A Time to Mend
A Time to Mend
© 2007 by Sally John and Gary Smalley
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Scripture quotations are taken from THE NEW ENGLISH BIBLE © 1961, 1970 by the Delegates of the Oxford University Press and Syndics of Cambridge University Press. Reprinted by permission. HOLY BIBLE: NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Page Design by Mandi Cofer.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
John, Sally, 1951–
A time to mend / Sally John, with Gary Smalley.
p. cm. — (Safe harbors ; Bk. 1)
ISBN 978-0-8499-1889-6
I. Smalley, Gary. II. Title.
PS3560.O323T56 2008
813'.54—dc22
2007044358
Printed in the United States of America
07 08 09 10 RRD 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Tim
Content
He has committed to us the message of reconciliation.
—2 Corinthians 5:19 NIV
The Beaumont family
Ben and Indio
—Max’s parents. Their grandchildren call them Papa and Nana. Their home, the Hacienda Hideaway, is a retreat center located in the hills above San Diego, California.
Max
—Married to Claire. Founder and owner of Beaumont Staffing, a nationwide staffing firm.
Claire
—Married to Max. Volunteer for community organizations and violinist.
Max and Claire’s four grown children
Erik
—News anchor for a local San Diego television station.
Jenna
—High school English teacher. Married to Kevin Mason.
Danny—
Lexi’s twin. Software guru and surfer.
Lexi (Alexis)—
Danny’s twin. Gardener. Artist.
Others
Kevin Mason—
Jenna’s husband. Teacher, coach, and Marine.
Tandy Abbott—
Claire’s friend.
Neva and Phil—
Max’s employees and friends.
H
uddled on the sofa in the dimly lit living room, Claire Beaumont gazed through the bay window. Car headlamps swept across a stand of eucalyptus trees. The automatic garage door rattled up. A long moment passed. The door rattled back down.
Its rumble vibrated through her. She clutched a throw pillow tightly at her waist.
The door between the garage and laundry room opened and shut. Her husband’s footsteps clicked against the ceramic-tiled floors, across the kitchen.
Claire moaned. There was still time. She could scurry off to bed, feign sleep, forgive and forget. Carry on.
His footfalls clacked into the foyer and passed the front door. Then they went silent, muffled by the hallway carpet.
Claire’s breath caught, squashed under the unbearable weight produced by the thought of carrying on.
Max appeared at the wide entrance to the living room and halted. “Claire! You’re still awake?”
It was now or never. “I quit,” she whispered, more to herself than to the man across the room.
“It’s 2:00 a.m., hon.”
As if she didn’t know what time it was. Her heart slammed against her ribs and thrust the words upward again, more loudly this time. “I quit.”
“It sounds like I’ve walked into the middle of a conversation here.” With a distinct air of weariness, Max draped his sport coat and tie over the back of the nearest chair and then plopped onto it. “Okay. What do you quit?”
“I quit . . .” She froze. Normally she would not have waited up for him. Normally she would not have confronted him while the anger still boiled. No, normally she would not even have admitted she was angry.
Nothing about the night, though, resembled
normally
.
The grandfather clock struck two fifteen.
She’d had hours to figure out what she was quitting. Or had it been years?
“Look, Claire.” His patient tone exuded sympathy. “I imagine you’re upset because I missed the birthday dinner the kids had for you. Even though I’m taking you to San Francisco on Saturday,
on
your birthday, tonight was important. When you think about it, those four hardly ever get together anymore. They only did it for you. So it was your special time with them. You really didn’t want me here.”
“Don’t tell me what I didn’t want.” Ignoring the pathetic warble in her voice, she pressed on. “You always do that. You always think you know what I want or how I feel.”
“I’m lost here. What are you talking about? I missed one lousy dinner.”
She shoved the throw pillow against the cushion and unfolded her legs. “It’s not that you missed one lousy dinner.” Her voice steadied. “It’s that you’ve missed thirty years of dinners and events. I can’t live like this anymore. All of a sudden, I’m tired.”
“Hon, we’re both tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“No, Max. I mean I’m
tired
. I’m tired of the whole charade.”
“How about we take a vacation? We’ll do the cruise thing again. You enjoyed that. September might work—”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m tired of pretending everything is fine. I’m tired, really, of letting you off the hook. I quit. Tonight was the last straw.”
“‘The last straw’? What in the world does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” She stood on unsteady legs. “I just don’t know. But I can’t talk any more right now. I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
She sidestepped the coffee table and breezed past him, heading toward the hall.
“Claire, honey, come on.” He used his husky voice—the one with the unmistakably masculine timbre, the one that always assured her things would be all right.
She didn’t break stride.
S
haking from head to toe, Claire spread an extra blanket over the bed and climbed in. She was wearing flannel pajamas in the middle of July in Southern California, and she couldn’t get warm.
Her thoughts whirled as she stared into the dark with wide-open eyes. She’d never slept in the guest room before. She probably wouldn’t literally sleep in it tonight either.
Dear God, what just happened?
No. She couldn’t go there. Not yet. She’d wait until the sheer emotion of it dissipated. She’d wait for rational thought to return.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Help me, Lord!
A picture of the evening came to mind—the evening Max had missed. Their grown children and one son-in-law had treated her to a surprise birthday dinner. Erik, Daniel, Alexis, Jenna, and Kevin cooked and danced like five wild chefs in her kitchen. They made her laugh. They made her feel like a queen.
But in the end the scullery maid won out.
Claire rolled onto her side, curled herself up into a tight ball, and prayed for the night to end.
H
unkered down outside on the patio flagstones, the area lit by spotlights, Max fiddled with his grill and swore under his breath. Things were gummed up. He rose, thumped the lid with his knuckles, raked his fingers through his hair, and swore again.
The kids had used it tonight. Specifically, Erik had used it. Or, rather, dismantled it. Their thirty-year-old son never could be trusted with anything mechanical.
Had Claire been so ticked off she refused to keep one eye on his prized possession? It wasn’t like her to ignore such things. And what was all that nonsense about quitting and pretending? Pretending what? And waltzing off to the guest room! That was a first.
He shook his head and walked across the patio. Long strides carried him toward the pool. He rounded it once, twice, and kept on going for a third.
Sure, she had a right to be upset. It was her birthday dinner with the kids, a rare occasion in recent years. He should have been there. But his workday had been scheduled long before they decided to sur-prise their mom. When business involved other people, his day was not his own. Besides, he and Claire would celebrate her real birthday in San Francisco on Saturday the seventeenth. Just that morning she had mentioned how she was looking forward to it.
