by Sally John
“Now why would I think of taking it down?”
He raised bushy brows. His eyes, blue as the desert sky, did not twinkle. He placed an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “Because Max’s family just got a big ol’ hole in it.”
Fifteen
The ripple effect was going to unravel her.
Seated on the floor beside her open suitcase, Claire rummaged through clothes, unable to decide what to put on. Her earlier sense of comfort dwindled as she thought about the impact of her actions on others.
Max had a migraine.
Indio and Ben, the dearest of in-laws, were hurt.
Jenna was upset. Her distraught birthday call moments before had indicated she’d neared basket-case level.
Which would make Kevin unhappy. He would take sides.
Then Jenna would take sides. If she succumbed to that misrepresented submissive role so perfectly modeled by Claire, then her side would be the same as Kevin’s.
Which would be Max’s side, because now that Claire felt safe enough to admit it, Kevin had a chauvinistic streak as wide as a six-lane freeway.
She didn’t want anybody taking sides!
Lexi was scared, Erik encouraging—although in a detrimental way—Danny too hung up on pat answers that would, in the end, let him down.
Tandy empathized to the unhealthy point of overeating and over-drinking. Then reversed her original opinion and concluded that Max was, after all, exactly like Trevor the Toad.
Was that supposed to help?
And what of Max’s business associates? Neva and Phil—
“Claire?” There was a rap on the door.
“Come in, Tandy.”
Her friend opened the door and gazed at the mess. “Whoa! I told you the closet is yours. And three drawers in the dresser.”
“If I move in, then that means I’ve really and truly moved out.”
“Aw, Claire,” Tandy whispered. “It just means you’d rather not live in a chaotic environment even for a day or two.”
“Oh, I don’t know—Why are you whispering and shutting the door?”
Tandy leaned back against it and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought it best to let you whine in private for a few moments. Gather your wits about you, as they say.” Her smile faltered.
“No.” Claire groaned.
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“He’s here?”
Tandy nodded. “With birthday gift and flowers in hand.”
“I’m not even dressed yet. I’m not ready— Tandy, what do I do?”
“Take a deep breath. Get dressed.” Her friend shrugged. “Smell the roses. Open the gift. And don’t give in.”
Melodic strains of Bach’s Mass in B Minor trailed Claire down the hall. They emanated from the direction of Tandy’s room. She’d promised to soak in the tub, out of earshot, with the CD volume on high.
Claire paused in the kitchen doorway and watched Max standing near the sink, coffee mug in hand, gazing out the window.
He was not a large man, but he somehow managed to fill the entire room. There had always been a presence about him. A solid-ity. It was one of the first things that attracted her to him.
He turned. Dark shadows ringed his eyes. “Hi.” He gave her a tiny smile.
She almost melted. What was she doing? “Hi.”
“Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. How’s your head?”
“It’s all right.”
“You didn’t have to drive all the way over here.”
“It’s your birthday.” He gestured toward the table. “Gift time. I thought I might still entice you to go to San Francisco. The plane’s ready. A pilot is on standby.”
She saw a dozen long-stemmed roses in a crystal vase. Red. Her favorite. A gold gift bag sat next to them. “Max, I’m not ready.”
“For San Francisco?”
“For San Francisco. For gifts. For you. For us. For anything that resembles life as we know it.”
“The status quo is so awful?”
She nodded. “It is so awful. I’m sorry.”
“I’m whisking you off to your favorite city! That’s so awful? I bought you diamonds! That’s so awful? Claire, I don’t understand this. We have a good life together. Yes, I admit, I’m a pain in the neck, that business preoccupies me at times, but—”
“At times?”
“All right, most of the time. But that’s probably a good thing. You wouldn’t want me around more than I already am.”
“You’re doing it again. Telling me what I wouldn’t want.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Max, I know what you’re just saying. You’re saying you like life the way it is. You like how we attend social-slash-business functions together. How I volunteer and keep us in the society columns. You like that I run our household. You like that I can entertain clients at the drop of a hat.”
“What is so awful about any of that? You like being sociable. And you have your own life, your music, your friends.”
She crossed her arms and frowned at the flowers. “Playing violin now and then with other wannabe musicians and dining out with Tandy maybe twice a month is hardly what I’d call my own life.” She snorted in frustration. “That’s not the point.”
“Then tell me what the point is so I know what I’m dealing with here!” His exasperated tone surpassed her own.
“I can’t.”
“Just try! Please.”
“You never listen.”
“Hey, you got my attention, all right? I am listening.”
Welcome back to your real world, she berated herself. Queen for a night with the kids. Safe and secure for half a morning while hiding out in Tandy’s guest room.
An image of a smiling Jenna flashed in her mind. “How high, Kev?”
How high, Max?
It was time to end it.
She pulled out a chair and sat, averting her eyes. “All right. Yes, on the surface, we have a good life. All our needs are met and then some. We have our health. We have friends. Our kids are gainfully employed.” She paused. “But two nights ago those kids made me feel like a queen. You made me feel like a scullery maid.”
“A scullery—That is totally ridiculous! A trip on a private jet and diamonds aren’t queen treatment? Not like—what did you call it?— first fiddle? What is wrong with you?”
“Why does something have to be wrong with me?” She looked up at him. “I’m just describing how I feel. There’s nothing right or wrong about how I feel.”
“It’s hormones, isn’t it?”
“Oh, honestly, Max! We can’t always reduce my feelings to that.”
“But why now? Why all of a sudden is the status quo so wrong?”
“Because the status quo requires me to live a charade. To ignore what I’m really feeling, maintain an even keel, not rock anybody’s boat. To bend to your every whim in order to keep you happy.” She took a quick breath. “This morning when I woke up, I felt safe, all warm and cozy and secure. Then I saw you, and, pfft. It vanished like a puff of smoke.”
He blinked a few times as if he’d been slapped in the face.
“Max, there is nothing you can fix. Just leave me alone.”
She slid from the chair and rushed down the hall, back toward her safe room.
Sixteen
Jenna greeted her dad at the door with a long, hard hug. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks for inviting me over.”
“No problem. Come inside.”
As he entered, Kevin shook his hand. “Hey, Max. How you doing?”
“ I’ve been better.” His attempt at a smile ended in a grimace.
Jenna studied her dad. Even if her mom hadn’t told her, she would have seen the signs. He’d had a migraine the night before. The remnants were still there in the haggard droop of his shoulders, the darker-than-dark eyes, the tousled hair that normally didn’t appear long enough to tousle.
“Si
t, Dad.” She pointed to the plate of dip and cut-up vegetables on the coffee table. “Munchies. Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. Want some iced tea?”
“Sure.”
Kevin wiggled his wrist, as if pouring from a bottle.
She shook her head.
His brows went up.
She widened her eyes and shook her head again.
Still looking at her, Kevin said, “Max, you want a beer instead?”
“Sounds even better.”
“When did you last take medication?” Jenna asked, glaring at Kevin.
Her father’s hand waved in dismissal. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Mason.”
“Dad.”
He leaned over and picked up a carrot stick. “Early this morning. Sevenish.” He scooped dip onto the carrot. “I should thank my lucky stars I never had you for a teacher.”
Kevin laughed as he strode toward the kitchen. “Some of the guys call her ‘Ms. Bullhead Mason.’”
“Not to my face.” Jenna tossed her head.
“I’m sure not.” Her dad smiled. “You get that streak from your mom.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. It was an old joke. Her mom didn’t have one ounce of mulish tendencies.
“Dad, I talked to her.”
“Mmm.” He chewed his carrot.
“I told her you were coming over.”
He nodded.
“She and Tandy and Lexi were going shopping today, then out for dinner.”
He swallowed. “Good. She should have fun on her birthday.” Kevin handed him a bottle. “Thanks, Kevin. Well, cheers.” He held it up. “To your mom.”
Kevin clanked his bottle against her dad’s. “Cheers to Claire.”
“Dad, we’re not taking sides.”
“I wouldn’t want you to, hon. Your mom needs some space, and I need to give it to her. Along with a few diamonds, I guess.”
“Diamonds?”
“She didn’t mention my gift?”
Jenna shook her head. “She said you went over to Tandy’s this morning.”
“I put my gift on the table. It was unopened when I left.”
“What was it?”
“Diamond necklace and earrings.”
Jenna sighed. “I’m sure she loves them. You are a generous gift giver, Dad. Extravagant.”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t always be, you know. Not in the beginning. Couldn’t afford more than one decent suit, let alone jewelry. Guess maybe I’m trying to make up for lost time.” His eyes flicked in her direction. “She did mention something she wants that’s beyond my means, though. Maybe that’s why she’s so bent out of shape.”
“What does she want?”
“She wants me to sell the agency.”
Jenna stared at him.
Kevin burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she said.
“It’s so totally inconceivable! I mean, it’s his life. Right, Max?”
He nodded. “I think the French call it raison d’être.”
“Dad, give me a break. The agency is your reason for being?”
“Hon, you know the history. I was sixteen when I got my first temp job. The industry saved my life. Those first jobs and relation-ships got me out of bed in the mornings and in bed most nights instead of out bar hopping. Years later I started helping other guys find jobs—all those losers I’d hung out with in school. It was the biggest high I’d ever flown. Not much has changed since those days.”
Jenna had no response. According to her grandmother, Max could easily have gone off the deep end if he hadn’t stumbled onto this passion. And, Nana always added, met her mom, who’d been his right hand in the early days.
Why did he always forget that part of the story?
Kevin leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “Did Claire give you any warning about what she was thinking?”
“No. It came totally out of the blue.”
“Sounds like unnecessary roughness on the playing field.”
“Dad, she gave you warnings.”
Both men turned to her, puzzled expressions on their faces.
“Whenever you show up late to something, she gets real quiet. Like at our wedding rehearsal. She totally checked out after you got there. Kevin’s mom thought she was sick. It happened at Nana and Papa’s anniversary dinner too. She usually buys a new outfit soon after. You know. Mall therapy.”
The guys exchanged a shrug.
“That’s a warning?” Kevin asked.
“It’s subtle, yeah, but this kind of stuff builds up. You know?”
Her dad shook his head. “Not exactly. Our schedules often conflict. She’s a busy woman. She understands. We’ve been like this since before you were born.”
“Okay. What about yesterday? She told you to stay home or else she’d be gone. That was pretty straightforward, I think.”
“Jen.” Kevin’s tone admonished. “We don’t want to get in the middle of it.”
She opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself. Somebody had to keep peace in their home. “You’re right.” She turned to her dad. “We’re just here to offer support. You don’t need our opinion.”
“Thanks. Speaking of support, Kevin . . . There seems to be a problem with my grill.”
Yeah. I meant to explain what happened with that.”
Her dad smiled. “The new parts will be in next week. You can come over and help me put them on. So how exactly did you and Erik dis-mantle it?”
Jenna headed to the kitchen. Dinner with the girls would have been a lot more fun.
Seventeen
Sunday evening, Claire set two iced teas on the kitchen table next to the vase of roses and the still-unopened gift bag. She sat. “Tandy, I’ll cook omelets for dinner.”
“Nah. I’m used to ordering from a restaurant.” Tandy stretched out, propping her feet on another chair. “There’s every kind of food imaginable just two miles down the road. No muss, no fuss.”
“I don’t mind. You worked all day.” Her friend was a real estate agent and had held two open houses that afternoon. “I napped all day.”
“I’m supposed to be pampering you, remember?”
“You are.”
They’d gone to the early service at Tandy’s church. It was larger and noisier than Claire’s, but it imparted a sense of peace. The sermon was about Jesus as the Lion of Judah, mighty protector of His people. She’d remembered again the stuffed lion from her child-hood, the security she received from holding it close. She slept away the afternoon and woke up still feeling snuggled in a cloak of safety.
The phone rang, and Tandy groaned. “I can’t remember why I decided to be a Realtor.”
Claire rose, plucked the cordless off the counter, and handed it to her friend. “Because you’re so good at it.”
“Yeah, right.” The phone rang again. “Which is why I still can’t make ends meet without the Toad’s monthly checks.”
Claire opened the refrigerator and tried not to think about Max mailing her a monthly check so she could pay rent and buy food until she . . . Until she what? Taught private violin lessons? Big money to be made in that. Plenty enough for Southern California living. Maybe he would direct deposit for her. That would ease the humiliation somewhat, not having to handle a piece of paper he had handled.
Tandy answered the phone. “Hello. This is Tandy Abbott.”
Claire bent over in front of the fridge and spotted eggs, green onions, cheese.
“Hi, Max.”
Cool air brushed her face. Claire squinted at the fridge’s bright light.
“Hold on.” Tandy paused. “Psst .”
Claire didn’t move.
“He says he has to ask you about the gardener and cleaning lady.”
“What’s to ask?” she muttered to the egg carton. “They come. They go.” Straightening, she shut the door, set the carton on the counter, and took the phone.
Tandy mouthed, “Be strong.”
She nodded. “Hi.”
> “Hi. Just wondering if there’s something I’m supposed to do for tomorrow. You know, household-wise.”
“Nope.” The cozy mantle of safety slid from her shoulders. Her arms prickled with goose bumps.
“Okay. Just thought I should ask.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“They know what to do?”
The mantle swished to the floor, soft folds piling about her feet.
“Claire?”
“Yes, they know what to do.”
“All right. You ready to talk yet?”
“No.”
“Should we call a counselor? Hon, I’ll do anything. Oh . . . wait, hold on a sec. Phil, it’s over there. Ask Neva— Sorry, Claire.” His voice became muffled as if he was pressing the phone against his shirt.
Claire jerked the phone away from her ear and looked at it. Unbelievable. She hit the Off button.
“What?” Tandy asked.
“He told me to hold on.”
“Cheeky.”
“Yeah.” Anger darted through her. “He was talking to Neva and Phil.”
“Claire, don’t let him get to you.”
“Guess it’s party time. Too bad they can’t grill.”
“In all fairness, maybe he just needed to be with friends, like you with me.”
“Phil, yes. But Neva?” Old, unfounded fears jumped into her imagination.
“Let it go, Claire.”
“Tandy, the mind reader.” She tightened her grip on the phone and clenched her other hand into a fist. “The woman has spent more of the past thirty years with him than I have!”
“It’s the nature of the modern business world. Let me repeat, Max is not like Trevor.”
“Oh! It doesn’t really matter. If Neva wants him, she can have him.”
“So you found eggs?”
The phone rang.
Claire set the phone on the counter and held up her hands as if warding off an attacker. “No way.”
They listened to six more rings. Tandy’s machine picked up.
Max’s voice came through. “Claire, we got cut off.” Silence. “Claire, I know you’re there. Pick up, please.”