Author: Robyn Carr

“Do tell,” Beth encouraged.

Jack put a couple of drinks down for them and stood there for a second. Then when it was clear they weren’t going to talk in front of him, he moved away.

Susan told the story of Abby’s terrible, short marriage to a rock star, and the prenup that bound her and sent her into hiding, and the bills he dumped on her as she was trying to get out of it all.

“She was only with him for a couple of months before he ran out on her?” Beth asked, aghast.

“That about sums it up. Somewhere in there, before she signed her divorce papers, or maybe shortly after, she met Cameron,” Susan said. “I didn’t know it was Cameron at the time. I didn’t know who it was and frankly, all I cared about was that my daughter be safe and content. All she wanted to do was clear that debt and get on with her life, but then she met Cameron again, when she was clearly pregnant.”

Beth sipped her drink and shook her head. “Dear God, what if they hadn’t seen each other again! Cam wouldn’t know about the babies! And I wouldn’t know about Abby.”

“And I wouldn’t know about Cameron,” Susan commiserated. “When she said she couldn’t talk about how this all happened, I never imagined a wonderful man like Cameron being involved. Beth, our children are both a little crazy.”

“Susan, they’re not children. They’re almost as old as we are.”

Susan giggled. “That’s a fact.”

“Well, are things cleared up now? With the divorce and all?”

“The divorce is long done and the other stuff—who cares?” Susan said. She lifted a hand to Jack for a couple more martinis. While he was mixing them, she said, “Chuck and I said we’d get rid of that debt for her so she wouldn’t have to go to such lengths. But Abby’s proud. And stubborn. When she was growing up, there were so many times kids teased her, called her spoiled, being an only child and all. She wanted to clean up her own mess. If the debt wasn’t bad enough, she’d gone through everything she’d saved just to get through the divorce. That man—the ex-husband—he was ruthless. I only met him that once. Really, he seemed harmless. I was so wrong. I never expected all he put her through.”

Jack put down two more martinis for the matrons who didn’t look at all like matrons. He lifted an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth and went away. They were locked in some serious conspiracy.

“Well, then here we are,” Beth said. “We’ve got a couple of kids with a couple of kids on the way, and they clearly love each other. What are we going to do?”

Susan took a sip of her martini. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to rest until I see them married.”

Beth threw back her head and laughed loudly, earning a glance from Jack. “I love an ambitious woman. So, I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure.”

“I know you’ll be zipping down here the second the babies come and I know the mother’s mother gets special privileges. Let me come soon, please. I promise not to crowd the cabin and I’ll do all the shit work without getting in the way.”

Susan looked up at the ceiling, thinking. Then she glanced back at Beth. “Give us three days. And I’ll split the snuggling and shit work with you.”

Beth put a hand on her arm. “You are a good woman. I made my son-in-law’s mother wait a week.”

They both laughed loudly.

“Do you think we stand a chance of getting them married before the babies come?” Beth asked.

“I don’t know. They seem to have made up their minds about certain things, not that they’re sharing. And Abby’s very stubborn when she’s made up her mind.”

“She seems to be perfect for him. Everyone’s entitled to a mistake here and there. Not to mention they have babies coming. Any second…”

“Maybe if we put our heads together….”

The door to the bar opened and in came Ed Michaels, Chuck McCall, Abby and Cameron. They stood just inside the door and stared at Susan and Beth who had a couple of empty martini glasses apiece sitting at the bar.

“Just what are you two up to?” Cameron asked.

The women grinned largely and Beth said, “Just getting to know each other, Cameron.”

Abby tugged on Cameron’s sleeve to bring his ear down to her lips. “I never once thought it might be worse if they liked each other,” she whispered. “They’re going to be a pot of trouble.”

He grinned and slipped a kiss on her lips. “Nothing we can’t handle, baby. Stick with me.”

Dan Brady didn’t waste any time calling Cheryl. It wasn’t that he thought he’d met the perfect woman. Nor that he’d met someone as screwed up as he was. It was purely that she was attractive, interesting and was at work on getting her head on straight—a trait they seemed to share. Finding kindred spirits was rare enough that this was worth digging into.

“It isn’t time for rent money,” she said.

“I know. I have to drive to Eureka to order flooring. I thought we could have coffee or something. Or lunch. Or early dinner. Maybe Denny’s early-bird special.”

“Didn’t I tell you to take it easy—that I wasn’t sure I was breaking bread with you?”

“You did,” he said. “I thought I’d get on your dance card before you’re booked.”

“What is it you want?”

“Not so much,” he said. “I’m thinking patty melt and fries. How about you?”

And she actually laughed. That wasn’t a bad start. With a much nicer attitude, she asked, “What is it you think we can talk about?”

“You can talk about anything you want. I can probably tell you about home construction and remodeling in Virgin River, which is what I do. Or, if you’re interested, I have a little experience in agriculture.” Again she laughed. “You can always tell me about your work.”

“Well, there’s the thing. I wait tables in a diner. Which is why dinner at Denny’s doesn’t hold great appeal. You understand.”

“I do get that,” he said. “In fact, that’s probably good. Why don’t I get us a couple of big, messy sandwiches, a couple of bags of chips, a couple pickles, some iced tea, and we can meet in a park? Weather’s damn nice right now.”

“When?” she asked.

“I only have Saturday afternoons and Sundays off. Either one of those work for you?”

“Sunday,” she said. “I start at 5:00 a.m. and finish up around two. I could shower off the grease and see you around three. There’s a common in Old Town…”

“I know the place,” he said. “I’ll bring the lunch.”

Dan hadn’t had anything that even vaguely resembled a date in years. At least six, maybe more like eight. He’d had a conversation or two in a bar that went no place, because he didn’t really want it to. So what was it about Cheryl? The crazy thing was, before he knew anything at all about her, she seemed so stable. Like she had lead in her shoes and wouldn’t tip over during a big emotional wind. It made him laugh to himself. And then what does he learn from her? That she’s struggling to get her life back and could be on shakier ground than he ever was. Well, that might be a stretch. Hardly anyone had been on shakier ground.

On Sunday he found her in the common in downtown Eureka. She got there ahead of him. She sat at a park bench, legs stretched out, face turned up to the sun, relaxing. Eyes closed. He stood in front of her until his shadow fell over her and she opened her eyes. And she didn’t smile.

But he did. He put the sack of sandwiches and drinks on the bench between them. “Still pretty unsure if this is a good idea, I guess. Cold cuts okay with you?”

She accepted the tea first. “Sorry,” she said. “Trusting is such an issue with me.”

“Met a lot of people along the way you couldn’t trust?”

“I’m not even sure if that’s it,” she said. “I’m not real relaxed about my program yet. I’m always on the lookout for something that can trip me up, make me decide to take a drink. Because if one thing made it through all the cement in my head, it’s that if I have one drink, I’m probably going to die.” Then she smiled a very contrite smile. “It was nice of you to do this. But I still can’t figure out why, and that makes me tense.”

“Cheryl, I’ve been divorced over six years. I’ve had my own rocky time. I grew pot and went to jail. I don’t have a lot of friends. I’m just starting to make a few in town. And they’re cautious, as they should be. I’m probably not the safest bet. I mean, I know I am—because I’m totally clean. But given my history…I’m not surprised that people…you know…”

“And did you think that I would be a good gamble, given I’m the town drunk?” She bit into her sandwich.

He grinned at her. “First of all, you’re not anymore. Maybe you were, but you’re not. Haven’t been for a good long time. Second, I didn’t know squat-diddly about you when I suggested we share a meal sometime. I just plain liked your looks. Not your beauty—although you really do have that. I liked that you looked sturdy. Solid and sensible. I know—you explained, you don’t necessarily feel that way. But you look it. I thought I’d take a chance.” He ate part of his sandwich, rinsed it down with tea. “When I was a younger man, before a bad marriage and other things, I had a lot of friends. I haven’t for a long time. I’d like to get back to that. Have purpose. Friends.”

“You have purpose now?” she asked.

“I do,” he said, nodding. “I’m determined to take that old house from shit hole to quaint. I can do it, too.”

“Is that enough of a purpose?” she wanted to know.

“For now, it is.”

“Okay, let’s cut right to it. What the hell were you doing growing weed? Just explain that.”

“Oh hell, that’s almost the end of the story….”

“I have a whole sandwich to eat,” she said. “A big one, by the way. You must have thought I looked hungry or scrawny.”

“I thought you looked healthy,” he said. “We have to go back a ways to get to all the whys. I’ll try the condensed version. I worked construction for my dad south of here—tough old son of a bitch, but a damn fine builder. I went in the Marines, for a change of lifestyle and benefits and…I thought I’d like the life. I married a girl way younger—I was twenty-seven and she was eighteen. Anyone with a working brain would look out for the problems with that, but not me. ’Course, being doubly stupid, I got her pregnant right off. I was sent to Iraq, where I was wounded and medically retired. By the time I recovered, she was already moving on.”

“Do you have a child?”

“Had. A son. He got sick when he was four. An unusual and fatal heart condition—he was on the transplant list. My wife had already remarried and divorced a second time and in a stupid and desperate move, I decided I’d grow pot for a fast-money turn and buy the kid a heart if I had to. I wasn’t exactly rational. I didn’t just grow a couple of rooms full of cannabis— I set up several grow sites with caretakers to watch ’em. I made a lot of money, just like I intended to, but it didn’t do anything to help my boy. Cash,” he laughed. “We named him Cash. What irony.”

Cheryl was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” he said, regaining his composure and eating more of his sandwich. “So, I got caught. And I cut a deal. For a couple of years I fed the local cops information about growers I knew. By the way, if you tell that part around here, it could get me some attention from bad people. It’s entirely up to you, what you decide to say, but that’s a fact.”