by Sally John
Her hair was short, its natural auburn color grown out to the very ends, which may have been three inches from her scalp. Her freckles were more pronounced, as if they’d come out to see for themselves the unusual surroundings.
“Hi.” Her smile wouldn’t stay put.
He felt his own slip likewise. “Hi.”
“Gotta ask something right off. Are you here to tell me to get lost?”
He shook his head. Odd choice of words.
“Do you think our conversation will lead to a hug?”
“I-it might.”
“Two are allowed per visit. One right now, one when you leave. I wouldn’t want to waste a hug.”
“Skylar.” He stepped to her and wrapped his arms around her. She felt smaller to him, but so solid. So blessedly solid. “Okay if I still call you that?”
She nodded. “I prefer it.”
Other people around them greeted one another, people in street clothes and women in blue denim. Hugs. Murmured words. Boisterous hellos. Children subdued.
Skylar took his hand and led him to a bench on a patio. Beyond it was a small playground where mommies in blue denim took the kids to play.
His time with Skylar would be short, less than thirty minutes. He didn’t want to waste one by looking around or asking her unnecessary questions.
They sat.
“Sky, I brought you a couple of books. They confiscated them. Said you would get them eventually.”
“Thanks.”
“They’re about Australia.”
She nodded, her clear green eyes never leaving his. Her hand still held his. Evidently hand-holding was permitted.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Danny. I made myself believe you would never come. That way I wouldn’t be so disappointed.”
“It was time. I should have written, but . . . I’m sorry I ran out on you.”
She huffed a noise of disbelief. “You didn’t owe me anything.”
“Except love. That’s all we’re to owe each other.”
“I should know what book that’s in.”
He smiled. “New Testament somewhere.”
“I’ll look it up.” She smiled back at him.
“Please forgive me.”
“Already done, dude.”
They used up several moments just looking at each other.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Great. Food is . . . mediocre. Guards are surprisingly cordial for the most part. I have a few new friends. I told your parents that their prayers have put angels in place. My experience is not like an ugly prison movie.”
Thank God. Thank You, God.
“The hard part,” she went on, “is . . .”
“What?”
“Being locked up.” She shrugged. “’Course that’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
“I guess.”
“I miss trees and rocks. I miss cooking. I miss your family. I miss you, Wally Cleaver, something awful.”
He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. She used her other to brush tears from her cheeks. He wasn’t sure how to sit and watch her cry and do nothing.
He took a deep breath. “I miss you too.”
She eyed him as if she didn’t quite believe that.
“I didn’t want to, but I do, Sky. I do.”
She sniffed.
He pressed on. “Jenna told me I needed to get over myself. She was right. I’m so arrogant. I really don’t know why you ever hung out with me. So I went surfing. I told God I wanted to hear His voice, but for a long time I did all the talking. I told Him I couldn’t love you. Man, what would my friends think? When we got married, what would people we meet think? How would we tell the kids their mom was a felon? Of course we might be fifty years old by the time you get out, then I wouldn’t have to worry about that part.
“The real question was how could God do this to me? Set me up with the likes of a radical who changed her name and was arrested by the feds? Such an obvious black-and-white issue for the likes of cocky me. Dump the chick. She’s bad news.”
She gazed at him as if mesmerized.
“Waves in Australia are awesome. I got knocked around a lot. Got some of the hubris knocked out of me. Especially the time some other guys had to get me to shore.”
“Are you okay?” The concern in her voice was nice.
He touched his head. “Bruise has gone down. I was only out for a few minutes.”
“Danny!”
“No worries. I’m here, aren’t I? Eventually I reached a quiet space and started listening. I saw Him in the waves, in the sky, the coastline. I began to know like never before that He loves me. That I’m to keep focused on him, not the guy next to me. Or the girl.”
She waited.
“The girl next to me makes me laugh. She challenges me to do better, to think more, to give more. And now life seems pretty much boring and pointless unless I can share it with her.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“Nah. Just my heart. So, here’s my plan. I’m moving up here—”
“Danny, no. Don’t change your life for me.”
“Didn’t you hear a word I just said? I love you, Skylar. I want to be near you. For now that means visiting on the weekends. I’d rather not drive two hundred miles every weekend and stay in a motel.”
“‘For now’ means six years. Six, Danny! You can’t live your life around weekends, hours away from the ocean you love—”
“It’s not several hours, and why not?”
She didn’t reply.
“Laue, the guy working for me, is doing great. I did work some long-distance. I’ll keep doing that from up here. His percent of the profit has grown by leaps and bounds, but he deserves it. The only reason why I wouldn’t move is if you wouldn’t let me visit. If you wouldn’t receive the love I’m offering you. Why wouldn’t you receive it?”
She blinked quickly, but tears still fell. “I can’t take your life from you.”
“You’re not. I’m giving it.”
She took a ragged breath.
“So what do you say, Sky?”
“I say I love you,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes and his heart beat loudly in his ears.
“But.”
He looked at her.
“You have to promise me that when you need to surf, you’ll surf. When you need to see old friends, you’ll go. When you—”
“Yeah, yeah. I get the picture. Now promise me something.”
“Okay.”
“You won’t leave without telling me.”
A slow smile spread across her face. Her eyes sparkled in the old way. “I promise.”
He squeezed her hand. “What’s the kissing rule?”
“When you come and when you leave.”
“Next week we won’t waste that either.”
Seventy-two
Max, what is this?” Claire towel-dried her hair and eyed the tray he carried into the master suite. She saw her coffee mug, a toasted bagel spread with cream cheese, a linen napkin—and a ring-sized box wrapped in red foil and gold ribbon.
“You’re still wary about my gifts?” He smiled.
“I guess I am.” She put the towel on the floor, tightened her robe belt, and sat on the love seat. After thirty years of receiving gifts based on his guilt, it was difficult not to default to skepticism when she saw a jewelry box from him.
He set the tray on a table and sat beside her. “Just remember the gift I gave you a year ago Thanksgiving.”
It had been a note inside a small box. “You asked me to remarry you.” She smiled. “That was a good one.”
“And last Valentine’s Day?”
“Cruise tickets for our honeymoon. That was good too.”
“So get over it already. We are in healed territory when it comes to my gift giving. I am not working out any guilt via a gift.” He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”
“I don’t need anyth
ing, Max.”
“What do you want?”
“Skylar home and a grandchild.”
He laughed.
She had seen gift boxes from Max for her under the tree in the sala. Most likely they contained a pretty sweater—winter at the hacienda was colder than where they used to live near the coast—and a novel she would have mentioned to him in passing at one time. Perhaps a skirt. He had been paying very close attention lately.
He gave her the small box. “Not to rush you, but Rosie and her dad are already in the kitchen. Jenna and Kevin are on their way.”
“Rosie and Esteban are here? It’s only eight o’clock!”
“Potluck to him means working in your kitchen.”
She chuckled. The chef and owner of a Mexican restaurant adored her state-of-the-art kitchen. “Is this his coffee?”
“Yes.”
Christmas could wait. She reached for the mug and savored her first sip. The schedule called for the closest family members to gather for brunch midmorning. They would then open gifts, play games, and relax. Others would join them for dinner, including Hawk and Amber Ames. Some would spend the night in guest rooms.
“Oh, Max.” She gushed. “We are so blessed. I can’t imagine anything I want—”
“Just open the box,” he growled and took the mug from her.
She laughed and began unwrapping. Inside the first box was a ring box and inside that lay two neatly folded papers. Curious, she opened the one that looked like a receipt and grinned. “Season tickets to the symphony. Two of them?” She looked at him.
“I’ll be going with you.”
“You hate the symphony.”
His brown eyes twinkled. “That was the old Max. I’m ready to learn how to appreciate it. I want to.”
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
She unfolded the other paper. He had written a note. “Our new home lacks two things: a grandbaby and a baby grand. I can only give you one.”
Claire gasped. They had sold their old upright piano with the house. There had been just too much to put in order at the hacienda. Some parts of her life went by the wayside. Except for occasionally pulling out her violin, music was one of them.
Max said, “It’ll be delivered tomorrow. I’ve got your old music group lined up to play here next week.”
“Oh, Max!” She scooted across the cushion and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
“It was a good one?” He kissed her neck.
“It was a good one.”
Later that day, Claire fell silent often just to feast her eyes on the scene before her. Norman Rockwell couldn’t have portrayed a more evocative family Christmas gathering.
They had it all, from decorated tree to toasty fire to a mess of opened boxes and wrappings. From grandparents to the orphaned grandchild from Vietnam to those few friends who might one day become family. From the wounded war veteran to his wife setting his crutches on the floor beside his chair. And the one sorely missed—the one out of town who could not be with them—waited on the other end of the phone line.
Max had answered the phone, accepted the collect-call charges, and immediately held it out to Danny. “It’s Skylar.”
Danny planned to see her the next day during visiting hours. He tore across the room now and caught Max’s toss of the phone midair. “H’lo! Skylar!” The rest of them pretended not to eavesdrop.
They didn’t have to do so for long. Danny whooped loud enough for the horses to hear.
He turned to them, a grin stretched across his face. “Her sentence got reduced!” He spoke again into the phone. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah. That’s great. I will. I love you, too, Sky.”
Indio was clapping and shouting. “Woo-hoo!”
Max said, “What happened, Danny?”
“Well.” He paused, obviously struggling to pull himself together.
“God happened. They arrested Fin Harrod and a couple others in Nevada. One thing led to another. Skylar’s attorney and the judge got involved. Her time was reduced to three and a half years.”
Claire didn’t know how her heart could leap and sink at the same time, but it did. Three and a half years was, of course, less than six years. Maybe the good behavior aspect would make an impact, too, and she would get early parole. Still . . . Skylar wasn’t coming home tomorrow. Or not even next month.
Indio caught her eye. “Merry Christmas from the Father.”
Claire nodded.
Cut!” Erik shouted. “Cut!”
Everyone stopped in their work of cleaning up the sala to look at him.
He was on his hands and knees, pulling something out from under the couch. “We are not finished with this scene. It’s another gift. To . . . let’s see . . .” He peered closely at the slender box. “To Rosie! From no name!” Grinning, he gave it to her.
Claire smiled to herself. She was perfectly content to have Erik not living with them. His dramatic tendencies had worn on her as a young mom. It was right for those days to be over.
Rosie looked at Erik suspiciously. “You just happened to find this under the couch? This very minute?”
“Yes, Officer,” he said in his deepest, most sarcastic, voice.
She laughed. “Okay, okay. I will put the cop to rest.”
“Attention, everyone! Rosie is opening a gift. Let’s show her due respect here. Come on, come on. Have a seat.”
Amid laughter and protests, Rosie sat back down and opened the gift. As a DVD inside a plastic case came into view, Claire wondered if this was, at long last, the mysterious video Erik and Nathan had been working on.
Rosie stared at it. “It’s a disk without a label.”
Erik huffed. “You promised to put the cop to rest.”
She laughed.
Danny said, “Rosie, you have got to quit encouraging his tedious witticisms.”
“Well, I kind of like them.” She walked over to the television cabinet and opened its doors. While she set things up, Erik directed the others to hush.
Within moments background music played and the television screen displayed opening credits. Rosa Maria Delgado: A Tribute. Created and produced by Erik Beaumont, with all my heart and some help from Nathan Warner.
Rosie said, “Did I die?”
Her father harrumphed. He was a large man and did it well. “Rosita!” he snapped. “Have some respect for this gringo.”
She smiled.
The video continued. There was a biography complete with old photographs of Rosie as a little girl with her now-deceased mother. Esteban talked through much of it. Family friends were interviewed. Then the Beaumont interviews began. Along with Claire’s rambling—Erik had not cut a word of it—the others spoke about meeting Rosie. While Claire had reminisced about her time with Rosie after the shooting, Max and his parents described the incredible moment she brought Tuyen into their home for the first time. Danny and Lexi remembered Rosie as a kind policewoman who offered to help them in spite of the fact she had arrested their brother.
Like Claire, they all revealed a profound fondness for her. Danny stated solemnly that although she revealed a serious lack of judgment by dating Erik, he was grateful for the attention she gave the hopeless, troubled man.
Esteban took center stage again. He faced the camera, his native Mexican features drawn together in a somber pose. “Rosita, the following message has been approved of and paid for by me, your father.”
“Not paid for.” Erik’s voice was in the background.
“But the words flow well, don’t you think?” He grinned.
The scene was replaced by Erik seated on the same couch. He wore a dark suit and red tie from his TV anchorman days and smiled the killer smile that accounted for his 80-percent female audience.
“Rosie,” he said. The camera followed him as he slid onto one knee on the floor. “I love you dearly. Will you marry me, please?” He held out a ring. The camera focused in on a diamond sparkle, and then the screen darkened, the music f
aded.
The group was hushed. Claire glanced around through her tears and saw Lexi, Jenna, Tuyen, and Indio wiping their own. Nathan, Kevin, and Danny grinned. Ben looked as smug as if he’d thought the whole thing up himself. Max took her hand.
Erik dug into his jeans pocket and knelt before Rosie. Like on the video, he held out a diamond.
Rosie appeared to be in a state of shock. “You wanted witnesses, didn’t you?”
He shook his head. “Backup. We all love you.”
“I suppose if I marry you, I get the whole family?”
He grinned. “Yeah.”
“Then yes.” A smile lit up her face. She sniffed, cried, and giggled.
A collective “Aww” went round the room and then pandemonium erupted with cheers, hugs, and a much-admired diamond sliding onto Rosie’s finger.
Claire melted into Max’s embrace and whispered a prayer of thanks. Erik had really taken the step she feared he might never have found strength to take. And Rosie was ready to meet him in it.
Would Nathan and Lexi get to that place? And Tuyen? Hawk was a comfort to her. Could he settle into marriage?
Kevin’s physical healing set records. He would get his prostheses in a couple weeks. Skin grafting would be done on his left arm and make the burns less obvious. Emotionally, though, would he and Jenna ever be ready for a child?
And Danny and Skylar. Could any more bricks have been thrown onto their path?
Max kissed the top of her head. “You’re thinking too much.”
“What?”
“I can hear the gears clicking and clacking from here.”
She smiled. He knew her too well.
How did Indio do it? Steer the tandem, serve as matriarch, cover them all with consistent prayer—and yet not be always tied up in knots?
She watched her mother-in-law hugging Rosie, struck again with the woman’s peace in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. “God is good” would be pouring from her lips into Rosie’s ear.
God was indeed good. And He was the One who steered the tandem from up front.
Claire hugged Max and consciously took her foot off the imaginary brake. She wasn’t in charge.
Epilogue
Seven months later
Few things unhinged Jenna Beaumont Mason. She could do cool, calm, and collected. She could do serene. She could go with the flow. She could chill.
