How dare they change the rules?
How she wished again for a mother she could run to. Granny G was wonderful, but she was Granny G, not Maman. "Why were you always late to everything, Maman? Why couldn't you be on time, just that one time? Ten minutes earlier and you and Papa would still be here."
~ ~ ~
Any other night, John would have gone to bed by ten and slept like the dead, waking up just enough to greet her when she crawled in bed beside him. But in the hours she'd been gone, his need for her had only grown. In the deepest recesses of his mind, he longed for her the way a child does for his mother, the solace of being held to her soft breasts, a soothing voice murmuring in his ear that she loved him and was proud of him. It disconcerted him a bit to think about Renata that way, but it was the kind of comfort he needed tonight.
By 10:30, she still wasn't home, and he began to worry. He didn't want to call her, didn't want to intrude on her time with her sisters, but Renata was the kind of person who, when she was more than a few minutes later than planned, always called him. Without fail.
The show he'd turned on couldn't hold his attention, and the late night commercials exploiting sex and glamorizing ungodly lifestyles, the ones he could usually tune out, really bothered him tonight. He was a wreck and he needed his wife.
John flipped the television off and sat in the resonating silence, listening for the low hum of her engine, tires on the driveway. Only the light over the kitchen sink was still on, but it cast a peaceful glow over the open floor plan. His eyes rested on Harry and Sally, knowing the dogs would hear Renata's car long before he did.
Finally giving in to his growing anxiety, he called her cell phone, but didn't leave a message. Ten minutes later, he tried again and asked her to call him as soon as she could. And ten minutes after that, he called again, and when he still couldn't reach her, he dialed Juliette's phone. In a sleepy voice she answered, then offered to come stay with the kids while he went looking for his wife.
John was just shoving his arms into his jacket when he heard the garage door go up, then saw headlights flash across the front window. His heart, he was sure, paused to listen, too, and he pressed a hand over his chest in a subconscious effort to remind it to start beating again. He texted Juliette to let her know not to come, then laid his phone, keys, and wallet on the counter. He removed his jacket, tossed it over the back of the sofa, and went to the sink to get a glass of water, his throat painfully dry.
The last time he'd felt this needy, this impotent, was when his wife lay screaming in a hospital bed, trying to deliver a nine pound baby into the world. He was a man, for crying out loud. His hands weren't supposed to shake and his knees wobble.
She slipped in from the garage, obviously trying to be as quiet as she could, but stopped abruptly when she saw him standing at the sink.
"Oh!" she gasped, her voice hushed. "You're awake."
"Where have you been?" The question came out like a gunshot and he saw her flinch. "I've been worried sick," he amended, his voice gentler, but still gruff.
"I'm okay. I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd wait up." She kept her face angled away, but he knew her better than anyone, and he could tell she'd been crying. "I just had a few things to think about after our meeting, and I needed a little extra quiet time."
"A little extra time? Renata, you left Juliette's house almost three hours ago! Why didn't you answer your phone?" He took a step toward her, but she turned away and crossed to the closet by the front door, shrugging out of her coat. He followed, taking it from her, and hanging it up for her.
She still wouldn't look at him, but when she spoke, it was his turn to flinch. "I didn't want to talk to you, John. I needed some time to myself. I didn't want to have to explain anything, not in the condition I was in, a condition you're obviously already aware of since you must have spoken to one of my sisters." The word came out harsh, full of venom. "I needed to sort things out on my own. I didn't mean to worry you," she said again.
"What did you expect, Renata? We do care about you, you know." She rolled her eyes, but in the low light, he saw them fill with tears again, and he reached for her, pulling her hard up against his chest in a fierce hug, battling with the need to comfort her and attack her at the same time.
"Why didn't you just come home?" he murmured against her spiky hair, so unfamiliar against his cheek. He stepped back and released her, but she didn't answer.
"You could have at least called to tell me you were going to be late." He scrubbed the top of his head with both hands in frustration at the stubborn expression on her face. "I would have left you alone, you know. You could have taken a bath, sat in the room by yourself, whatever. We do have doors here." He turned and crossed back to the sink where he'd left his glass of water. He needed to stop talking. "You could always just ask for some privacy and close the door. At least we would have known where you were, that you were alive and not lying on the side of the road somewhere."
"I wasn't ready to come home, John. Give me a break."
He stared at her, the battle heating up inside him. "Give you a break? A break from what, might I ask?"
She just stood there in the entryway, poised as though uncertain whether to come inside or turn and leave again.
"For Pete's sake, Renata! Why do you have to be so selfish? Why can't you think about me? About your family? Doesn't it matter to you that we were all worried out of our minds? Sitting by their phones, wondering, waiting, praying that you're alive! What is wrong with you?" He was pacing again, anger winning this round. "Snap out of it, Renata! You're not an island, you know. You're my wife and I need you. I love you, woman. Your sisters do, too." He gestured down the hall where he hoped the boys still slept. He lowered his voice, but it still rang with his wrath. "And I'm sorry about the miscarriages. I really am. But you still have four other children who need you, too. You're still a part of this family, whether you like it or not!"
Her eyes widened at those words and he knew he'd gone too far. She blinked once, quite slowly, then turned and walked away from him toward their bedroom. She didn't close the door, and for a moment, he wondered if he was supposed to follow her. He stood there, undecided, but then he heard the door to their bathroom close softly.
When she came out an hour later, he was in bed, wide awake and dreading the early morning looming when he'd have to deal with more McCain. He was in desperate need of a good night's sleep, but he didn't see that happening. He wasn't angry at Renata anymore, not really. But worry had replaced the frustration and ate at him in a different way. He wanted his wife back; that was all there was to it, and he was getting tired of clawing through her defenses to find her.
He'd left her bedside lamp on and lay facing her side of the bed, unwilling to let her get in without dealing with him. She moved around the room, putting things away and straightening the few things out of order on her dresser, every action intentional and smooth, but he could tell in the way she held her shoulders that she knew he was awake and watching. The room filled with the fragrance of her, a citrus and rose lotion she used after her baths, one that made him want to press his face to her skin. He resisted the urge to speak first, to beckon her to his side.
"You were right, John," she said without looking at him.
He waited, not breathing, just waited. Finally, she crossed to the bed, removed her robe, and slipped beneath the covers beside him. She wore one of the silky little nightgowns she liked far more than he did because the fabric caught and snagged on his work-roughened hands. Her face was in shadows now, the lamp shining from behind her, and he reached out and cupped her cheek, bridging the gap between them.
"I'm not doing so well and I know it. I need to get away. Alone." She covered his hand with her own, then brought it to her lips and planted a kiss on his palm. "I'm going to take a few days up at the cabin, okay? I'll call Gia and see if she can help out with the kids. Maybe she can even stay here. She doesn't mind sleeping on the couch."
"Aren't you going to pray for us?" she asked, as he started to roll away from her. John prayed for them every night.
"I already did." He settled onto his side, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders.
"Without me here?"
"Yes." He kept his back to her, wondering if she'd turn over and read or press her body against his back. He felt her shift away from him and he sighed, begging sleep to come quickly.
The lamp went off.
"John Allen Dixon, are you pouting?" And then she was there, sliding her arms around his waist beneath the blankets. "Aren't you a little big for that?" she whispered. "I'm sorry, John-boy. I love you."
He wanted to be done with the turbulence of the night. He needed to turn over and take her in his arms and tell her all was forgiven, that everything was all right.
But he didn't. Instead, he reached back and gave her hip a placating pat over the covers. "I'm not pouting. I'm tired. Exhausted. Work is terrible and I just need some sleep before I have to get up and face another day of listening to McCain bludgeon us all with his know-how, proving his lack thereof. I was hoping for a peaceful evening at home, a little down time with you, but that didn't happen. I'm all good with that. I understand you needed your time to yourself, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't wish things had gone differently tonight. I forgive you, and I love you, too." He checked his alarm clock one more time, then put his head back on the pillow. "Go to sleep, Renata."
"You need to kiss me goodnight, John. Always kiss me goodnight." Now she was pouting.
He turned briefly, puckered his lips, waited for her to come to him, then rolled back on his side away from her. "I love you, Renata Dixon."
"I love you, too," she whispered in the dark.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The road snaked out in front of her as she listened to the deep-voiced crooner on the radio. She'd downloaded several audiobooks, knowing she wouldn't be able to tolerate just listening to music during the long hours behind the wheel. The first book she'd put in had been a terrible flop, though. The woman who read sounded like she needed to swallow, and by the end of the first chapter, Renata was so grossed out, she turned it off and put on the music instead. She wasn't daunted; she had four more books to choose from when she was ready, and thankfully, none of them were read by the same narrator.
February in Southern California brought weather as unpredictable as the earthquakes the state was known for, and this week was looking to be right on track. Between dark-bellied clouds casting moving shadows, shafts of sunlight beaconed the wet ground, causing everything to sparkle as though the earth had been sprinkled with glitter. She'd taken the back roads toward the mountains, staying off the dirty, crowded freeways as much as she could. She didn't usually mind them—they were a necessary evil for California residents—but today, she had no desire to mingle with humanity, and was enjoying the drive through smaller communities and farmlands, horses, cattle, and even llama dotting hillsides and pastures.
Grandpa and Granny G had a cabin on the outskirts of Lake Arrowhead, a piece of property they'd purchased before it became a resort town. It was worth a chunk of cash now, but they had no intention of selling it any time soon. At the back of the property was a small cottage they rented out at a greatly reduced rate to a fellow who looked after the cabin during the Gustafsons' long absences. Toby had been living in that cottage for as long as Renata could remember, and even though he kept to himself whenever any of the Gustafson gang showed up, he was like a fixture on the property, his presence a comfort and security.
She'd been on the road for over an hour and still could hardly believe she was doing it. The boys, of course, had been shocked and a little dismayed, but John had assured them in his calming way that everything was fine. Renata sighed as she recalled the talk they'd had last week.
"For her birthday, Mommy's taking a little vacation of her own, guys. Kinda like I do when I go hunting."
"She's going hunting? I thought she hated killing things." Simon. Ever forthright. He was sprawled on his back at her feet, hands laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
"She's not going hunting. She's just going on a vacation."
"From us?" Levi's large eyes reminded her of Juliette's.
"No, honey. I don't need a vacation from you. It's not that kind of trip." She ran a palm over the top of his head and drew him close. She was sitting on the sofa with Judah on one side, Levi on the other.
"I don't get it," Reuben interjected. "What do you need a vacation from, then?" He was sitting at the counter doing homework. "I mean, when we go on summer vacation, it's cuz we need a break from school. When our family goes on family vacation, we go cuz we need a vacation from normal life, as you always say."
"Reuben, do you remember our conversation the other day? About me being sad? If you need a really basic reason, it's because I need a vacation from being sad. But more than that, it's because I need some time away to sort out why I'm sad." She tried not to sound defensive and hoped the boys would accept her answer. She honestly didn't know how to explain it any better.
"Are you going to come home?"
"Of course, Levi. Of course I'm coming home." She gave his shoulders a squeeze. "I'll just be gone for a week."
They hadn't stopped asking her questions about where she was going, what she would be doing, if she would have birthday cake without her, what she planned on bringing home for them. They were thrilled that Gia was going to stay with them, even though Renata warned them that it was not going to be a week-long slumber party.
When Gia came by to get the last of her instructions and keys, she hugged Renata warmly as soon as she walked through the door. "I'm glad you're getting away, Rennie."
"Oh, I've wanted to do this for a while. I haven't been up to the cabin in ages. In fact, I haven't done anything alone in ages and it's kind of exciting, you know?" She sounded overly bright to her own ears, but she didn't want to answer any more questions than she had on the phone earlier. Yes, I'm okay. No, I'm not mad at you, Georgia. Yes, John is fine with me going. He thinks it's a great idea. Yes, the boys know. No, I haven't told Juliette or Phoebe. Why should I?
But Gia didn't seem to notice her forced cheer. "Well, I'm really praying that you have some special one-on-one time with God while you're away. I totally believe He has something special planned. Something He really wants you to hear."
~ ~ ~
It had snowed in the mountains quite a bit this winter, and for that, all of Southern California was happy. The snow brought tourists to the ski towns like Lake Arrowhead, which translated into money and work for the locals, but it also meant water to the valley once the snow started melting. Besides all that, it was just lovely to come up from the muddy, slushy chill of rain in the lowlands to the pristine mountain air, the land covered in white like the frosting on a wedding cake. The snow plows had been through recently, so the roads were clear, and even with the heavy clouds and smattering of sleet, the drive was uneventful and relaxing.
Approaching the cabin, she smiled to see that Toby had shoveled the driveway for her. Grandpa had called ahead to let him know she was coming and she was pretty sure she'd find the place already warmed by the furnace and a supply of chopped wood stacked by the fireplace to boot.
Taking her keys from the ignition, she climbed out of her Pilot, making certain to step down carefully so she didn't slip, but the grit of rock salt under the sol
es of her boots told her Toby had gone the extra mile. She glanced down the side of the lot toward the cottage and waved, knowing he was watching for her even if she couldn't see him. Job done, he'd not bother her while she was here.
"Brr." She muttered, her fleece cardigan not warm enough in the mountain chill.
Renata lugged her suitcase up the front steps, shoved open the sticky front door, and the welcoming warmth of the rustic home drew her like a mother's arms into its bosom.
The open floor plan of the downstairs made the cabin feel large and spacious. A gigantic stone fireplace dominated one wall; furniture groupings broke up the space into living room, dining room, and kitchen. Area rugs covered sections of the old hardwood floors, lending an added layer of comfort to the ambiance.
Renata started up the stairs to stow her things in the bedroom she and John always used when they came, the room she and Juliette shared when it was just the girls, but three steps up, she stopped short.
"Where do you want to sleep tonight, Renata?" she asked aloud, realizing anew that she had no one to consider but herself. She stood there for several moments, contemplating her options.
Finally, she left her suitcase on the stairs and headed toward the kitchen. "I'll decide later," she proclaimed. "Because I can."
After rooting around a little to see what supplies she'd need for the week, she ate a piece of fruit and some crackers she'd brought with her to tide her over. Then she freshened up a bit, changed into her new leather jacket, and drove the ten minutes into the Village on the lake.
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