It was ten days after Mel and Cameron’s emergency run to Valley Hospital with Dahlia Creighton when Cheryl came to Virgin River. Mel had heard that Dahlia hadn’t survived long enough for bypass surgery. She’d had far too many medical problems to get through what might have otherwise been an uncomplicated surgery.
This was only the second time Mel had seen Cheryl since she’d entered an alcohol-treatment program over six months ago and the change in her still startled Mel and brought a bright smile to her lips. When Cheryl walked into the clinic, despite the fact that she had just lost her mother, Mel nearly beamed at her. She had to quickly reel in the reaction. This was not a time to grin stupidly. But Cheryl looked so good—fresh, healthy, pretty. It was hard to imagine her the way she’d been when Mel first met her, slouched and dirty, wearing men’s clothes, looking bruised both physically and emotionally.
“Hi, Mrs. Sheridan,” she said. “Did you hear the news about my mother?”
“I did, Cheryl. I’m so sorry for your loss. We did all we could.”
“Of course you did, as did the other doctors. My mother was very sick. Really, she didn’t stand a chance. And she wouldn’t even consider medical treatment before. Truthfully, I don’t think she thought she needed any. And between my father and I, we weren’t alert or smart enough to know, either.”
“This must be a very difficult time for you,” Mel said.
“It is. And challenging, but I have it worked out, sort of. My dad has gone to live with his brother in Yuba City, on the other side of the mountains. I have to deal with the house. It’s mine now. I can’t support my dad, so he’s better off with his brother and Medicare. That’s the best we can do. He has a ton of health problems, too. He has serious emphysema, among other things.”
“Will you move home?”
She shook her head. “I’m never living in that house again. I’m done with that part of my life. I have a decent job in Eureka and someday I might even have my own place.”
“Are you still living in your group home?” Mel asked.
“Well, I have roommates. We’re all in the same program, so it’s like a group home, but not official. I’d sell the house, but it’s just not salable. It’s falling down. I’m going to clean it out of trash. I brought some friends to help,” she said, jerking her chin over her shoulder toward the street in front of the clinic. “I’m going to stop by Jack’s and ask him if he has a problem with us filling up that Dumpster. Most of the junk left behind by my dad will be tossed and we’ll take the bigger stuff to the dump in the back of the pickup.”
“I’m sure Jack will be happy to let you use the Dumpster if it’ll help.”
“As long as we can close the lid when we’re done. Have to close the lid around here or wildlife will get in there and make a mess, disturb the town.”
“And then?” Mel asked.
She shrugged. “I might just let it go, the house. If I can’t keep up the taxes, I’ll lose it eventually, anyway. In the meantime, if anyone you know needs shelter, I can let them use it. As long as they’re not alcoholics or drug addicts. I can’t go along with that.”
Mel smiled. “Still heavy into your program, are you?”
“Amazing and hard to believe, isn’t it?”
“Not really. You were ready.”
She laughed, and her face was so pretty. Her hair so shiny. “More than ready. I just wanted to stop by, say hello and thank-you.”
Mel tilted her head, and her smile was a little sad. “I’ll be sorry not to see you again.”
“I’ll probably be back a couple more times before I’m all done here. Let me give you a phone number, just in case someone desperately needs a roof. That’s about all it is. And if you do run into someone like that, please tell them I didn’t clean the place, just emptied it of trash. It wasn’t really my house. I’m embarrassed by the condition it’s in, but not embarrassed enough to spend days scrubbing it. Being there…it just takes me back to a bad place.”
“I understand,” Mel said, lifting a small notepad off the counter.
Cheryl scratched out her number in Eureka. “Jesus, I wish I could do something for you. I owe you my life. I really do.”
Mel put a hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me now. I made some phone calls. That’s all. You did all the heavy lifting.”
“There’s the thing,” she said. “No one ever made phone calls for me before. I was the town drunk and no one ever thought I had a chance of being anything else. Till you came here. And that’s the God’s truth.”
“Well,” Mel said, sniffing back emotion. “Weren’t they short-sighted? You’re clearly headed for wonderful things.”
* * *
Later the same day, Mel hauled both her kids to the bar at five o’clock. Since he’d moved into the cabin with Abby, Cameron was anxious to get home at the end of the day, even though his dinner at Jack’s was on the house. This was not at all mysterious to Mel.
Jack came around the bar and took David off her hands. “Hey, my man,” he said to his son. “Wanna ride on Da’s back for a while?”
Mel jumped up on a stool and said, “Just hang on to him for a second, Jack. Let me have a diet cola and I’ll get these maniacs home. Bring us something of Preacher’s later?”
“Sure, babe.” He deftly drew her a cola, one-handed, his son on his hip. But David wasn’t in the mood to be confined. He was two now and well into the terribles. He was bowing his back, kicking his feet, whining. “Settle down, bud,” Jack said, hanging on to him. It wasn’t a good idea to give him his freedom in the bar and grill. Nothing but trouble and breakage awaited.
“Got any chips or popcorn?” said a voice just a couple of stools down from Mel.
“Yeah, I can rustle some up,” Jack said. “Gimme a minute, huh? I have my hands full of madness.”
Mel turned and saw it was Dan Brady, having himself a beer.
“I thought if you could hand me the progeny, bring us something to snack on, you and your wife could have a minute.” He held out his hands toward David. “I’m checked out. I know how to hang on to a kid wild with the devil.”
Jack’s eyebrow lifted. “Do you now? Aren’t you just full of surprises. I honestly didn’t know you could do anything but grow weed.” He shifted and handed David across the bar.
At first David squealed in annoyance, but Dan grabbed him and brought him onto his lap. “Hey now,” he said, holding him with a firm arm around his waist, bouncing him on his thigh. “Take it easy. Only in a town of six hundred would it be considered normal to have a kid your age right up at the bar. Count your blessings.”
Jack shook out some Goldfish crackers into a bowl. “His favorite,” he explained.
“Perfect,” Dan said. He turned his attention on David. “So, little man, you want one?” He maneuvered the small cracker into David’s mouth. “Now. Give one to me? Please?”
David thought about it a second, then slowly pushed one toward Dan’s open mouth. “Mmm,” Dan said. “Your turn.” And he plucked one out of the bowl and directed it toward David’s mouth, but pulled it back, making the kid laugh. “Oh, you want that? Can you say please?”
David shook his head obstinately, stiffening his back, grinding his fists into his eyes, pushing out his lower lip. Dan took the Goldfish for himself and laughed. “Let’s try that again,” he said, picking up another. “Please?” he coached.
“Pease,” David said in a pout.
“Wonderful,” Dan approved, popping a Goldfish into his mouth.
“You’re gifted,” Jack observed. “He’s been a real asshole lately.”
“Jack! We were going to try to stop swearing!”
“Yeah, I know. I think I’m doing better at that than you are, by the way. But hasn’t he been?”
“He can’t help it—he’s at the asshole age. He’ll come around.”
“See?” Jack said, grinning at her. “You have a rotten mouth and you can’t help yourself.”
She grinned back at him. “I never uttered a single curse until I met you.”
Dan focused on David. “Your parents are flirting with each other. You better have another fish. You could be on my lap a long time.”
Jack studied him for a moment. “You got some experience there, pal,” he finally said.
“Some,” Dan answered. Then he looked at David and said, “My turn. Please.” And he opened his mouth for a fish.
“Like with kids,” Jack said. “Nephews and nieces or something like that.”
“Something like that,” he said. And then, to David. “Your turn. Say please.”
“Pease,” he said, smiling and opening his dripping, goopy mouth.
Dan looked at Jack. “How’s the boy? Rick?”
“Aw, I don’t know. Mel and Preacher both say he’s working through the whole thing, but he’s different. He doesn’t reach out, you know? He doesn’t call me, doesn’t call the girlfriend. He was so into that girl, I can’t even explain how much. Nowadays, he avoids her.”
“Having a hard time, I guess,” Dan said, right before he looked at David and said, “Your turn. Say please.”
“Pease!”
“How’s the girl handling that?” Dan asked Jack.
“You know, I didn’t have a real conversation with you for three years and now you’re like a neighbor. No, you sound like a goddamn shrink.”
Dan smiled at him and opened his mouth for a fish. But David shouted, “Pease!”
“She’s trying to understand,” Mel said, answering for Jack. “I think it’s hurting her a lot, but she’s amazingly patient and understanding for a young girl. There’s a counselor she talked to once before who’s trying to help her out. At least there’s that.” She shook her head and kissed Emma’s fat cheek. “She’s only a senior in high school. Just turned eighteen. They fell in love too young.”
Dan looked back at David and said, “Please.” Then it was David’s turn again, but Dan turned to Mel. “Eighteen and… What did you say he was? Twenty? They have a lot of time to get beyond this. It could take a while, but they have a while. They’re just kids.”
“They hurt,” Mel said. “I just hate to see them hurt like that.”
“Nobody gets through the years without a ton of pain, you know?” And then David yelled at him. “Oh. Please,” he said, opening his mouth for a fish. He chewed and smiled. “You’re going to get so sick of the good manners here. It gets old.”
The door to the bar opened and Cheryl Creighton stuck her head in. “Jack, we’re all done over at the house and I’m afraid we filled up your Dumpster. The house isn’t how it should be, but it’s cleaned up some. Let me leave you a key. If anyone needs to use it, just let me know, huh? Mel’s got my number. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it yet. But really—”
“House?” Dan said. “Trailer? Condo? Room? Shed? Lean-to?”
“Cheryl’s house is empty,” Mel said. “She says it’s not in good shape.”
“Would you let me see it?” Dan asked.
She frowned. “Listen, it’s falling apart. It’s—”
“Does it have hot water? A toilet that flushes? Lights that turn on and off?”
“And that’s about all.”
“Would you let me see it? Is it for rent?”
Cheryl frowned slightly. “Listen, first of all, you’re not going to need much of a look to see you’d be better off sleeping in your truck. And second, I’ll only let someone stay there on a recommendation from the Sheridans. I don’t really care if the thing burns down, but I don’t want anything bad to happen in that neighborhood because I let some riffraff in.”
Dan smiled slightly. “First of all, I am sleeping in my truck. And second, I could maybe get a reference from my boss. He seems to like me.”
“I’ll vouch for him, Cheryl. If he thinks he wants to rent it,” Jack said.
This caused a look of surprise to take over Dan’s face, but it disappeared as David was shoving a Goldfish into his mouth.
Cheryl thought about it for a second. Then she shrugged. “Well, at least it’ll go cheap if you’re interested. But you won’t be interested. Come on, let’s get this over with. I want to get home.” And she turned and left.
Dan stood and hefted David toward Jack. “Well, gee. Maybe my luck is turning around.”
“If I vouch for you,” Jack said, “I’ll be watching you.”
Dan laughed. “Oh golly, Jack. I just wouldn’t have it any other way.”
* * *
Dan got in his truck and followed Cheryl the short couple of blocks to the neighborhood. She had three other people besides herself in an extended cab truck—one guy, two women. The truck bed was loaded with what appeared to be broken-down furniture, covered with a tarp and tied down. He supposed if they were cleaning out the house, she had needed some help.
He looked first at the neighborhood in general—it wasn’t upper middle class, that was for sure. The houses were small, most in poor repair. But there were a few that stood out and looked as if they were maintained with care, kept immaculate with tidy flower beds and healthy yards. When Cheryl pulled up in front of an old house, some of the flaws were instantly apparent—the porch was missing boards and was about to fall down altogether, one window was covered with plastic kept in place by duct tape and the roof was about half-rotten shingles. Well, he wouldn’t be getting up there. But he worked for a builder who had roofers—maybe he could get a discount to keep the rain off his head.
Inside was actually better than he expected. It didn’t smell great, but all that would take was soap and water. He stepped right into a living room/dining room—the walls needed plaster and paint, the floors needed resurfacing, that window needed glass, the lighting fixtures were ancient and therefore so was much of the wiring. But there was a large stone fireplace on one wall, large windows on the other. A door off the dining area probably led to the bedroom.
The kitchen was small, barely room for a little table and four chairs, about 1950s vinyl decor. The linoleum on the floor was scarred, cracked, peeling and permanently stained. A couple of cupboard doors were missing and the stove and refrigerator were at least as old as he was. There seemed to be a room behind the kitchen, but the add-on was sloppy—it wasn’t level with the rest of the house. Dan stepped carefully across that uneven chasm and pushed the door open.
“There’s a larger bedroom off the dining room,” Cheryl said. “Bathroom’s right there.” She pointed to the right of the kitchen.
He peeked first into the bathroom—nice size with a newly installed, as of about fifteen years ago, perfectly hideous shower. It was more like a large pan on the floor with a drain in it, a disgusting-looking shower curtain on a circular rod attached to the wall. He tilted his head and frowned as he studied the contraption.
As if she could read his mind, she said, “My mother was a very large woman and couldn’t handle the tub, so my dad, who is obviously not very handy with things like this, put in a shower for her. It’s a terrible-looking thing, I know. And it needs a new curtain, but honestly, I never expected anyone to want to look at it. And when you get down to it, I don’t have the money to make things nicer around here. It’s as is.”
“Is there a washer and dryer, by any chance?” he asked.
“Uh-huh. They still work, too. Out back on the porch. It’s not heated out there, but it’s enclosed. And the water heater is only a few years old, so that should make it a while.”
He took a quick look at what one would call the master bedroom. It was really an awful-looking little house that had the potential to look nice—barely big enough for a couple and one child. He could spend some time checking the structure later, but for now it appeared all its ugliness was merely cosmetic. Some elbow grease would make it civilized, but some remodeling talent could make it quaint.
“How much?” he asked her.
She was stunned. “You’re kidding me.”
“I thought maybe I could do a few things around here to make the place presentable if you give me a break on the rent. I’m a builder by trade. You thinking you might sell it someday?”
“I don’t know. I know I’m not interested in living in it—I work in Eureka. But I just found out the house was my responsibility, so…I guess I’ll either rent it, sell it, or let the state take it for nonpayment of taxes.”
“Shew,” he said. “You really do have some thinking to do. Listen, here’s the deal. I’ll pay you some rent and take care of the utilities. If you give me a break on the rent, I’ll see if I can fix it up a little bit. If you decide to sell it and I make you an offer, you’ll deduct my materials and labor from the price. Think about that.”
Her eyes just grew wider. “You can have it for two-fifty a month. Do whatever you want. You can’t make it any worse, even if you’re the worst builder in America.”
“Two hundred,” he said. “That should pay your taxes. Give you time to think. But you have to let me have it for a year, to make it worth my while to do some things to it. And I’m not the worst builder in America.” He grinned at her.
She put out her hand. “Deal.”
“You have some kind of contract?” he asked.
“Nope. Try to be a nice guy about this and if you decide to abandon the place, lock up and let Jack know. Mrs. Sheridan has my number in Eureka.”
“Well, Jesus,” he said, taking off his hat and running his hand over his short hair. “Don’t you want to know my name?”
“Sure,” she said. “What is it?”
“Dan Brady.”
“I’m Cheryl Creighton. Be a good neighbor, will you? I think the last people who lived here were a lot of trouble.”
“And who would that be?”
“Me. Us. My parents and I.”
He chuckled. “Would you like to seal this deal over a drink?”
“No, thanks. I don’t care for a drink. Do you drink a lot?”
“Me? I’ve been known to have a beer or two.”
“Get drunk a lot?” she asked.
He frowned, having no idea what her issue was. Maybe she came from a hard-drinking family and it put her off in a big way. “I get drunk not at all,” he said. “It’s not convenient. But I like a beer sometimes. That going to be a problem?”
“Gee,” she said. “That must be nice.”
“Huh?”
“Get the utilities taken care of right away. Get them in your name. I’ll come back out in a couple of weeks or a month and if you still want to live here, I’ll pick up your rent check and give you an address to mail it to me.” She wiggled a key off her key chain, handed it to him. “If you change your mind, give the key to Jack.”
No first and last months’ rent? No security deposit? he wondered. Then he realized a security deposit on this dump was ridiculous, but you’d think she’d want to get a month’s rent out of him. He pulled out his wallet and peeled off five twenties. “Here,” he said. “That’ll take care of the rest of the month. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything bad to your house. And I work for a guy from town, so I’m not going to steal from you or anything.”
She actually gave a huff of laughter. What could he possibly steal? The forty-year-old stove and refrigerator? “Yeah, good,” she said. “Well, at least you’ll get the ugliest hot shower of your life.”
“Hey, that will be a good thing,” he said.
She gave a curt nod, turned and left. He just stood there a minute, totally perplexed. She was a little messed up from cleaning out this dump of a house, but there was no concealing her basic good looks, trim figure. But there was also no concealing the unhappy person inside.
And then he heard her truck depart from the front of the house. Her business was done here.
* * *
Since her one-night visit to Virgin River, Muriel had tried to talk to Walt every day, but occasionally she’d miss one. By mid-April she’d been working on her movie two months. They had started some sound-stage filming in a fake farmhouse built on a studio lot, and there was a lot more of that to do. But now came the real deal. The cast and crew were moving to Montana to film on location. This was her perfect opportunity for another escape. While most of the company moved on to set up, she could take some time and arrive when they were ready for her. Given her experience, trusted professionalism and—oh, yes—she was the other big star, she could take a break. No production company Lear this time, so she got a ticket on a private commuter and flew into the little Garberville airport. One of the ground crew gave her a lift out to her house.
Lately, whenever she’d talked to Walt, Muriel had been hearing something distant in his voice. Maybe it was just his loneliness with her being away. Or maybe he was unwilling to compete with her career. Maybe, regardless of what he said, he’d expected her to say no to a fantastic acting opportunity to stay home with him, proving her love. Given the number of men she’d been through in her life and her independence, she could just say Phhhhttt—get over it. Everyone gets a life, bub, not just the boys.
And that’s what she would say, if she became convinced he was just another difficult man who had to be sure he was always on top, that he was first ahead of her work, her sense of self, her need to be productive. She just hadn’t seen that in him. There was something different about Walt, and she’d known it since the first moment she’d met him. He had all the ingredients of the superior male beast—big, tough, heroic, masterful, dominant. But then she’d see him with his daughter or grandchild and realize that he was more than that. He had a tenderness so deep, a loyalty so strong, and a reliability so constant she wanted to embrace it and never let go.
So she was taking her brief ten-day hiatus in Virgin River to find out if Walt was just another man, or maybe a little lonely, in need of reassurance. She’d earned the break. And Walt, she thought, had earned the benefit of the doubt.
The pilot of her plane had asked around and found her a ride. Once home, she called Walt’s house, but there was no answer. Jeez. Hollywood might be all superficial fluff, but at least they could exist on cell phones!
She rustled up her extra set of keys and took her truck into town. Ah, there he was—his Tahoe was parked in front of Jack’s with quite a few other vehicles. A glance at her watch told her it was probably dinnertime. She walked into the quiet hum of conversation; Jack’s was rarely real noisy. She pulled off her hat, ruffled her hair with her fingers and scanned the room. Then she saw his broad back. He sat up at the bar talking with his niece, Shelby, while Luke stood behind Shelby with a hand on her shoulder. On Walt’s other side was Paul, lifting a beer.
“Hey, now,” she heard Jack say, causing them all to turn.
Muriel had taught herself to read people a long time ago. It was necessary in her line of work to get a message from the body language and the eyes. Walt smiled a little bit, but his posture opened to her and his eyes grew instantly warm. Yet it was Shelby who jumped off her stool. “Muriel! What are you doing here?”
She gave Shelby a hug. “Taking a little break from filming while I can. How are you?”
“Perfect! But what about you? Is it incredibly exciting?”
Muriel chuckled. “No, sweetheart. It’s mundane. It just happens to fill up about sixteen hours a day and is usually exhausting.” She walked toward the men, arm in arm with Shelby. “Walt, I tried to call. You weren’t home so I came here.”
“Good bet,” he said, leaning toward her. He slipped an arm around her waist and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Ah, there it was. She could feel the vibration under his skin. He was glad to see her. Maybe relieved. She didn’t want to make a scene by throwing herself into his arms, so she turned to Luke. “How are you? I see he didn’t shoot you.”
Luke laughed and shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m still listening for that rifle cock.”
“Hell, I’m still listening for that,” Paul said, sipping his beer.
Jack chuckled and said, “What’s your pleasure, Muriel?”
“How about a beer? Whatever you think I’ll like.”
“Done,” he said, slapping a napkin on the bar.
“How’s the family, Jack?”
“Exceptional. Mel’s exceptionally gorgeous and demanding, Emma’s exceptionally beautiful and David is an exceptionally bad terrible two. We may not survive him.”
“Oh, weaker men than you have made it through that stage,” she said. She picked up her beer and raised it. “I hope you have some good gossip. I’ve missed the hell out of this place.”
“I think we can keep you entertained for a little while,” Shelby said. And for the next half hour or so, she laughed and hummed at the local tales, both funny and serious. Shelby had decided to make Luke’s life and marry him, date to be announced, the local pediatrician was living with Vanni’s pregnant girlfriend, Jack was having trouble getting Rick to open up on the phone about how he was doing in rehab, but within a couple of weeks he could go down to Naval Medical Center in San Diego to pick him up, bring him home. And little David had a big, round, purple lump on his forehead from throwing himself on the floor in a temper and banging his head.
Walt didn’t let it go on very long. Jack handed him a sack of some of Preacher’s takeout and he stood from the bar. “You must be starving,” he said to Muriel. He lifted one dark brow and tilted his head toward the door.
Now, Muriel was too aware that if anyone else in this bar had pulled that trick, the laughter and jeering would have been relentless. No one got by with anything around here, and certainly nothing that obvious. But this was the general and even Shelby, who had him wrapped around her little finger, was cautious. Respectful.
“Starving,” she said with a smile. Then she turned to Jack. “I’ll be around for ten days. I’ll see plenty of everyone. Tell Mel I said hello and I’ll catch up with her.”
“You bet.”
Outside, on the bar’s porch, Walt slipped an arm around her waist. He put his rough cheek against hers and said, “Your horses are fed. Come to my place. The usual suspects now know better than to step foot near it.”
A few minutes later she was laughing hysterically as her Labs assaulted her while Walt tried to pin her against the wall just inside the door. And, oh God, had she needed to come home!
“Ten days?” he asked, his voice coarse.
“Ten.”
“What do you want to do while you’re here?”
“I want to ride, run the dogs and sit on my porch with you and a glass of wine, watching the sun go down. Then I’d like to sit on my porch with you in the morning with coffee and watch it come up. And this,” she said, running her hands over his shoulders and down his arms. “I want to stay real close to the feeling of your arms around me.”
“Sounds doable,” he said. “How about we start with a nice, slow, relaxing orgasm? Then we can make plans while we have dinner.”
“I can do that,” she said, kissing him.
* * *
Rick Sudder had been at the San Diego Naval Medical Center for a little over a month. He’d transferred from the ward into the barracks weeks ago and had his new preparatory prosthesis. It was a hard plastic socket for his stump attached to a mechanical knee and then a titanium pylon attached to a plastic foot. It would probably be a couple more months before he’d get the real deal, a fake leg that at least looked like a fake leg instead of a rod stuck into a running shoe. And that was another thing—the running shoe. He didn’t wear running shoes unless he was playing basketball. He wore boots. But this was safer, sturdier, and the height of the sole was significant in measuring the length of the pylon so he’d be level. From what he heard from other amputees around the barracks, he should feel lucky to be level.
He was still learning the ropes. A below-the-knee amputation was a piece of cake compared to his—he had to learn to balance and operate a mechanical knee. Frankly, he preferred the wheelchair or crutches. The wheelchair had to be weighted on the front side bars so he wouldn’t tip over backward because he no longer had the counterweight that his leg would have provided, but he still would rather that than a walker. And crutches were a little unstable, not that it mattered to him. But they insisted on the walker, which made him feel like an old man. Plus, he was still hurting. His foot where there was no foot itched till he wanted to lose his mind.
The pain was so much more manageable, but leaning his weight on the prosthesis was tough and the phantom pain still drove him crazy, especially at night. That, he was told, wasn’t exactly easily remedied. It was a process of retraining the nerves, a tedious, frustrating exercise. He was walking now, inside the parallel bars and with the walker.
In rehab he’d been focusing on straightening the leg to prevent contractures—the shortening of the muscles in the thigh of his amputated leg. He’d been forced to lie on his belly, something they called proning, and lift that stump to extend his hip. Then he’d stand at the bars while a therapist pulled back on it. And he was instructed to repeat these exercises while on his own, but he didn’t. Getting better didn’t interest him enough, and he knew that. He also knew he’d probably be sorry, but motivation was hard to embrace.
Then there was group. Group was almost unbearable. Let’s all get together and talk about what it feels like to lose your limbs or not be able to move your body from the waist down, what fun! Let’s have a little chat about how scrambled your brain is after you’ve been shot/blown up/crushed. Or, how about we have a good cry followed by a group hug? And then, the frosting on the cake, accept praise from the group moderator—who, by the way, has arms and legs and doesn’t have to get around in a chair—because you let it all out and cried in front of the boys.
Rick wasn’t sure he could stand much more of this. The only thought worse was going home like this, with a brain like so much spaghetti and one leg even worse than Captain Ahab’s.
He had to admit to himself, being in the barracks as opposed to the ward was better, especially the freedom of movement. All the men had some form of disability, and they traveled back and forth to the hospital physical therapy department, but also to the exchange to buy anything from snacks to paperbacks, to the base movie theater, or on outings with friends or family members. His roommates were more relaxed, more honest. He was actually forming some relationships. They were like members of a squad, almost. The gimp squad. But at least they could bitch about the physical terrorists, the counselors, their families or girlfriends or buddies back home who just didn’t seem to get it, and they didn’t have to bare their souls or cry to be doing it right.
He couldn’t complain about the food or the weather. He couldn’t remember the Marine Corps or navy ever feeding him decent food before this. And San Diego in April was like a piece of heaven. The sun was bright and warm, the breeze was clean and smelt vaguely of the sea, at night the sky was usually clear or the storms gathered off the coast and put on a light show over the ocean. He spent as much time outside as he could, finding a bench or chair in either the courtyard or in front of the barracks and just parked there, soaking up the sun. The southern California sun was so much sweeter than that mean, harsh desert sun in Iraq.
There hadn’t ever been this much sun in Virgin River; if the height of the trees didn’t block it, then the clouds did. In Virgin River you wore your sealskin eleven months of the year; mountain life was chilly to cold almost year-round.
His cell phone chimed in his pocket and he pulled it out to see who was calling. Unknown. That was a trick only Liz tried, hoping he’d pick up. Jack never bothered with that because Jack wasn’t a crafty teenage girl. He let it go to voice mail. Liz had been sending him things at least twice a week. Stupid things. Cookies she made that weren’t all that good, magazines that looked used, cheap cologne, as if he’d be going out on some date or something, Soap-On-A-Rope and razors, like the Naval Medical Center wouldn’t keep him clean. A Saint Christopher medal. For what? To keep him safe from now on? Stupid, stupid things. Things that made his eyes water at her sweet caring, her simple but beautiful attempts to bring him any level of pleasure. He treated her like such shit she should just cut him loose and spend all those efforts on someone else, someone who deserved it.
A car pulled up in front of the barracks, a woman jumped out of the driver’s side and ran around to the passenger door. Her skirt was short and flouncy, her knit top snug, legs long and shapely. And man, what an ass—round and tight and pretty. Aaron’s woman. Aaron was one of his roommates, about a week ahead of him in this rehab program.
She held out her hand to Aaron and helped him stay steady while he stepped out on his prosthetic leg, the preparatory kind. And once he had himself balanced in the open car door, he pulled his woman against him and she molded there, planting her lips on his, her firm breasts pressed up against him, his arms around her waist with one hand slipping down to that fabulous butt to pull her even closer.
Aaron was about thirty and this was his fiancée. He was one happy-go-lucky son of a bitch, like nothing much was wrong. He had also been wounded in Iraq, but he hadn’t been blown up. He took a bullet and it shattered his knee so catastrophically they had to amputate, yet to listen to him, talk to him, you’d think this was some minor fucking inconvenience. Rick vacillated between admiring him and hating him.
While Aaron kissed his girl, Rick’s voice-mail message alert bleeped. But Rick watched Aaron. He wondered what it would feel like to believe he had the right to do that to a woman, with a woman.
Aaron had said he was going to run some wedding-planning errands with his girl and if he was real lucky, he’d be able to talk her into some afternoon delight at a hotel that was handicap friendly, haw haw haw. He looked pretty delighted, pretty relaxed. Apparently that had worked out for him.
“Want me to walk you in, baby?” the fiancée asked.
He grabbed for his cane out of the front seat. “Nah, sweetheart, I got it. I’ll talk to you tonight.” Then he grinned. “Glad we got everything taken care of.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, giving him another quick kiss. “Practice up now so you can come home.”
“You bet I will,” he said, smiling.
Aw, Jesus, Rick thought. Can we get any sweeter? You’re a goddamn cripple! Have you noticed, crip, you haven’t got a real leg there? And the one they gave you—it’s not working that good.
She held his hand, backing away from him so slowly like they couldn’t bear to be apart. Rick felt it squeeze his chest. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, it reminded him of the way he’d pulled away from Liz when he said goodbye to her before leaving for Iraq.
He squashed the memory.
Aaron walked slowly toward Rick, who sat on the bench outside the front door of the barracks, his walker beside him.
“How you doing, Rick?” Aaron asked.
“Great,” Rick said, because he knew how the game was played. You stay up! You stay positive! You act like getting this fake piece-of-shit leg was your fucking dream come true! “How was your afternoon? Or do I even need to ask?”
“Good,” Aaron said, not taking the bait. “We got some things done. Sandy has this whole wedding business nailed. All I do is say, looks good to me.” He smiled a bit wistfully. “She’s so great.”
“Maybe you had a little afternoon delight, too,” Rick suggested.
“Any time I get to spend with Sandy is perfect,” he said.
“Just out of curiosity, isn’t it kind of difficult?”
Aaron stood right in front of him, forcing him to look up. “What, exactly?”
“You know what.”
“Sex?”
Rick was speechless for a second. He’d rather speak in code, but Aaron was pretty upfront. Especially with these issues. “Uh, yeah. That.”
Aaron laughed. “It was a lot harder to learn how to take a shower.”
“Where’s the leg go?” Rick heard himself ask.
“Right up against the wall, pal. It’s not real soft and cuddly. But I get some very fine traction without it.” Then he chuckled. “You worried about that, my brother?”
“Just curious.”
“Then let me make this easy for you. I take it off. That seems to be the popular solution for most men. And I’m going to get this thing broken in as quick as I can. I want to walk Sandy down the aisle and dance with her at the reception. It might not be Fred Astaire style, but if I don’t fall on my ass, I’ll be damn happy.”
Rick grinned, but he thought, you simple fool. You screw with a stump and limp around the dance floor like an idiot and you’re damn happy? Fool. “Good for you,” Rick said, because that’s what he was expected to say.
“You have a girl, don’t you, Rick?”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “No girl.”
“I thought I heard there was a girl back home.”
“Nah. I dated some, that’s all. No girl.”
“Well, then,” Aaron said, grinning. “You have something to look forward to. I didn’t find my Sandy till I was twenty-six.”
And didn’t you have a couple of legs then? Rick wanted to ask. But he said, “Sure. Yeah.”
When Aaron had gone inside, Rick checked his message.
“Hi, Rick, it’s me. You never pick up and I guess I stopped expecting you to call back, but I just wanted to call you anyway, tell you I think about you every second. I’m graduating in less than two months, can you believe that? This girl you had to beg to stay in school? And guess what? I have all As. But I think I told you that already. Maybe a hundred times. That is, if you listen to the messages. I don’t know—maybe you just delete them. But anyway, I know you’re going to be out of there before too much longer, and it would just be so…awesome…if you came to graduation. I’d be so proud to have you come. I guess I won’t know anything about that until you call me back. Hey!” she said, changing her tone. “I sent you a little something. I hope you like it.”
Rick clicked off the phone. Then he turned it back on and replayed the message. Then replayed it again. Then listened to an older one, her voice making his eyes sting and then cloud. He missed her so much. But he couldn’t…couldn’t…couldn’t…
Yeah, sure. Like I’m going to watch you graduate, your boyfriend, with a peg leg in a pair of dorky running shoes. Get real, he thought. Then he turned off the phone and put it in his pocket.