by Sally John
The swarm of bees, which now included Max and Ben, accompanied Claire and Indio upstairs to a room with two beds. Jenna burst into tears over their hospital gowns and stark surroundings. She promised to pack nighties and cosmetics for her mom and grandma; Kevin promised to deliver them to the hospital.
Claire was content just to wash her face with soap and water. It didn’t matter what she slept in or that her hair smelled of smoke.
Eventually the young people were ushered out, Ben in tow. Claire overheard plans for dinner and talk about dibs on showers and on the few beds still available at the house. Evidently they all were stay-ing, these siblings who didn’t even see each other on a monthly basis.
Max did not leave with them, and another disagreement ensued. He informed a nurse that he was spending the night in plain sight of his wife and his mother. The sweet-faced woman wasn’t crazy about the idea.
In the midst of the argument, Max’s phone rang. Claire recognized the ring. “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.” It was a joke, rooted in an office party the previous year. The party involved karaoke and Neva and that particular song and Max refusing to sing it with her. Everyone booed until he finally got up and sang.
Claire had smiled through the whole evening, not flustered in the least.
Soon after that night, his cell phone was programmed to play the tune as the ID ring for Neva’s calls.
Max answered it now. “Hi . . . We’re doing great.” He filled in details. “Claire and Mom have to stay overnight, but they’re just fine.” He listened for a while. He gave instructions concerning a second-shift manager. He said good-bye. “Neva sends you her love.”
Since when would Neva send her love?
The nurse plucked the phone from Max’s hand. “If you think you’re staying, this is staying with me.”
Winsome Max smiled and shrugged.
It also didn’t matter to Claire where any of them stayed.
She obsessed over the odd sensation of her organs shutting down. She imagined them shrinking, curling up to resemble dried fruit. When would her heart go? Would it go for lack of water or for other lacks? Lacks of words, emotions, thoughts, dreams. Would that do it?
The nurse offered her a sleeping aid.
She whispered, her throat raw, “Please.” She swallowed a pill. “The firemen?”
“Here and gone. They’re fine.”
The fog, thicker than the last one, welcomed her.
Seventy-four
Hallelujah.” Indio’s tone had lost its typical forceful delivery. She nearly whispered her favorite word from the backseat of Max’s car. “We are out of the hospital.”
Claire turned halfway around from the front seat and reached back to squeeze Indio’s hand. Her mother-in-law appeared the worse for wear. Claire ached for her, for the loss of her home, for the excruciating endurance test of the fire, for the experience of being poked with needles and spending the night in the hospital without Ben.
Evidently Claire’s heart hadn’t shriveled up. When she awoke, it felt quite heavy.
“Dear.” Indio smiled. “We will get through this.”
Claire nodded and turned again to the front.
Beside her, Max drove. He said, “They say this sickly gloom might last a week. Jenna and Kevin’s school is closed. Most of them are.”
Ash fell like a fine snow and covered everything. Traffic was light, uncharacteristic for a weekday morning. Side streetlamps glowed.
She said, “It’s so eerie.”
“Yeah,” Max agreed. “It makes me feel like I’m in the middle of a bad disaster movie.” He glanced at her. His eyes were puffy, his face haggard, his clothes a wrinkled mess.
He’d spent the night in a recliner in their room. The nurse couldn’t find a cot for him but had furnished a blanket and pillow. He hadn’t slept well.
“You’ve lost that lovin’ feeling . . .” His phone rang out.
Claire’s heart went heavy again. With a start she realized it had lightened momentarily when a connection flashed between her and Max. Her glimpse of a caring husband released the weighty load.
Then his phone rang.
And now he answered it.
“Excuse me.” He pulled it from his pocket. “Hello . . . Yes . . . No. . . Just on our way home. I’m not coming in today . . . Have Phil look into that . . . Really? Okay . . . I’ll call you later. A long, hot shower is about all I can think about right now.” He closed the phone. “We’re getting calls already for workers for all kinds of fire-related situations. Turns my stomach thinking we’ll benefit from this tragedy.”
They rode in silence, through stoplights, onto a freeway ramp.
“Claire, would you hand me my Bluetooth, please?” He referred to his phone’s earpiece, the gadget that allowed him to talk without letting go of the steering wheel. “It’s in the glove compartment. I have to touch base with—”
She tuned him out. No reason not to return his favor in like manner.
The buzzing swarm of busy bees greeted them outside the house. “Welcome home! Welcome home!”
Claire couldn’t help but smile at the wild sight.
Max put his arm around her shoulders. “We do have a colorful bunch of kids, don’t we?”
“Mm-hmm. They must get it from their grandparents. Look at that.”
Ben pushed others aside to reach Indio. Barefoot, he wore a fancy green silk shirt that had to have come from Erik’s closet, and too-short sweatpants, probably Danny’s. With a loud hurrah, he scooped up his wife and carried her across the threshold.
Max chuckled.
“They’re such special people,” she said. “All night long your dad was this solid presence, and your mom kept our spirits up. I don’t understand why they had to go through this.” She brushed tears from her eyes. “Guess I got all rehydrated. Now I can cry some more.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“I just want a bath. I promised Lexi homemade chocolate chip cookies. We don’t have any clothes that would fit Nana. None of us have driver’s licenses or credit cards. All the photographs are gone. The mementos. Books. Your dad’s truck. We need to—”
“Claire, shh.” He pulled her to himself. “Shh. It’s okay. Every-thing is okay.”
She didn’t believe him. He had left her as recently as ten minutes ago with his phone conversations in the car. He would leave her again. He was not there for her Monday night. She had closed herself off from him years ago. She had hurt him, and he hadn’t forgotten.
A fire did not sweep history under the rug.
But for now she clung to him and to their masquerade.
Bear hugs and coffee and conversation welcomed Claire into the kitchen. No one was going to work; they promised to shop for Nana and Papa’s immediate needs and to cook dinner. Jenna told her in no uncertain terms to take a break from being “The Mom.”
By the time she finished a long, hot soak in the bath, everyone had scattered. She turned off the television, with its blare of continued sad news, and went into the backyard. Miles from the fire that was now under control, the yellow gloom and smoky scent persisted. Ash dusted everything and slimed the surface of the pool with a gray film. Where someone had swept the patio, charcoal black streaks remained.
She should go indoors and get away from the reminders. But she craved the wide sky and green grass and yellow flowers. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she sat on a lounge chair and fell asleep.
The sound of the sliding door opening woke her. Tandy and Max walked from the house. What an odd sight, she thought. Side by side, cordial expressions on their faces.
Claire stood to hug Tandy.
“Oh, Claire,” she cried. “Thank God. Thank God.”
Claire smiled and nodded through her own tears.
Max set a bottle of water and a travel mug on the table beside her. “Ta-da. Latte. Two shots of espresso, 2 percent milk, frothed to per-fection. I made it myself.”
Tand
y said, “I watched him. He really did.”
“Thanks.”
Max said, “Be sure to drink the water. Can I get you anything else? Jenna and I are going to the market in a few minutes.”
She settled back onto the chair. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Call my cell if there’s anything you want.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Be well.”
More strange developments—the kisses, the hovering. The market?
As he walked away, Tandy pulled a chair nearer hers and sat down. “How you doing?”
“Tired of being asked that question.”
“You’ve only been home for a few hours. You can’t be tired of it yet.” She leaned her head back against the chair. “How’s Indio?”
“Napping with Ben in the guest room.”
“Claire, do you want to talk about it?”
“It was so awful.”
Her friend said nothing.
Claire swung her feet to the ground. “Let’s go bake some cookies.”
To Alexis!” Amid family cheers and the clanking of spoons against water goblets, Erik raised his glass. “Long live our heroine!”
Jenna said, “May she be granted much prosperity.”
“And health,” Danny added.
“And Zak, the fireman.” Erik grinned.
Lexi wadded up her linen napkin and threw it at him. Everyone laughed.
Claire smiled. Seeing her family gathered around the dining room table felt like a salve on her still-open wounds. It was Christmas and birthdays all wrapped into one giant celebration.
The house was filled with life as never before. Except for a trip to the grocery store, Max had been there all day. Erik, Danny, Lexi, Jenna, and Kevin had been in and out but planned to spend another night. That meant couches for her sons, but they said they didn’t mind. Of course, Ben and Indio, Samson, and Willow had nowhere else to go.
Claire ached especially for her in-laws, but they exchanged frequent smiles and spoke only thoughtful words of gratitude that they were alive. Indio’s hallelujahs punctuated every other sentence.
“Claire.” Max winked at the other end of the table and in the midst of the rowdy talk mouthed the words “Drink up.”
She gazed at her full glass of water. Yes, she should drink up. And she should drink in the moment, flood her soul with the goodness it offered.
Because it was fleeting.
Seventy-five
Max sat on the edge of their king-size bed and stroked Claire’s hand. She was curled on her side under a mound of covers.
Other than their brief moment on the front lawn that morning, this was their first chance to be alone.
The truth was, she scared him. Her reactions were slow, her smile hesitant, her eyes not always focused. The magnitude of what had happened was not lost on him. She had nearly died in a fire. She endured an inconceivable night fleeing from it. And now, through no choice of her own, really, she was back at her house with her husband, both of which she had left two months ago.
“So,” he said, “welcome home.”
She blinked, a long, slow drifting of her eyelids.
“Crazy day, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Claire.” His throat tightened. “Please talk to me. That fireman, Eddie, he told me you were sick, that you cried a lot.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice was still a hoarse whisper.
“I need to hear about it.”
“Ask your dad.”
“I want your version.”
“Max, you know my version.”
“I don’t know—”
Her gaze cut him to the quick.
Yes, he knew. “I wasn’t there.”
She shut her eyes, pulled her hand from his, and slid it under the pillow. “I needed you so badly. I called you, and I asked you to come, but you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Her breathing grew deep. She had taken one of the sleeping pills the doctor sent home with her.
Now, as tears seeped from his eyes, he watched her drift into sleep and travel far from him.
He had absolutely no clue how to make it up to her.
Max surveyed the guest room. Originally Jenna’s bedroom, it was fairly large, with space for extras, including two upholstered arm-chairs and a desk.
“Son.” Ben chuckled from a chair. “You don’t have to tuck us in.”
Max shifted his weight to the other foot and glanced at the silk flower arrangements and the floral bedspread. Except for Claire’s office, it was the one room in the house she’d decorated without regard to his opinion.
He said, “You’re comfortable enough? It’s a little froufrou in here.”
“Beats the heck out of an ash heap.”
“Yeah. I suppose so.” He crossed his arms. “Do you want me to talk to the insurance guy?”
“I think I can handle it.”
“Let’s visit the truck dealer tomorrow. Get you some new wheels. Cash flow is not a problem, you know. I’ll help.”
“I appreciate that, but it can wait. Jenna said their school is closed for the rest of the week. She offered me her car. Guess who I just talked to.”
“Who?”
“Kennedy.” Del Kennedy was a rancher to the south of the Hideaway boundary line. “He’s got my horses. Found them this after-noon. All except Chester.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“There’s a lesson in there somewhere. Chester’s the one I hung on to, thinking I could save him. Then he’s the one I lose.” Ben shook his head. “The sheriff said he’d keep an eye on the place, but we should go and sift through things soon. And your mother wants to get her crosses.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Max—”
“Dad, I should have been there for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t. I’m here now.”
“Sit down.”
He sank onto the foot of the bed.
“Listen.” Ben leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and lacing his fingers together.
Max willed himself to be still, to look directly into the blue eyes that had, more often than not, condemned him his entire life.
“Son, none of this is your fault. The house would have burned if you’d been there. We easily could have stayed too long if you’d been there. Hindsight, the back entrance to the gold mine was our only escape, which you would have thought of—maybe even before Lexi did—if you’d been there. But she got us there safely without you.”
“But I could have helped in other ways.”
“Yes, you could have. But it’s over, and we’re all fine. Just a little worse for the wear.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you. Will you forgive me?”
“And me?” Indio entered the room and shut the door.
Max watched her walk over to his dad. She draped her arm over Ben’s shoulders. They looked at him expectantly. He intuited their drift.
“Guys,” he said, “we’ve been here before. You’re sorry for placing BJ on a pedestal and not me, even though, given our two characters, it was a perfectly natural thing for you to do. It’s over and done with. I told you years ago that I forgave you.”
Ben said, “This is a little different.” His smile was sad. “Blame it on foxhole epiphanies.”
“What’s that?”
“Sitting in a hole in the ground, wondering if fire and smoke would do us in.”
Or sitting at a lookout point, wondering if I would ever hold Claire again.
Ben went on. “The other night, we thought a lot about death. You know our faith. You know we don’t fear going to meet our Maker. But . . .” He threw a sidelong glance at Indio. “I deeply grieve how I’ve pushed you away.”
Max stared at his father, unsure he’d heard correctly.
“Son, you dragged us through a lot of manure over the years. You can’t lay all the blame for that at our feet. At some point you became responsible for your o
wn choices. I forgive you. We forgive you. We hope you can forgive yourself. And I . . . I hope you can forgive me, because your choices were rooted in the way I treated you.”
His mother wiped at the corner of her eye. “And in the way I treated you. I am sorry.”
Max’s throat closed up.
Indio said, “Yes, you told us years ago that you forgave us. But, well, it’s been obvious you haven’t. We don’t hold that against you. It’s for your own sake we hope you can truly forgive us.”
Their words resonated within him. It was all true. They’d admitted they were wrong in how they’d treated him, how they compared him to BJ, how they expected more from him than he could deliver. He’d glibly offered forgiveness and then, for twenty-five years, abused their confession. He took it as vindication for his own behavior. He was above reproach. He was righteous. He didn’t need them.
He’d been such a fool.
“Oh God, help me.” His voice broke.
Ben nodded. “Yes. Exactly.”
Max sat alone on the patio, in the dark. No stars shone; the strange, smoky cloud cover still blanketed the sky. Oddly, it did not matter. For the first time he was seeing his own version of starlight.
He had been in the dark forever, his mind filled with a smoky gray blanket that obstructed his view of reality. Now, after unprecedented tears and a true heart connection with his parents, it was lifting. He could see life as it was, not as how he imagined it to be.
He had held life at arm’s length. Feelings did not exist because he never peered close enough to see them. In truth, the emotion that fueled his life was fear. He feared losing Claire, his children, his business. He feared the pain that always accompanied the mention of BJ. He feared being a disappointment to his parents. By living out of his fears, he had let everyone down, himself included.
The fire had thrown all this in his face, forcing him to acknowledge it . . . for a brief period. But with everyone’s physical safety had come a release from that pressure. No need to address it—they could all happily revert to the status quo.
But no one had cooperated with him. One look at Claire and he knew there was no going back. One look at the kids and he knew the fire was not the only thing that haunted them. One conversation with his parents and he knew they weren’t about to let go of him.