A Time to Mend

by Sally John

  She looked up at him, her eyes nearly swollen shut, tears seeping from them. “You can’t do this.”

  He knew what she’d learned at the lawyer’s office. With a rush of gratitude, he realized she understood. Selling the business was his ultimate sacrifice.

  “Why can’t I do this, Claire?”

  “Because I can’t take it from you.”

  “You’re not taking it. I’m giving it.”

  “Oh, Max!” She broke down completely and could speak no more.

  He wrapped his arms around her, his own tears falling freely on her hair.

  Eighty-eight

  When her cries subsided, Claire raised her head so she could see Max.

  He lowered his arms, and she straightened. His cheeks were damp, but he smiled gently.

  “It’s too much,” she blubbered.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it against her face. “Shh.”

  “I can’t make you give up your life.”

  “Claire, sweetheart, you’re not making me do anything. I’m done. I don’t want the business anymore. It’s kept me from you long enough.”

  Her throat squeezed nearly shut again. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never understood before.”

  “I can’t take this. I don’t deserve this. I’ve hurt you so much.”

  “We’ve both hurt each other.”

  “I held back, just like you said. I kept my heart closed off.”

  “You had to protect yourself. You had no reason to trust me.”

  “But I blamed you for my friendship with Petros. I thought I had a right to turn to him because I couldn’t turn to you. I am so sorry.”

  “It’s over.”

  Through blurry vision, she looked into his brown-black eyes, those dark pools she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. The dimple in his chin had deepened. She used to kiss it. There was more white than she remembered in his black hair, especially on the sides.

  Was he truly changed? Could she trust him with her whole heart? How could she know?

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Max, I’m doing it again.” She bit her lip.

  He blinked. “Doing what?”

  “Connecting with someone because he pays attention to me.” Max pressed his lips together.

  “He’s one of the firemen from that night.”

  “Eddie?”

  She nodded. “We talk, like a support group. He has a sort of steady lady friend, but still. Our friendship is turning into this deep emo-tional attachment just like before.”

  “Like before. You didn’t get what you needed from me. It’s my fault.”

  “No, it’s not, Max! It’s mine. Let me take ownership of my decisions. I can’t blame you anymore. I can’t blame my parents anymore.”

  He took a deep breath. “Do you love him?”

  “I don’t love anyone!” The awfulness of what she’d confessed raked through her and ripped open deep hurts. She cried out, “I’m so horrible. So ugly.”

  Max cupped her face in his hands. “Shh, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart again. The word touched her deep inside, a warm balm flowing over wounds. It soothed and softened.

  “You are so beautiful, inside and out. You’ll always be beautiful and precious to me. I love you, and I forgive you. No matter what you’ve done or not done, I forgive you.”

  “How can you?”

  “How can I not? Jesus forgives me.”

  She felt her eyes widen.

  “Yeah, I really said that.” He smiled. “It’s finally making sense, how stupid I’ve been, all the wrong choices I’ve made, how God loves me anyway, even though I don’t deserve it. Will you forgive me, though, for everything? I’ve shut you out of my life. I don’t want you out of my life any longer. I want you in it. Can you ever forgive me?” Her forehead against his, she whispered, “I forgive you.”

  “Thank you.” The words gushed as if a dam burst deep in his soul, releasing a flood of gratitude and hope.

  They sat for a long moment in silence.

  “Claire, I want to take his place.”

  The tears welled again.

  “Can I do that? Will you let me take Eddie’s place? Will you let me earn back your love?”

  “Ohhhhhh.” It was a drawn-out sigh. “Oh yes.”

  They walked through the twilight to her car. Max touched Claire’s arm whenever they stepped up and down curbs.

  She couldn’t recall him ever doing that.

  But she didn’t want to go there, into the past. She wanted to linger in the newness of her husband’s love and forgiveness. Undeserved. That was Jesus’s way. She’d forgotten.

  “Claire, what’s next? Where do we start over? How do we start over?”

  “I was just thinking how safe I feel. It’s like I’m wrapped in a safe, cozy, snuggly cocoon. I don’t have to come out yet, do I?”

  He chuckled. “We are at your car. I think we have to decide at least what we’re doing tonight.”

  She leaned against the car and looked at him.

  “What?”

  She smiled. “I’m waiting for you to tell me what we’re doing tonight.”

  He groaned. “I’m that bad.”

  “Yes, you are. Or were, anyway.”

  “Let’s go for ‘was.’ I was that bad. I always dictated what we should do.”

  “Not always, but often. And I often sat back and let you.”

  “Here’s a new thought, then. I honestly don’t have a clue what to do tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s a start, anyway, huh?”

  “Yes, and a good one. Maybe the next step is to figure out how we feel. You go first. How do you feel?”

  He stuck his hands in the pockets of his sport coat and rocked on his heels, his mouth a straight line, his eyes focused beyond her shoulder.

  She waited again, intuiting that the key to any future together lay in the breaking of old habits. Would he belligerently shut her down? She hoped not.

  He stopped moving and gazed at her. “Okay, here goes. I feel deeply happy. I feel infused with gratitude for what’s happening between us. And I feel intimidated, so much so, I could almost give up right off the bat.”

  She stared, her eyes nearly bugging out now.

  He grinned.

  “Hmm,” she said.

  His grin widened until his eyes were slits.

  “You just talked about your feelings. God must be real.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  She smiled. “Why are you intimidated?”

  “Good grief. I’m competing with an honest-to-goodness knight in shining armor. I mean, this firefighter saved your life. That’s a tough act to follow.”

  “Lexi saved us, Max. We didn’t need those guys.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. And besides, you’re full of knight material. Remember I thought of you in that way because you rescued me from my family?”

  “I’d forgotten.”

  “And what do you think this act of selling the agency takes? Knightly stuff, for sure. Not to mention you found me this afternoon. How did you find me, by the way?”

  “I followed you. My lawyer learned that you’d be at your lawyer’s this afternoon. I waited in the parking lot, hoping you’d call me on the cell and I could just be there, lickety-split. That’d be a first, wouldn’t it?”

  Where had this man called her husband come from?

  “Your turn, Claire. How do you feel?”

  “Shell-shocked. I want to stay in that cocoon for a while.”

  “Is there room in it for two?”

  A knot tightened in her stomach. “No.”

  “That’s okay.”

  She winced.

  “It’s okay. I have to earn your trust. Right?”

  She nodded. “Tonight I want to go sleep in my little apartment. Tomorrow . . . well, we’ll have to see what tomorrow bri
ngs.”

  He stared at her, his face unreadable. “I can’t whisk you off to the castle?”

  She shook her head.

  “All right. If this is what a knight would do . . .”

  “Max.” She pushed herself away from the car and slid her arms around his waist. “You’re not competing with anyone.”

  He held her close.

  Her cheek against his chest, she whispered, “And please don’t give up on me.”

  “Never, Claire. Never.”

  Eighty-nine

  The day after Max flabbergasted her with his plan to sell the business, the world spun in a different direction for Claire. She was on sensory overload. The sun was nearly too bright, colors nearly too vivid, people nearly too real.

  He invited her to dinner. She invited him to her symphony concert. He went, and they ate a late dinner afterward. He wanted to spend the night with her. She said no. He pressed, but only momentarily.

  She needed time. Not to decide whether or not they could love each other again, but to wait for the love to sprout again and for the trust to send down roots and take hold.

  Two days after Max flabbergasted her with his plan to sell the business, she called Eddie. They met at the beach.

  They walked. As usual with their informal support-group style, they explored residue that still clung to their hearts, hiding like the ash in out-of-the-way places and surprising them when they discovered it. Odd dreams here and there. Questions about eternity. Fears over silly things.

  After a bit he said, “Okay, Claire. You’re holding back. What do you want to tell me?” He read her like that.

  “Residue. Max and I reconnected Friday night.”

  He looked down at her. “Whew. That’s wonderful.”

  “I think so. I’m not sure yet, but I think so.”

  They walked in silence for a while.

  “Eddie, I can’t keep meeting with you. I don’t know what it’s like for you, but for me . . .” Her voice cracked. “I’m getting . . .” Another surprise. She hadn’t expected to cry.

  “I know.”

  She glanced at him.

  “It’s mutual, Claire. Let’s sit.”

  They turned up from the ocean’s edge and sat in the sand. It was a sunny, late October day, but not hot enough to entice beachgoers. The place was nearly empty.

  He smiled. “I should know better. I mean, the circumstances we met under were pretty wild. Support groups are great, but these after-shocks will continue to lessen. Once they’re gone, then what would we have between us?”

  “An emotional connection unlike we have with anyone else.”

  “You’re not supposed to say that.”

  She smiled. “The fly in the ointment is I’m married. And now I think I might want to stay married.”

  “I don’t want to interfere with that.”

  They turned to look at the ocean.

  She said, “So how is Sheila?”

  “Well. We may be going our separate ways.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “Did I—”

  “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t us. It’s just time.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a paper. “I wanted to read some-thing to you. It’s from the book of Joel.”

  Eddie had continued studying the Bible.

  “Just some bits and pieces I liked. ‘For fire has devoured the open pastures and the flames have burnt up all the trees . . . Surely a day of darkness and gloom is upon us . . . a blackness spread over the mountains.’ There’s more stuff about fire and other terrible things. But here, listen to what comes next: ‘The Lord says, turn back to me with your whole heart.’ And ‘Turn back to the Lord your God; for he is gracious and compassionate.’” He looked at her. “I don’t understand it at all. But it makes me feel like God is available.”

  “He loves us.”

  Eddie nodded. “So I guess I’ll go find a Bible study group next. Kind of like a support group, I bet.” He smiled and held out his hand to shake hers.

  She put her hand in his. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Thank you, Claire Beaumont.” He stood. “Be sure to invite me to Zak and Lexi’s wedding?”

  She laughed. “If that happens, of course you’ll be invited. And knowing Indio, she’ll have all three of you up to the hacienda for dinner as soon as the kitchen is open.”

  His eyes held hers until she had to glance away. “Well, Claire, I do wish you all the best. Bye.” With a wave, he took off down the beach, his strides long and confident.

  Claire felt a new lightness in her heart. He had been a good friend in a time of need. But she didn’t want to need any man right now. She wanted only to turn back to God and need Him. After all, only He had the power to truly take care of her. She’d lost sight of the truth, of the gift Jesus gave by dying for her sin. It meant everything was right between her and the Creator of the universe.

  Imagine that. The Creator.

  No matter the dreadful things she had done or thought, no mat-ter the good things she had failed to do or think—she was right with God. No matter any less-than-perfect choices she would make in the future—forgiveness was just an “I’m sorry” away. There, in God’s love, lay her safety and security.

  Imagine that.

  “As Indio would say, Well, God is good. Hallelujah.”

  Ninety

  Shall we sell it, love?” Ben swung an arm around Indio’s shoulders.

  She leaned into him, her eyes fixed on the deplorable sight of the hacienda before them. They stood in the courtyard, in the cup of the U. Blackened walls rose on three sides. In its center, the tiered concrete fountain lay on the cobblestones, split into many pieces. Where plants and flowers once flourished, ash piles shifted in the breeze.

  She said, “This is like standing inside a charcoal grill.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You were serious?”

  “It’s been seven weeks. We need to decide something.”

  “Who would buy it in this shape, and especially now, without a second entrance?”

  “The horses made it. Kennedy and I talked about blasting a trail through the boulders in the south section between our properties. It wouldn’t be a road, but it’d be enough of an option. Better than the one we had.”

  Could have, should have. That night was over. “Ben, I can’t imag-ine selling this place. It’s our life. It’s the Beaumont heritage.”

  “Max is giving up the same by selling his business. It’s time for a new start for all of us.”

  Indio sighed. She hated the thought of losing the hacienda. “No more Hideaway retreats? We had guests booked for almost every weekend through Easter. Those poor people, missing out.”

  “Truth is, the thought of keeping up this place and entertaining guests makes me want to go take a nap. I feel as burned out as this courtyard looks. You know, I am almost seventy-nine.”

  “You saying you’re ready for the nursing home?”

  “No.”

  “Well, where would we live?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “With Max? He says we can stay as long as we like.”

  “Good Lord, no. He really is a chatterbox, isn’t he? Can hardly get a word in edgewise these days.”

  She chuckled. “I guess he’s making up for lost time with us.”

  “I sure do miss the quiet up here and my horses. Maybe we could park an RV in the yard and live in that. Leave the house as is. Just build a new barn.”

  She poked him in the ribs. “You’re a rambling, growly bear today, Benjamin Beaumont, and that makes me want to go take a nap.”

  “I’ll call a Realtor tonight. See what we can get for this place. What’s that woman’s name in Santa Reina, the one from church? Isn’t she a Realtor?”

  “Oh, go soak your head.” Indio moved out from under his arm and marched through the yard. “I’m getting to work.”

  Out in front of
the hacienda, Indio reached Ben’s new truck. She was grateful the burned vehicles had been towed away from the lot.

  She lowered the back hatch and reached into its bed for a broom. Although they’d hired a professional group to clean up the fire’s after-math, she wanted to go through the kitchen some more. She kept finding salvageable things, all the while trying not to think of what had been lost that night—especially the photos and keepsakes in Claire’s car. Ben saves his pipe, and baby mementos get incinerated. She questioned God’s sense of fairness as never before.

  “Mom, need some help?” Max spoke from behind her.

  She turned to see him and Claire approach from the side yard. “Thanks.”

  He started pulling brooms, shovels, and other cleaning items from the truck. “Want all of it out?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Indio eyed her daughter-in-law. She prided herself in not butting into the affairs of Max and Claire. She’d kept a muzzle on her mouth the past three weeks, reminding herself that the couple had to find their own way back to each other, outlandish as their behavior seemed to her.

  Claire still lived in her apartment, like some misguided feminist who felt the need to prove her independence. She and Max met often for lunch or dinner. A more peculiar setup Indio could not imagine, but it was having an effect. The defensiveness Claire had worn like a neon sign was fading. She’d grown softer. There had been no talk, though, of her returning home.

  Overcome by a sudden sense of despair over her house and her husband, Indio could not let go of her last hope: that Max and Claire would reconcile. The muzzle broke off, and the words tumbled out.

  “Claire, are you all right?”

  Her daughter-in-law blinked a few times. “No, not really. We’re going up to the mine. Max wants to pile the rocks over the entrance.”

  Indio thought of Claire’s screams that night, her intense terror, her inability to easily crawl back out. “You don’t need to go with him.”

  “And I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.” Claire smiled gently. “You’re supposed to tell me to go face my fears.”

  Indio nodded.

  “Mom.” Max handed her a broom. “Are you all right?”