Wes Lassiter didn’t have to go to court. A plea agreement was reached by the prosecutor and the attorney for the defense, and it did not give Paige any peace of mind. The judge was disappointed in Lassiter for breaching the conditions of his bail by phoning Paige and trying to leverage her, but in the end he sentenced the man to forty-five days in jail, five years of probation, and two thousand hours of community service. Also required, a meeting at Addicts Anonymous every day, the order of protection was enforced and the custody agreement upheld. And he immediately went to jail.
“I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re winning,” Brie told Paige over the phone. “He’s been compromised—he’s not getting away with anything. Even though the jail sentence is short, it might be enough to modify his behavior. Jail is ugly. Mean and dangerous. And the scuttlebutt is that he has to liquidate to pay his lawyer, which means you’ll be getting your divorce settlement.”
“I don’t care about that. I don’t care about money. I just want to be safe from him.”
“I know,” Brie said. “But in the grand scheme of things, forty-five days with the threat of the judge going bonkers and sentencing him to ten years if he screws up is better than three to five. Really.”
“Why doesn’t it feel that way?” Paige asked.
“Because you’re scared,” Brie said. “I would be, too. But this is good. No one’s letting him off. And the chance of him calling or approaching you in that five years of probation and getting hammered for it—that’s a strong deterrent. During that five years, he could actually move on. I don’t hold much hope of him becoming a different kind of human being, but, God help me, he might find a new target. Oh, God really help me.”
“I don’t know if that’s encouraging, or the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know,” Brie said. “So it goes in our business.”
Paige was notified that the house was listed for sale, and that her signature was required. Her lawyer sent her papers regarding the liquidation of 401Ks and retirement accounts. The closed checking and money-market accounts were accounted for, as well as the charge accounts and mortgage balances.
In a quiet moment, Preacher asked her, “Are you worried about money?”
“No, I’m worried about never being free of him. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
“I don’t know what I can do about that, besides promising to do everything I can to keep you safe. But, it looks like you’re going to get a few bucks here—maybe something you can put away for emergencies. The being afraid part, we’ll have to take it as we go. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“I know you will, John. I’m sorry you’re stuck with this basket case who’s afraid of her own shadow.”
“I’m not stuck,” he said, smiling. “I’ve never felt stuck. I live a real simple life, Paige. I’ve never really worried too much about money. Maybe we should talk about that a little bit. Money.”
“Could we not?” she asked. “Money and things—it was so important to Wes. It drove him mad, trying to be rich, to have a lot, to look like he was successful. It leaves such a bad taste in my mouth that if a check comes in the mail, I might not even be able to cash it!”
“Understandable,” he said. “But I don’t want you to think that if you and Chris are my family, you’d have to worry about your future. His future.”
“When I look at the difference between my life then and now, I feel richer now. I have everything I need. Chris and I—we’re so much better off.”
Preacher decided to let the matter rest, at least for the time being. He’d never talked to anyone about money. He and his mom had been pretty much lower middle class, maybe poor. They lived in a two-bedroom cinder-block house with a cyclone fence around the yard and roof that wasn’t dependable. There weren’t any sidewalks or streetlights on their block. She kept it real nice, but he couldn’t remember a stick of new furniture in his lifetime. When she died, there was a policy paying off the little house plus a life insurance benefit and a small pension through the church. It was a small piece of suburban Cincinnati real estate in a declining neighborhood plus a modest amount of cash. He was only seventeen and didn’t care about what a sale might bring—he wanted his mom, their home together.
When he went into the Marines, he had to let it go, had to realize he’d never have that life back. It was a hundred and forty thousand dollars in total, a fortune for an eighteen-year-old kid with no family but the band of brothers he signed on with. He’d felt a little like Paige—like he couldn’t even cash the check. So he did the next best thing. He put it in a safe place—a CD. A few years later he put it somewhere else—a mutual fund. Since he had no attachment to it and it meant so little to him, it caused him no stress at all to move it around a little, here and there. He had his first computer by then—and he was looking things up, his favorite pastime next to fishing, shooting, reading military history. He learned a little about investing on the computer, then began doing some online. In fourteen years his investments had grown considerably—they approached nine hundred thousand dollars.
The only pleasure Preacher had ever gotten from his nest egg was watching the balance grow—he had no use for it. But now he had a boy who’d be going to college in fifteen or so years. With any luck there’d be more kids needing college. He could keep going—investing and reinvesting—but it occurred to him to stuff a couple hundred thousand in bonds, which were safe, so that by the time it was needed, it would be handy.
Later, when the time was right, he’d tell Paige that if she couldn’t cash that check from her divorce settlement, it couldn’t matter less. She really did have everything she needed. She just didn’t know it yet.
Mel’s mind might have been wandering a little—pregnant women were known for that sort of thing. She was in Clear River where she’d been gassing up the Hummer, and while stopped at the only light in town, it turned green and she didn’t move. By the time she looked up to see that it had changed, there was a loud bang and a jolt; the Hummer was pushed into the intersection. When she got out of the vehicle, a hand pressed to her back and her stomach protruding like Mount Kilimanjaro, the man in the pickup truck who’d rear-ended her went completely pale. She recognized that man—he wore the shady brady on his head, and he had all but kidnapped her to deliver a baby in an illegal grow in a trailer a few months ago.
Mel looked at the bumper of the Hummer. One side was smashed in pretty good.
“Shit,” she said.
“You okay?” he asked, a panicked look skittering across his face.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Oh, Jesus, I really don’t want to have to deal with your husband on this,” he said.
“Me, neither.”
“I have insurance. I have a license. I have whatever you need. Just say you’re all right.”
“Sit tight,” she said. “Try not to go nuts on me. Don’t flee the scene or anything really stupid.”
“Yeah,” he said nervously. “Right.”
There were no local police in Clear River, so Mel walked back to the gas station and called the California Highway Patrol. She called Jack, assured him she was just fine, knowing that wouldn’t cut any grass with him and he’d be flying across the mountain.
About thirty minutes later CHP responded, pulling into the intersection, the car lit up to keep the traffic away from the accident. When the patrolman stepped out of his car, he found Mel sitting in the passenger seat of the Hummer, door open and feet in the street, listening to her belly with a fetoscope. He frowned down on Mel’s big belly. “Oh, boy,” he said. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said, rubbing a hand over her belly. “I’m fine.”
“Um. You’re awful pregnant,” he said.
“Tell me about it.”
“You a doctor?”
“Midwife.”
“Then I guess you know what you need,” he said.
Right at that moment, Jack’s truck came screeching into the intersection and he was out and striding toward them. Mel looked up at the officer. “Well, that’s probably going to be irrelevant.”
Jack took one look at his old friend in the shady brady and got himself all stirred up. The jaw pulse ticked, his complexion went dark and angry. She put a hand on his arm. “I know it’s technically his fault, but the light had changed and I didn’t go. So try to leave your personal feelings out of this and let the cop do his job.”
He glanced over at the cop collecting the man’s data and said, “It might be real hard for me to not get personal here.”
“Okay, then,” Mel said. “Let’s shoot for rational.”
Forty minutes later, she was lying on the exam table in Grace Valley, the ultrasound bleeping beside her. Jack was nearly distraught, but no one else was particularly worried. John said it wouldn’t hurt to check, make sure everything was all right. Clearly the baby was not traumatized; she was bouncing around like a gymnast. June Hudson and Susan Stone were peering over Mel’s big belly, looking at the baby on the monitor while John moved the wand around. Then John said, “Well, shit.”
“Oh, brother,” John’s wife said.
“That doesn’t happen very often,” June said.
“What?” Jack said. “What?”
“But I have all these pink things! From Christmas!” Mel shrieked.
“What?” Jack said. “What the hell is it? Is the baby all right?”
“Baby’s fine,” John said. “It isn’t Emma, that’s for sure. Look—femur, femur, penis. I blew it. And I’m so damn good, I can’t imagine how that happened.”
“It was probably just on the early side,” June said. “We should’ve done another one at twenty weeks to be sure.”
“Yeah, but I’m so damn good,” John insisted.
“Penis?” Jack asked.
Mel looked up into his eyes and said, “We’re going to have to come up with another name.”
Jack had a dumb look on his face. Mel didn’t recall having seen that look before. “Man,” he said in a breath. “I might not know what to do with a boy.”
“Well, we got that news just in time,” June said, leaving the exam room.
“Yeah, right before the shower,” Susan added, following her.
“I really thought I had it nailed,” John said. “I feel betrayed, in a way.”
Mel looked up into her husband’s eyes and watched as a slow, powerful grin appeared. “What are you thinking, Jack?” she asked him.
“That I can’t wait to call my brothers-in-law, the slackers.”
Mel was ready to leave Doc’s for the day, to walk across the street and have dinner with her husband, when Connie came in assisting Liz to the front door. Connie had a hand under Liz’s elbow while Liz was gripping her belly. A dark fluid stain ran down her jeans from between her legs and she was crying. “It hurts,” she wailed. “It hurts!”
“Okay, honey,” Mel said, coming forward and taking the other hand. “Let’s see what’s going on. When did you see Dr. Stone last?”
“A couple of weeks ago. Oohh.”
“Is she in labor?” Connie asked.
“Maybe. We’ll know in a minute. Come into the exam room and let me check you. Then we’ll see if you should go to the hospital.”
Mel and Connie helped Liz undress, peeling off the wet jeans and helping her into a gown so she could get onto the exam table. “I’ll take it from here,” Mel told Connie. “I want to see where we are.”
“Call Rick,” Liz cried. “Please, Aunt Connie! Please! I need him!”
“Sure, honey.” Connie left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Mel applied her fetoscope to Liz’s belly, though Liz writhed. She waited for the contraction to pass, but it was a long, hard one. Finally her uterus relaxed, not that it gave Liz much relief.
Liz’s cries became quieter and Mel worked hard at listening, moving the fetoscope all around. Then she hung it around her neck and pulled out the Doptone, a fetal heartbeat monitor. She moved it over Liz’s belly as calmly as possible, despite Liz’s squirming and groaning.
“Is the heartbeat okay?” Liz asked.
“It’s hard to hear with the contractions right now. I’ll listen again after I check your cervix.” Next, she put on gloves. “All right, Liz, let me examine you. Feet in the stirrups, slide down for me. I’ll be as gentle as possible. There you go. Take some slow, deep breaths.” She carefully slipped her hand into the birth canal. Six centimeters. No, seven. Bloody fluid.
“Liz,” she said, “it’s time. You’re going to deliver soon.” Mel tried with the Doptone again, her heart plummeting. Liz was a little early; she hadn’t even started the weekly visits she would pay to John Stone during her last month. She probably hadn’t had an internal exam since the one Mel gave her when she returned to Virgin River.
She got a blood pressure and listened to her heart. Normal, under the circumstances. She applied the Doptone again. “Have you been having contractions long?” she asked Liz.
“I don’t know. All day, I guess. But I didn’t know what it was. It just kept getting worse and worse. It wasn’t like those Braxton things. It was like a knife!”
“Okay, honey. It’s okay. Have you been feeling the baby move a lot?”
“No. Just my back hurting and lots of…And a stomachache on and off. Gas, I think. Was it gas?”
“I don’t know, honey. When did you last feel the baby move?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Liz cried. “Is he all right?”
“Try breathing like this,” she said, demonstrating a deep inhale, slow exhale. But Liz was too far into this. Mel showed her panting, short puffs of air, which seemed to work a little better. “There you go. I’m going to go make sure your aunt Connie called Rick. Okay?”
“Okay. But don’t leave me.”
“I’ll only be a minute. Try the breathing.”
Mel left the room, pulling the door closed. “Connie, did you find Rick?”
“Jack sent him over to Garberville to pick up some beef for the bar. He should be back pretty soon.”
“How soon?” Mel asked. It was her gut instinct to tell Liz immediately—there was no heartbeat, no movement. But she was so young, vulnerable, so dependent on Rick.
“Minutes, Jack said,” Connie answered.
“Okay, good. Liz is in labor and she’s dilated. Will you please go stay with her for a couple of minutes? I should call Dr. Stone. It won’t take me long.”
Doc Mullins caught her in the hallway. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Mel leaned close and whispered. “I have no fetal heartbeat, no movement, seven centimeters and she can’t remember when she last felt the baby move.”
His white brows drew together more and more as Mel spoke. When she was done he said, “Goddamn it!”
“Will you go in there and try? Please?”
“Your ears are a lot better than mine.”
“Use the Doptone and try anyway. Please,” she asked. “I’m going to call John. He’s been seeing her.”
He put his old hand on her shoulder. “You couldn’t have done anything.”
“I know, but please try, Doc,” she asked. But she knew he wasn’t going to find anything. The fetus had expired in utero. They could try to transport her to Valley Hospital, but as advanced as her labor was, it wouldn’t do any good—wouldn’t help the baby—and she would be too far advanced in her labor by the time they got there for an epidural, so they couldn’t relieve her from the pain. What Mel was focused on was getting Liz through the labor, get the baby out as quickly as possible. But first she had to call John. Thankfully, he answered the call immediately, and she explained the situation.
“I saw her about two weeks ago,” John said. “We were fine then. Is she preeclamptic?”
“No. Her blood pressure is okay, and it won’t do any good to check her urine with blood present and I don’t want to use a catheter now, with so much going on. But I’m saying no—I don’t see any edema. She’s had a bellyache, can’t remember the last fetal movement and her contractions are coming on like gangbusters—her uterus is working hard. She was seven a few minutes ago.”
“All you can do is get the baby out,” John said. “Want me to come up?”
“What can you do?” Mel asked.
“I can deliver for you, Mel. I hate for you to go through this, being pregnant yourself. It’s traumatic.”
“I can get her through it,” she said. “But damn!”
“Yeah, damn,” John said quietly.
“At least this seems to be moving very quickly,” she said before she hung up. Then she immediately called Jack. “I need some help over here,” she said. “Liz is in advanced labor and I can’t get her upstairs.”
“On my way,” he said.
Doc came out of the exam room just as Mel was headed there. He was shaking his head sadly. All Mel could think was, Oh, God, could things get any harder for these kids? If having a baby too young wasn’t difficult enough, having a baby that wasn’t alive was horrific.
Hold it together, she told herself. There’s going to be a lot of crying—hold it together. Someone has to be strong. Someone has to get them through this.
“Jack’s on his way over,” she said to Doc. “He can carry her upstairs for us. Send him right in, okay?” Then she went back into the exam room. “Liz, I have to be straight with you—this is going really fast. There isn’t going to be time to get you to the hospital. We’re going to take you upstairs to the bed. I’ll get you through this.”
“What about that pain shot?” she asked, already sweating profusely.
“I don’t want to slow you down or zone you out, honey. I can give you something when we get situated upstairs…But let’s get on with it. I’ll help you with the breathing. And Rick will be here soon.”
Jack stepped into the room. He was too perceptive for his own good. His expression said he knew that things were not okay, even if he didn’t know precisely what was wrong. Mel stepped away from the exam table and Jack leaned over Liz. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said tenderly. “I’m going to take you upstairs.” As he lifted her up into his arms, the sheet that covered her slipped away, her bare bottom hanging out, but that was the least of Jack’s worries. “Here we go. Nice and easy.”
He carried her up the stairs to the room in which Mel had attended her very first birth in this town. Liz was writhing and crying as he gently placed her on the clean white sheets. As he pulled his arms out from under her, one of his sleeves was wet with bloody fluid. “Rick?” she asked.
“On his way, Liz. He’ll be here any second.”
“I need him with me,” she cried.
“On his way, honey,” Jack said.
Mel was applying the Doptone again, praying for a miracle as she did so, but there was nothing. Nothing but fierce contractions and no life inside.
“Doc, stay with Liz for a minute, will you?”
“Sure thing,” Doc said. He went to her and lifted her hand into his and started to coach her. “Let’s try some of those panting breaths, Lizzie,” he said.
Mel stepped into the hallway with Jack and Connie. Jack was rolling up his soiled sleeve as the front door to Doc’s opened and Rick yelled. “Liz? Mel?”
Mel put a hand on Jack’s arm, gesturing for him to stay. “Up here, Rick,” she called. He came bounding up the stairs, anxious lines etched into his young face. He was all wound up and obviously scared.
“Is it too soon?” he asked.
Mel took one of Connie’s hands, one of Rick’s and said, “Rick, I have something to tell you, and I need you to be stronger than you’ve ever been. For Liz. You’re going to help us get through this.” Jack stepped up behind Rick and put strong hands on his shoulders. “The baby, Rick. There’s no heartbeat.” She didn’t bother with medical terminology. To this seventeen-year-old boy she said, “He died, Rick.”
“What?” he asked, confusion wrinkling his brow. “What did you say?”
“There’s no heartbeat. No movement. Liz is laboring and she’s going to deliver him soon, and he’s not going to be alive.”
Connie caught it the first time and began to softly weep, her head down, her shoulders shaking. It took Rick a minute. He shook his head, trying to make it not be so. “Why?” he asked. “How?”
“We don’t know, Rick. I talked to Dr. Stone just a few minutes ago—everything was fine when he saw her last. Liz doesn’t seem to have any complications. It’s been a while since she felt movement. It could have been a few hours, a few days…. These things are rare, but it happens. And we’re going to have to tell her.”
“I thought he was just quiet last night. Was he…?” Rick asked. “Last night, when I held her, I didn’t…No,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes watered, though he stood straight. “No,” he said again. Mel took him into her arms, this big, solid boy, a father too young, a grieving father too soon. He leaned against her, shaking his head, saying no, no, no, no, over and over. She thought it might be best if he vented a little first, before going to Liz, but then a cry came from the labor room and he raised his head sharply, as though he heard a gunshot. She could see his brave struggle to try to control his own tears.
“She’s going to need you so much. It doesn’t get any harder than this.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t. Tell her.”
“We have to tell her. It’s her baby. Can you do this with me? Because I really need your help.”
“Yeah,” he said, sucking back the tears and wiping a sleeve across his nose. “Yeah, I think I can. Oh, God,” he said, briefly losing it. “I did this to her!”
“No, Rick—this just happened. It’s cruel and it’s horrible, but it isn’t anyone’s fault. We have to somehow get through this.”
“What if we hurry up and take her to the hospital?” he asked.
“I’m sorry. It wouldn’t help anything. Come on, let’s—”
“But maybe you’re wrong.”
“You’ll never know how much I wish I was wrong. Come with me. She’s getting closer and she has to know.” She took his hand. “You’re going to have to be there for her.” She pulled him into the room and, as they entered, Doc left, leaving Mel to do her job.
“Rick,” Liz cried, reaching for him. She was bathed in sweat, her hair damp and her features twisted.
Rick rushed to her and took her into his arms, holding her against him, silent tears running down his cheeks. Liz was gripped by too much pain to wonder what was wrong with him. When the contraction passed, Mel took her hand and said, “Liz, Rick and I have to tell you something….” Rick lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her, his expression strong though his cheeks were wet.
“What?” she asked weakly. “What’s the matter?”
Rick brushed the hair back from her brow and barely whispered, “The baby, Liz. He’s not okay.”
“What?” she asked again.
Rick looked at Mel imploringly. “The baby is no longer alive, Liz,” Mel said, struggling against her own tears.
“How do you know?” she asked hotly, scooting up in the bed, suddenly alert and frightened. “How do you know that?”
“There’s no heartbeat, sweetheart. There hasn’t been.”
And then she was gripped by another hard contraction.
“Can’t you give her something?” Rick asked.
Mel put on a pair of gloves so she could check Liz. “I’ll give her something to take the edge off without slowing her down or blacking her out. But we need to keep this moving,” she told them both. “Let me have a look, honey. Knees up. That’s my girl. There you go. Good—we’re getting close. It won’t take too much longer.”
“Why?” she asked through sobs. “Why? What happened?”
“No one knows, baby,” Rick was saying. “A freak of nature—no one knows.”
“Oh, God, Rick!”
“I’m here, baby. I won’t leave you. I love you, Liz. I love you so much. We’ll get through this.”
“Can’t anybody do anything?” she shrieked.
“If they could, they would. I’m here, baby. I won’t let you go.”
As they cried together, held each other through one painful contraction after another, Mel couldn’t help but feel tragic pride in these two kids, helping each other through what had to be the most terrible experience anyone can possibly endure, at any age.
“I’m going to want you to push in a minute, Liz.” She went to the door and opened it, finding Doc there, waiting. “It’s almost time,” she said. “She’s real close to ten centimeters.”
Back in the room, she coached Liz and Rick through pushing, an arduous process. Liz was heroic, and between every hard contraction, she sobbed uncontrollably. Then John Stone stepped into the room. “I thought you could use some help,” he said. “I’m right here if you need me.”
Mel mouthed a thank-you, then looked back to the field of birth. John donned gloves, set up clamps and scissors.
Liz pushed a couple of times and clung to Rick between contractions. Mel met Rick’s eyes a few times and saw that, remarkably, he was holding it together. She briefly thought how like Jack the boy was—his eyes were clear, but his cheeks damp, and he clenched his jaw. But as he lowered his lips to Liz’s brow his expression softened and he murmured sweetly to her, telling her he was there, he loved her.
Mel saw the labia separate and the baby’s head crown. He was going to come out quick; he was premature and smaller than average.
The baby’s head emerged. Right away she could see the arrested development, the slightly blue tinge, but his skin was intact—this baby had expired perhaps a day ago. “Once more, Liz, then it’s over.” She edged a shoulder out.
Mel left the limp, lifeless baby boy on the bed between Liz’s legs while John clamped and cut. Then Mel wrapped the baby in its blanket, lovingly and gently as if he were alive, his face showing. His eyes were shut, his arms and legs floppy.
“Give him to us,” Liz said. “Give him to us!”
Mel passed the baby into Liz’s arms. Rick and Liz held him, wept over him, their heads together. While Rick’s shoulders silently shook, Liz’s cries were wrenching. Then Mel watched as they slowly unwrapped him, touched him, examined every inch of him as though she’d presented them with a living baby. Mel’s vision blurred with her tears; she felt them on her cheeks. Inside, her own baby kicked.
Mel gently massaged Liz’s uterus for a few minutes, then the placenta came. As she examined it for completeness, it came to mind that this was where the baby had lived, and died. There was no sense to this. When she looked at Liz and Rick she saw that despite the fact tears ran down their cheeks, they were studying the naked baby, touching him with soft, loving strokes, holding his tiny fingers in their hands. Mel looked down, overcome.
John’s hand was on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear. “How about I finish up for you here?”
She nodded and moved away. Ordinarily, she’d have insisted on completing the cleanup, but the combination of this sudden, intense loss and her own pregnancy put her in a whole different place. She watched as John examined Liz to see if she needed stitches and covered her up. He checked Liz and Rick to make sure they were okay, though neither of them seemed aware of him. Then he dropped an arm around Mel’s shoulders and said, “Let’s give them a few moments. Come on.”
He pulled Mel out of the room, and once she was outside, she leaned against him and sobbed. John held her while she cried hard tears. While he held her close, he felt her baby move inside her and in spite of his desire to be the strong one, his eyes became wet. At long last she drew a jagged breath and looked up at him. She smiled and wiped some wetness from his cheek. “Thank you for coming.”
“I couldn’t let you go through that alone,” John said.
“I wasn’t alone,” she said softly. “I was with two of the strongest, bravest kids I’ve ever known.”
Doc transported the baby to Valley Hospital, where an autopsy would be performed, but it wasn’t unusual in such situations to find no distinct cause of death. Liz had come through the delivery well, despite the devastating outcome. It took Mel a couple of hours, with John’s help, to get everything situated and cleaned up. John gave Liz a sedative and soon after, she slept. By that time, Doc was back and Rick was stretched out on the narrow bed beside Liz, holding her in his strong arms. Mel offered Rick a sedative, as well. “No,” he said stoically. “I’m going to stay awake for Liz. She might need me.”
It was ten when John left and Mel walked across the street to the bar, each foot dragging in depressed misery. When she walked in, she found that not only had Jack stayed, but Paige, Preacher and Mike were still up, waiting this out for her. Jack stood up from the table.
She walked in, looked at them, and shook her head. “Those poor kids,” she said.
Jack enfolded her in his arms, and for a moment she laid her head against his chest. Then she said, “I’m so cold inside—I need the fire. And a brandy. Just a swallow of brandy, please.”
He led her over to the fire and when she sat there, Paige reached for her hand. “Bad?”
“The baby was gone before she delivered.” To anyone else she might have reported it as very sad. To her intimates, she said, “My heart is in a million pieces, it hurts so bad for them.”
Jack brought Mel a small snifter of Remy. She lifted it to her lips with a shaky hand and took a sip, then put it back on the table. She pulled her coat tighter around her, her back to the fire. “You never know where you’re going to find courage,” she said. “My God, those two kids. They clung to each other and got through the worst day of their lives.”
“At least they’re young,” Paige said.
“Yeah, at least that.”
Then the room was silent while Mel absorbed the heat of the fire, quietly partaking of half her brandy. Then she said, “Jack, I want you to go home and get some rest. I’m going to stay with the kids tonight, in case they need me.”
His back straightened immediately. “Mel, Doc can do that. Or you could’ve asked John to stay—Liz is his patient, after all. You’re—”
“I’m going to stay at Doc’s. And I’d like you to go home and try to sleep. Rick’s going to need you tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait here in case—”
“Please,” she said. “Let’s not argue about this. You must know I won’t leave them now.”
“Mel…”
“I’ve made up my mind, Jack. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Although Preacher offered Jack his bed or at least the couch in his apartment, Jack did as he was told and went to the cabin. Of course he didn’t sleep. On a night like this, he really needed his wife’s belly pressed up against him, feeling his son move around in there, alive. But he understood; Mel was as stubborn as she was strong and had she gone home with him, she’d have worried about Liz and Rick all night.
At four in the morning, he’d had all he could take. He got out of bed and dressed. He put on his heavy suede jacket and leather gloves and drove back into town. He parked his truck outside of Doc’s, right next to Rick’s, got out and leaned against the door. He could have let himself into the bar and started coffee, but there was no point in waking the house; Preacher and Paige should be allowed whatever sleep they could manage. This would have deeply affected them, as well.
Jack stood there, unmindful of the cold, his breath swirling in a steamy cloud above him, until the very first rays of winter sun began to creep over the mountain, more than two hours later. He was going to be right there when Mel came out, when she gave up her vigil, and he would get her breakfast and take her home to make sure she got some rest. He spent a lot of time just looking at the ground, wondering how such an unkind thing could happen.
When the door to Doc’s opened, he lifted his head. It was not Mel but Rick who stepped out onto the porch. All Jack could think was, what a damned awful way to become a man. Rick just stood there for a moment, then he slowly stepped down from the porch into the street. He met Jack’s eyes and there was such pain, such loss.
Jack stepped toward him and put a hand behind the boy’s neck, pulling him onto his shoulder. He heard Rick let go a deep, painful sigh. Jack put his other arm around him and Rick let it go. He fell against Jack and the tears began. “Yeah, buddy. Get it out. I got you.”
“Why couldn’t I do anything?” Rick asked softly.
“None of us could, son. It’s damned awful. I’m so sorry.”
Rick cried softly and mournfully, his shoulders shaking while Jack held him. Through all the challenges of this pregnancy, all the sadness surrounding Liz and Rick’s situation and their struggles to get through it like grown-ups, with a little dignity, nothing could have prepared any of them to face this. The boy who had become a man, who stepped up and took responsibility, leaned against Jack, shattered, quietly weeping in the anguish of grief. His heart was shredded, and Jack’s was aching as he held him.
A single tear traced a path down Jack’s stubbled cheek.