from a box. “I still can’t believe it.”

  Seated at the kitchen table, helping Jenna unpack in her new house, Amber said, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  “We can blame the bump on your head for that bizarre thought. The bump, I might add, that Skylar or whatever her name is helped put there.”

  “Oh, pshaw.”

  Jenna frowned at her and pulled a skillet from the box.

  Amber sighed. “‘Pshaw’ was supposed to make you laugh. You’re not quite yourself.”

  “For good reason.”

  “Yes, but that aside—”

  “I’m not like you, Amber. I can’t just forge ahead and keep smiling.”

  “You were, though. You got into ICU and watched over me. You’ve been caring for Evie and the other wives, offering smiles and tears.”

  “Ooh-rah. I was faking it.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  Jenna didn’t reply. If not for Amber’s familiar chatty voice, she would have quit listening an hour ago.

  “Jen, what can I do for you besides put away dishes?”

  “Get a blonde wig instead of that dark one?” Her tone didn’t quite ring with the flippancy she’d hoped for. She shouldn’t have invited Amber over so soon. She shouldn’t have agreed to her mother’s crazy plan.

  The doorbell rang.

  Too late.

  A moment later she opened the door. Skylar Pierson stood there, regret in her pained expression obvious.

  “Hi, Jenna.”

  “Hi.” She hesitated over the name. “Skylar. Come on in.” She scanned the street as Skylar entered. “Where’s my mom?”

  “Doing some errand down the street.”

  “That’s okay?” Still amazed that the woman was out of jail, Jenna recalled the terms. Her parents had not only posted bond, they took full responsibility for Skylar’s not fleeing before her court date.

  “Yeah.” Skylar closed her eyes for a second. “That’s okay. It’s allowed. Look, I know this is probably really trippy for you, but I had to apologize in person.”

  Jenna saw the woman she knew as a friendly, offbeat, topnotch chef. Her hair was less deep brown. Lexi had colored it for her, trying to match the long tresses with the natural auburn roots. Skylar wore only one pair of earrings. Her freckles stood out against abnormally pale skin. Shorter than Jenna, she seemed smaller than before. Vulnerable, even.

  This was a bona fide terrorist? “Trippy to the max,” Jenna said.

  A smile fluttered across her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  Jenna was sad that her family had been deceived by Skylar, but her heart was too raw to feel malice. She hugged her. “I know you are. Come meet Amber.”

  They walked into the living room where Amber greeted them. She held out her hand and clasped Skylar’s. “I’m Amber Ames.”

  “I’m sorry.” Skylar’s voice was low, husky.

  “Thank you. Skylar. Is that what we should call you?”

  “Please. I-I like it best.”

  Jenna watched Skylar visibly relax under Amber’s gaze. Amber’s magic touch struck again.

  Skylar said, ‘Laurie’ makes me feel like an unwanted brat. I dropped it a long time ago and didn’t become ‘Skylar’ until after—oh. I’m not supposed to talk about things like that.”

  “I just wondered. Let’s sit. Can we sit, Jen?”

  “Sure.” She chose a chair while Amber and Skylar sat on the couch.

  Skylar said, “Jenna, is your arm okay?”

  She looked at the ugly mark. At least the stitches were out. “It doesn’t hurt. The doctor said that most of the scar should eventually go away. The nurse told me to try cocoa butter. You might want to buy stock in it.”

  Amber smiled. “Kevin will be impressed. It’s like a tattoo.”

  “Not funny.” She noted Skylar’s questioning glance. “Kevin had one tattoo before we met. One. I told him I hate tattoos. He got two more after we got married.” That was nothing now, though, compared to his enlisting.

  Skylar turned to Amber. “Are you all right?”

  “I can’t complain. I get my hubby home for a whole month, and I get to wear this Angelina Jolie wig.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes.

  Amber winked at her. “Joey likes it.” She turned to Skylar. “Emotionally, it will take some time. But since I woke up, I haven’t had any physical problems whatsoever. Not even a slight headache.”

  “Thank God,” Skylar whispered and took a deep breath. “I saw the guy at the protest.”

  “Hold on. Should you be telling us this?”

  “No, but if I don’t confess, I-I’ll crack up. More than I have already.” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Hey, I’m cool with being stand-in priest. I won’t tell a soul—”

  “But you have to tell! If you end up in court, under oath.”

  “Okay.” Amber grasped one of Skylar’s hands. “I know you saw him and you think you’re responsible for my injury. That’s debatable, but God has already forgiven you and so have I.”

  Skylar wiped her sweater sleeve across her face. “Indio says confession opens the soul up to Christ’s healing like nothing else can.”

  “She would.” Amber smiled at Jenna. “I insist on another basking visit with your grandmother. I’ll even pay next time.”

  “Sure.” Good grief. Her grandmother, mother, and these two could start their own church. Amber and Joey had spent a couple of days at the retreat center, compliments of the Beaumonts. As expected, Amber, Claire, and Indio connected like constellation stars.

  Shaking off her own load of guilt, Jenna said, “Skylar, we really don’t blame you. I can’t connect the dots between you spotting him and what followed.”

  “I should have told Rosie when I saw him. I should have grabbed the nearest cop.”

  Jenna said, “And then what? You know he wasn’t working alone. Things were already set in motion. His cohorts could have set it off if he’d been detained.”

  Skylar nodded sadly. “Maybe. I knew him as an eco-terrorist, not a peacenik. He—we never got involved in this kind of stuff. But I knew he made bombs. I knew he was up to no good. If I had listened to that intuition instead of how afraid I was of him, maybe you two and those others wouldn’t have been hurt. That poor family could have had a funeral. I am so, so sorry.”

  Amber scooted closer and wrapped her arms around Skylar. “You are forgiven, hon. God forgives you.” She began whispering. It sounded like she was praying.

  Jenna wrestled with a sense of being on the outside looking in.

  Later that evening, after the others had gone, Danny stopped in to help Jenna move furniture. She liked that he lived so close.

  His face red, his brow sweaty, he dropped the mattress into place with a grunt. “I thought your hired movers were supposed to do this.”

  “They did. I just changed my mind about where I wanted the bed.”

  “The Princess can be fastidious and finicky.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” />
  “Nothing that calling your older brother wouldn’t fix. Dresser over there?”

  “Yes.” She watched him push and shove. “Erik wasn’t available. He keeps disappearing these days with Nathan. Did they interview you yet for their documentary?”

  “Yeah. Still don’t have a clue what it’s all about.”

  “They just asked me to describe my first meeting with Rosie.”

  “Me too. And Lexi. They’re tightlipped about it.” He repositioned a corner of the dresser. “How’s that?”

  “Fine.”

  “Uh-oh. I’d like a ‘perfect’ if possible.”

  “It’s just fine.”

  “I don’t want to come back tomorrow night. Tell me, what would make it perfect.”

  “If Kevin were sleeping in it tonight.”

  “In the dresser?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Danny slid down along the dresser and sat on the floor. “Give it up, Jen. You’re married to a Marine deployed overseas. Period.”

  “I’m doing the best I can! I’ve been to two military funerals. I’ve spent hours on end with a woman who could have been one of my students yesterday, watching her lose touch with reality and totally relating to why she was. I’ve given grocery-store gift cards to most of the wives whose husbands are with Kevin because they all have little kids and hardly enough money. I check in with some of them frequently! What else is there?”

  He clapped.

  “You are such a snot.”

  “I am. I didn’t mean to make fun. I really do applaud your efforts, Jen. I couldn’t do what you’re doing. But you’re fueling them on resentment. Is it all aimed at Kevin?”

  She sat on the bed. “If Kevin walked through that door right now, I admit we’d have to go see a marriage counselor, but I wouldn’t leave him. I’m so afraid he’s leaving me, either because the trauma will change him forever or because he’s going to get killed.”

  “That’s a lot of fear going on there. True, he’s in a combat zone. He’s in danger. You can count on the trauma doing a number on him. He will never be the same, not totally.”

  “Thanks. That helps a lot.”

  “Let me finish. ‘Not the same’ has its positive side. Kevin’s a strong guy. He’ll come through a better person in the long run.”

  “I’m afraid of the long run too.”

  “Well, he needs you to hang in there no matter how hard it is. Being afraid or resenting the situation only makes it harder on both of you. It doesn’t reinstate you to princess status.”

  “That’s for sure. Which leaves Cinderella, and I’m not so good in that role, taking care of others’ messy needs.”

  “Without complaint.” He smiled in a sad way. “You’re fine in it, Jen. You’ve been taking care of kids’ literacy needs for years. Totally messy endeavor. Now your sphere has expanded to include a group of hurting wives.”

  “Beth Russell told me a princess is gifted to serve others.” Jenna paused, recalling the conversation. “She said I’d heard the nickname for so long it was imprinted on my heart. I’d come to believe that’s who I was, a princess everyone else was supposed to take care of.”

  “‘Your Royal Highness, you are the fairest in the land and always right and deserving of the best’?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Something like that. She encouraged me to record a new message in my heart and tell myself that being a princess means I am in a unique position to help others.”

  “And not just by cleaning ashes from their fireplaces.”

  “Yeah. Beth said . . .” Jenna bit her lip. “She said helping others is how I would make it through this season of Kevin’s absence.”

  “There you go. That’s what you are doing.”

  “Sort of.” She wondered how that night with Cade fit into anything other than selfish indulgence.

  “Jenna, God sees you as that good-hearted princess, not the snooty one. That’s His message written on your heart.”

  “It’s in invisible ink. There’s a prayer for you: I need that special light that makes the ink show.”

  “You can pray that.”

  “Your prayers always work better.”

  “It just seems like they do.” His voice rose a notch. “The only difference is I’ve practiced more than you have. I don’t know what it is you’re waiting for.”

  Taken aback at his agitated tone, she felt a stab of fear. In all her avoidance of God, Danny hung in there, always eager to pray for her. What was wrong?

  “Jenna, what are you waiting for? There’s no right or wrong way to pray. You’ve heard Nana say that enough. For crying out loud, just talk to Him.”

  “I don’t know where He is.”

  He opened his mouth and closed it. They stared at each other in silence.

  At last Danny spoke. “Turnabout is fair play. You’re in love with a Marine overseas. I’m in love with a felon. Go ahead and say it: tell me to give it up.”

  “Give it up,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “Two plus two doesn’t equal four anymore. Black is white, and white is black. I don’t know where God is either.”

  Hearing Danny question his faith sounded like a death knell to Jenna. When all was said and done, his prayers had always been the most real to her. Nana’s scared her in how they transcended known entities. Amber and even her mother were too new to Jenna as prayer warriors to make an impact on her.

  And her prayers? They were like quicksilver, flowing in unpredictable ways, incapable of reaching the target.

  Fifty-nine

  In the thirty-some years Claire had known Indio, she had seen her furious on rare occasions. She had never, though, seen her throw something and curse. Until now.

  The laundry basket sailed across the kitchen, its contents spilling out onto the floor. The swear word flung behind it sang out loud and clear.

  “Indio,” she said with some concern as she scooped dirty towels from the floor into the basket.

  “Jabberwocky!” Indio resorted to the less profane. She plopped her hands on her hips. “How on earth can a mother not come see her own daughter? I was by no means a perfect mother, but I swear I never, never would have ignored my sons if they asked to see me!”

  “Well.” Skylar appeared in the doorway. “That’s Marlie Rockwell for you.”

  Indio flung her arms wide. “Oh, child.”

  “You can hug me, but you can’t blame my dysfunctional family for my stupid choices.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Indio bundled the young woman to herself.

  Claire sighed. She had just informed Indio about the third phone conversation she’d had with David and Marlie Rockwell, Skylar’s parents. They kept changing their flight. Now they’d changed who was even coming to San Diego to see their daughter in her dreadful hour of need.

  The saddest part, which she dared not tell Indio, was their flippancy about the whole matter. “Laurie’s done it again.” Claire knew Laurie-aka-Skylar had never been arrested, so that could not be the ‘it’ they referred to, but she didn’t ask. “We always expected she’d crash and burn. She was weird as a two-year old.”

  Not one word was said about reimbursing her and Max for the bail money or for hiring a lawyer. It didn’t matter. They loved the girl.

  She shuddered at the things they’d had to consider in recent days. Claire now even knew where the nearest FBI office was. Skylar had spent hours inside it being interviewed yet again by agents.

  Skylar straightened from Indio’s hug. “We might get lucky and my dad won’t show either. Claire, you told him they’ll send me up north as soon as they figure things out?”

  “Things” referred to facts like Skylar’s having nothing to do with the San Diego bombing and that her abandoning Claire’s car was not grand theft. The fact that the event that took place eighteen months ago was in the northern part of the state, in a different judicial district.

  Claire bent over to retrieve a dishcloth. “I told him.”
r />   “And?” Skylar prompted.

  She set the laundry basket on the bench near the mudroom door. Then she sat down next to it. “And he backpedaled about coming down here since you’ll be up there sooner or later.”

  Skylar’s smile was neither happy nor sad. It signaled acceptance of an unfortunate situation.

  “Sit down, honey.”

  Skylar and Indio sat on stools at the island.

  “I realize,” Claire said, “that you don’t want to blame anyone for your actions, that you want to take full responsibility.”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Indio. “Confess your sins one to another. James, right?”

  “James chapter five, verse sixteen. And pray for one another.”

  They exchanged a knowing smile. Indio had been giving Skylar a crash course in Bible study. She said the girl soaked it up like a dried sponge. No doubt Indio had reiterated her promise to pray.

  Claire said, “But you need a lawyer just to guide you through the system.”

  “Max keeps saying that but all I want to do is go, ‘I’m guilty.’ I don’t want off the hook. I can say that by myself to a judge.” Her zeal was a sight to behold, her eyes bright and clear, no longer hiding anything. “Max even said it was answered prayer and not the court-appointed loser lawyer that got the judge to grant bail.”

  “Yes, but things will get more complicated. One consideration is a plea bargain. They may ask for information in exchange for a reduced sentence.”

  “I don’t want special treatment—”

  “Skylar!” Claire was ready to throw the laundry basket herself in frustration. “It’s not special. It’s part of negotiating and cooperating. The bottom line is you can go to prison all you want, but we prefer it be for less than twenty years!”

  “Twenty?” Skylar whispered.

  “That’s what this lawyer said today. It’s a possibility.”

  Skylar bit her lip.

  Against Rosie’s recommendations, Skylar had given Claire and Max some of the details of the event in question. Eighteen months ago, Skylar had driven that Fin character to a lumber company office and waited while he planted pipe bombs. She did not fully realize what she was participating in. He said they were simply going to slow down the logging process. She agreed to help, desperate to save her beloved redwoods. And yes, desperate to be noticed by the likes of an antihero.