A Time to Surrender (12 page)
Jen, I can’t put into words what it would mean to me if you went. I know all this military stuff is still new for you and it’s so hard for you to make sense of it. I wish I could call you, cuz this will probably come out wrong and I can’t fix it online. But here goes. If you attend a fallen comrade’s funeral, it’d be like you’ve really come on board. You know? You are my Pretty Lady and I love you. Kev.
Seven thousand, seven hundred thirty-one miles away, the guy turned her to mush. Still, a corner of her heart resisted that “really” coming on board business. Images of doing everything alone and talking to him only long distance haunted her. That’s what coming on board meant.
Like pretending those things didn’t describe her life right now could make it all go away? Who was she fooling?
The final push came indirectly from Beth Russell.
“God is in the gatherings with other wives . . . He wants you to step into your ‘princess’ role, to give to others . . . He will take care of you.”
Friday morning she had not yet decided, but she put on her black suit, white silk blouse, and pearls and went to school.
And then the bell rang. First hour began. Her thoughts already on John Donne, she went to shut her classroom door. A straggler shuffled down the hall, his back to her. She recognized him. Last year she had attended his brother’s funeral. Not long after that, Kevin reenlisted.
How the boy must ache, unspeakably ache.
Maybe Donne had it right. Maybe no man was an island.
Maybe she ought to find a bridge and take a hike across it.
She would go to the funeral . . .
T
he world spun again, slamming Jenna into a state of nauseating vertigo.
“Oh God! Oh God!”
Was that her scream?
Amber came into focus, her face a hairsbreadth from Jenna’s, her voice nearly lost in the din of a thunderous echo.
Jenna gasped for air. “Huh?”
“I said hang in there! We’re okay. We’re fine—no, lie still. Lie still. There’s glass everywhere.”
Amber’s hair glittered, sparkly stained-glass beads dotted its curls. She was kneeling beside Jenna, looking downward, smoothing Jenna’s collar, the jacket, her skirt. “There’s a cut on your arm, hon. Otherwise”—she flashed her signature smile—“you’re good to go. We better wait for medics, though. I hear sirens.”
Sirens. And screams. Shouts. Cries. Moans.
“It shouldn’t be long, hon.” Amber’s calm voice silenced the chaos for Jenna. “Help is on the way.”
“What . . . what . . . ?”
“Two simple bombs. Just large enough to pop out a couple windows.” Again the quick smile. “Walls are still standing. Homemade, my guess. Type my chem whizzes could make, no sweat. Planted outside this window and that one up a few rows.” She indicated the direction, tilting her head. On her neck a trickle of blood appeared, ominous in its sudden, steady seeping. “I really don’t think it’s a major terrorist attack—”
“Amber! You’re bleeding.” Jenna pressed an elbow against the floor. “Help me sit up.”
“You shouldn’t move.” But Amber supported her to a sitting position. “I tumbled us both to the floor. Comes from four brothers whose favorite game was always ‘duck and cover.’ Jen, keep your jacket on.”
“Your neck.” Jenna struggled out of her sleeves. The left one caught on something and a sharp pain shot through her body. “Ah!” Tears sprang to her eyes as she worked her arm out. Now her blood-soaked blouse sleeve came into view. Her stomach lurched.
“Sit still. You’re hurt. Wrap the coat around your arm.”
Instead she wrapped the coat around Amber’s shoulders. Her friend, dressed in skirt and short-sleeved jacket, was shaking uncontrollably. Jenna leaned back against the pew and pulled Amber into her arms.
“Lord, have mercy,” Amber whispered. She slumped then, dead weight against Jenna’s chest.
“Christ, have mercy.” Jenna Beaumont Mason burst into tears.
H
ands on her hips, squinting against the afternoon sun, Claire gazed up at the fountain in the center of her courtyard. Above the sound of rushing water she called loudly to Max standing beside her, “If you hurry, you might be able catch the delivery guys before they reach the highway.”
He chuckled. “Trevi Fountain comes to mind.”
“The one in Rome? Nah. Ours isn’t that, uh, big.”
“Or gaudy. There are no mythological gods.”
“Still.”
“Exactly.” He shrugged. “But let’s look on the bright side. It’s not cracked and it’s not on back order.”
“I just didn’t have giant flying sea bass in mind, spurting forth rivers. Just a pleasant, hushed, ambient gurgle.”
“I think they’re Chinook salmon.”
She sighed loudly.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I know. It’s not your fault.”
“I’ll play with the water pressure.” He bent and flipped a switch on the fountain’s side. Sudden silence engulfed the courtyard.
Claire eyed him as he straightened. Mr. Handyman he wasn’t. He’d proven that time and again since they’d started the remodeling project. “Your dad can help, right?”
“Before or after I break something?” Max smiled. “I’ll see if he and Tuyen can lend a hand.”
Claire slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against him. The blossoming relationship between Ben and Tuyen was a beautiful sight. They’d become inseparable that week, since Beth Russell’s visit. Every inch of the Hideaway’s three hundred acres held a memory of BJ that Ben couldn’t wait to tell and Tuyen couldn’t wait to hear. Time and again Claire had come upon them inside the house or courtyard, at the barn or heading out on the horses. Ben would be saying, “I remember when your dad . . .”
“Phone.” Max kissed the top of her head and strode over to the porch where she’d left the cordless. “Nobody would call on a Friday afternoon to plan a Saturday getaway, would they?”
Smiling, she shrugged. As fun and rewarding as their first weeks of company had been, she and Max were anticipating a weekend of empty guest rooms. As a couple, they were overdue for some alone time.
Word was spreading quickly in local circles that the Hacienda Hideaway was open for business. Still winging it policy-wise, they hadn’t yet decided how much lead time they needed for a reservation. Literally speaking, the place was ready. Fresh linens were in place. The freezers were stocked with some of Skylar’s goodies.
Max picked up the phone, checking the ID display. “It’s Erik.” He answered it. “Hey . . . What . . . No . . . Yeah . . . Hold on. Claire, do you know what Danny was doing today?”
She heard the hesitation in his voice and walked over to him, shaking her head.
Max said, “There’s an antiwar demonstration.”
Claire tried not to read panic in his widened eyes. He knew as well as she did that Danny attended those things when he had the time. Growing up with an MIA uncle, their son adopted at a young age a deep compassion for soldiers and a deep distrust of reasons for war.
Max said, “Erik, we don’t know . . . Okay, yeah. Thanks, son.” He clicked off the phone, his face creased into a tight frown. “We need to turn on the news. There was an explosion just moments ago.”
“Oh, Max!”
“It appears it happened outside a church. The TV crews were already there for the demonstration. And Rosie’s there.”
“He talked to her?”
“No. She’s not answering her cell and neither is Danny. She told Erik last night about her assignment. She said they were expecting some problems.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“Some people inside the church. Apparently the demonstrators weren’t at that spot right then.”
“So Danny would be okay?” She was clutching his hands.
“It sounds—”
“But Rosie—”
“Is trained for this sort of thing. Let’s go inside and turn on the TV. The news is covering—”
Claire cried out. Her breath felt ripped from her chest. In the recesses of her imagination she heard the echo of a wind.
“Sweetheart, God is with them. They are in His hands.”
“Oh, Max!” Sudden tears streamed down her face.
He wrapped her in his arms and held her tightly. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
She could not have spoken if she had to, but Max knew what was going on inside her. In a few days, they would mark the first anniversary of the devastating fire that tore through the estate and emotionally scarred them all horribly. With the approaching date, she had been on edge, grateful for so many positive outcomes but reliving fear-filled moments.
She and Max had talked again of his experience, how he survived that long night not knowing if his family was alive or dead.
Like . . . Ben and Indio with BJ. One long night that lasted thirty-four years.
Oh, God! There’s too much pain. Just too much. How are we supposed to do this? Live in this world of hurt?
Max’s voice reached her, calm, soft, steady. He was praying.
After a bit, her tears slowed, her lungs filled with oxygen, her faith in Someone else’s control put down a new root.
C
laire, we know where everyone else is.” Max pulled a polo shirt over his head. Behind him a commentator on the television described a scene full of emergency vehicles.
“I just need to hear their voices.” She looped a belt around her tunic top while sliding her feet into sandals. Her jeans and boots lay in a heap. “Right now.”
“Before we leave? Not from the cell phone when we get down the hill?”
Yes, right now!
Again and again she tried poking the belt prong into a hole. It kept missing.
Lord, don’t let him quit on me. Please don’t let him quit on me.
Max gently pushed her hands from the belt and buckled it for her. “I’ll dial the numbers for you.”
She gave him a small smile. “I don’t think we can reach Skylar.”
“Skylar’s on your list too?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
He kissed her cheek. “We can’t get Dad and Tuyen, either, you know. They’re out on the horses. Mom first?”
She nodded and they sat on the couch.
They talked briefly with Indio, who was in her house down the road. Her prayers, of course, were set in motion.
Lexi was at the office of the landscape firm where she worked part-time now that they needed her help on the hacienda grounds. Claire let Max break the news to Lexi and then she spoke with her.
“Hon—”
“Mom! Danny’s there! He told me he was going.” More resolution than panic filled her voice. “But don’t worry. He’s all right. I know it.”
“The twin thing?”
“Yeah. With some faith thrown in too. I’m leaving right now. I’ll catch up with you down there.”
Max called Jenna’s high school and was put on hold. He clasped Claire’s hand. When a male voice came on, she could hear most of what he was saying.
“Mr. Beaumont, Cade Edmunds here. We just heard the news. Um, Jenna, um . . .”
Claire had met Cade Edmunds a few times. The man did not say “um.” Her stomach twisted.
“Uh, um, there was a funeral at that church.”
They knew that. They’d heard that on the news. A Marine . . . A
Marine
.
No
.
“Jenna and another teacher went . . . went to the funeral. I’ve been calling . . .”
Claire was out the door before Max hung up the phone.
B
reathless, Skylar ran alongside Danny, anxious to know what had happened, equally anxious not to know.
They couldn’t pinpoint the direction from which the noise had come, but—like others racing ahead of them—deduced that the rally site must somehow be involved.
What insanity possessed them all to run toward the sounds of chaos rather than away? She thought of videos of tumbling skyscrapers, still frightfully vivid after so many years.
They couldn’t see anything yet except for stopped traffic and racing fire trucks and police cars. The coffee shop was at least ten blocks from the demonstrators. Skylar slowed to a jog. Surfer Dude might be able to run the whole way, but she couldn’t.
“Danny, what are we doing?”
He matched his pace with hers, his breath nowhere near as ragged as hers. “Rosie’s there. Other people I know.”
“Rosie will know what to do. You told me you warned your friends about what she said even before I caught up with you.”
“That doesn’t mean they left like we did. I have to make sure they’re okay. I have to make sure Rosie’s okay. I should call Erik—no, not yet. You don’t have to come.”
No, she didn’t. But at the same time, yes, she did. She knew people there too. At least one, anyway. If God wanted to wreak a righteous vengeance, that one should be lying on a stretcher. She should have said something. She should have said something! Deep down she’d understood he was not there just to carry a sign.
They reached a corner. A few blocks ahead, every kind of emergency vehicle clogged the street. Their lights flashed, the sirens winding down. Firefighters and people in military uniforms looked like fish swimming upstream against a tide of people exiting a church.
A church. The one Rosie mentioned? The one holding a
funeral
?
Skylar saw a curl of smoke and followed it downward to a side wall of the big old, gray stone building. Where stained-glass windows should have been there were, instead, two gaping holes, giant eyeballs staring blankly.
Insane.
There were no visible flames. Skylar surmised that an explosive device had blown out the windows. Or blown them in. To prove a point?
Or to maim and kill?
“Skylar.” Danny grasped her arm and they stopped. “You look ready to barf. I said you don’t have to come. I’ll show you how to loop around this block and get to the parking garage.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I have to come.”
Beneath the sunglasses, his mouth twisted in a quizzical expression. “Suit yourself.” He let go of her arm and they resumed their hurried pace.
She’d heard the anger in his voice, felt it in his fingers digging into her arm. It matched her own.
This should not have happened.
S
kylar and Danny reached the edge of the chaos. Someone jostled her and she fell against him. Police were cordoning off paths, allowing people exiting the church down ramps and steps one way, emergency workers up another ramp. Looky-Lous like themselves were being turned aside.
