A Time to Mend (8 page)
“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.
S
unday 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.”
She crossed her arms.
“This is ridiculous.” He clipped his words, clearly frustrated. “I can’t believe how you’re behaving. Pick up the phone!”
Claire flinched. Max had never raised his voice to her like that, never said such awful words.
“All right.” He lowered his voice, but the anger remained. “Be that way. I don’t know how you expect us to work things out if you refuse to talk. But don’t worry. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”
The machine went quiet. After a moment, its red light blinked on.
“I’ll leave you alone . . .”
It was the message Claire had wanted to hear.
Wasn’t it?
Tandy handed her a paper towel. She felt, then, her cheeks, as wet as if she’d been standing in a downpour.
M
ax lost interest in alcohol before he turned twenty-one. As a teen he figured out it slowed him down too much. As a successful businessman, he could not afford to slow down.
Now, though, Claire was gone, and business success didn’t seem to matter much. When his good friend Phil showed up with means to forget those most difficult of new developments, he made a conscious choice to slow down as much as possible. Life would hurt less.
“Philip.” Max raised his glass toward his friend. “Have I mentioned what fortuitous foresight it was on your part to bring this magnanimous gift of rather excellent scotch?”
Phil laughed. “Only once or twice, bud.”
Neva slid onto a chair across the round patio table from him. The pool shimmered behind her in the twilight. Her dark hair shone, a crown of curls. She wore a short skirt and sleeveless blouse.
“Nevie! My Dulcinea! Have I mentioned what a fine-looking woman you are?
“Max, you’re really an ugly drunk.”
“This is true.” He enunciated each syllable with great care. If he could still do that, he wasn’t too far gone, was he? “Which accounts for the reason I eschew such overindulgence. I need only one hand—nay, one finger—to number the time—since my wild and crazy adolescence—that this unhappy happystance, uh, unhappy happerstance, uh, that it has happened.”
“You need some food. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Mmm, mmm, mmm. I can hardly wait. Neva’s world-famous enchiladas.”
“You won’t like them so much after you’ve upchucked them.”
Phil said, “It could ruin the delectable taste for life.”
“Nah.” Max shook his head. “Neva, have I mentioned what a fantastic cook you are? Our kitchen is strictly a la-bor-a-tory here. A place for Claire to conduct experiments. To delve into the intricacies of gourmet. Nothing quite so basic and satisfying as
enchiladas
.” He savored the word, letting it roll off his tongue in true Español style. “Claire could learn a thing or two from you.”
“Nope. We’re not going there, mister.”
“What? I can’t insult her once in thirty years after what she’s done?”
“I’m outta here, guys.”
Max blinked a few times until Neva came back into focus. She was on her feet.
“You two can take care of each other.”
“Aw, come on, Nevie. Don’t you reject me too.”
“Get a grip, Beaumont. Phil, I suggest you put him to bed, and stay put yourself until morning.”
“Yes, please do, Philip.” Max nodded solemnly. “We have a guest room, you know. The last person to sleep in it was my wife.”
“Good-bye.” Neva waved a hand and left.
“See you, my Dulcinea!”
Phil sat up straighter. “I hope she doesn’t take the food with her.”
“Who needs food? I need another drink. Where’s the bottle? Uh-oh. She wouldn’t take that, would she?”
“Nah. Would she? No. There it is. Good.”
Max stared at the finger his friend pointed toward the booze and suddenly knew he’d had enough. “I’ve had my fill, Phil.” He grunted. “My fill of John Barleycorn and of women. Did you know my mother rejected me?”
“Uh-oh. You’re talking about your mother. Definite sign you need another drink.”
“All the women in my life rejected me. Pammy in high school, junior year. DeeDee, college, second year.
Claire
. Out of the blue. After thirty-two years. Now Neva. Do you see a pattern going here?”
“Neva will be back. You sign her paycheck.”
Max lifted his head and peered into Phil’s face. “That’s kind of low. Even in my excessively inebriated state, I can see you have a dis-eased attitude toward women.”
“Yes, I do. Which explains why I am still a bachelor and always will be.” Phil’s chair scraped on the concrete. “Let’s eat.”
“Nope. I’m going to bed.” Max staggered to his feet. “Make your-self at home.”
“I don’t think I have a choice. Neva rode with me. She had to take my car. And she probably hid your keys.”
“She’s a good woman.”
“Yep. The best.”
They meandered across the patio.
“Claire’s a good woman too. I really do like gourmet.”
Phil patted him on the back.
A few moments later Max flopped onto his bed, aware enough to realize he was still fully clothed and spinning in a fog that was, unfortunately, not quite thick enough to obliterate the image of Claire walking out of his life.
