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 own 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.
As his mom and dad freely admitted their faults, Max began to admit his own. As they told him again about God’s unconditional love and forgiveness, he began to hear them as if for the first time.
And something broke. It hurt. It physically hurt inside his chest. His mother said it was the cracking of the defenses he’d built up around his heart, an icy hardness that feelings could not penetrate.
Well, they were penetrating now.
He fell to his knees and let them come. Fear, anger, remorse, hatred, pain, frustration, pride, doubt. Sobs erupted from deep inside his belly as he regretted every single incident he could recall.
After a time, other feelings came. Love, forgiveness, hope. Faster and faster they came now, engulfing the ugliness. Tears that stung like fiery darts softened to warm, liquid pools that cleansed inside and out.
His knees ached. He smiled at the realization. He was going to be okay.
“Thank You, Lord. Thank You.”
Late that night, Max slipped quietly into bed, keeping a large space between himself and Claire. She was in the same fetal position he’d left her in hours before.
He felt horrendously drained in every way.
“I feel, hon,” he whispered to her back. “How about that?”
It wasn’t what he would call an enjoyable situation. He would give anything to retreat into his comfy, icy shell again.
Almost anything.
After asking God for help, crying with his parents, extending and receiving forgiveness, there was a hint of—corny as it sounded—sunlight in his soul.
He wasn’t so sure he’d trade that in.