Author: Robyn Carr

She tilted her head. “And you would think that because…?”

“Mel told me my new neighbor was a movie star, so I looked you up on the Internet. Lotta fancy pictures,” he said. And then he felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Well, God bless the Internet. Anything else you’d like to know?”

His first thought was he could probably find out who all those husbands had been, but maybe he’d resist. “I don’t know much about movies. Haven’t seen too many. And I don’t know anything about movie stars.”

“Retired,” she said. “I’m sanding, varnishing, hauling trash and training my bird dog. I’m going to pick up another one pretty soon now—I picked the bitch and sire a while ago and she whelped, so as soon as they’ll let him go…And I don’t cook much, don’t bake at all, but as it happens I have sugar for my coffee. In case you want to borrow a cup for that cake you’re baking me.”

“My thirty-year-old daughter has a man in her life—a good man—and they’re at the house every weekend,” he found himself explaining. “I have reasons to stay out of the house a lot. How much sugar do you keep on hand?”

She grinned at him. “Plenty.”

“I might need some as early as tomorrow evening,” he said. “That good man my daughter has is here for the weekend.”

“Is that so?” Then Muriel turned her mount, facing the other way and said, “Luce!” She gave two short whistles. The Lab bolted back where she’d come from. Muriel looked over her shoulder and said, “Bring a decent bottle of red wine then,” she said. She put her horse into an easy canter and followed her dog.

Walt sat there for a long time, till she was out of sight. “Damn,” he said aloud.

The next evening Paul and Vanessa decided to go to Jack’s for dinner, a predictable event for them. Of course they expected Walt to join them. “Nah,” he said. “I see enough of Jack during the week. Tom gets dinner at Brenda’s and I have no interest in cooking for one. I’ll pass. In fact,” he said, “I might head out to Clear River. There’s a little bar over there where I’m not so well known. I might do that.”

“You sure, Dad?” Vanni asked.

“I’m sure,” he said. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll see you later, or in the morning.”

When they were gone he showered, applied a little aftershave and poked around in the wine rack, selected a bottle and grabbed his car keys.

When Walt pulled up to his new neighbor’s house, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t come off looking like some old fool, chasing a movie star. Of course, the chasing hadn’t even started—this was just a glass of wine with a neighbor. But he felt every second of his sixty-two years and although the research said she was just a few years younger, she looked many years younger than he did. And far more confident than he was.

The property was made up of a timeworn two-story house with a wide porch, a smaller vintage bunkhouse, a barn and a corral. Walt didn’t know where to look first. On instinct, he went to the house and knocked on the front door. “Right in here,” she yelled. “Come on in.”

As Walt stepped inside he was greeted first by a very excited Luce, wagging and nudging him playfully. Muriel was up on a ladder with a trowel in her hand, which she put in a pan. She wore overalls that were as splattered as the wall. “Good. Break time,” she said, wiping her hands on a rag that she had stuffed in her back pocket.

Hmm. He had showered and splashed on the cologne; she hadn’t even bothered with a comb, much less makeup. She looked real good for a woman her age. “What’s that you’re doing?” he asked.

“Spackling. After which I’ll paint and install new baseboards, and then I’m going after some crown molding.”

He looked around at the mess. The place was in full remodel mode. He lifted the bottle and pointed the label toward her as she descended the ladder. “Will this do?”

She took the bottle from him. “Nice,” she said. “Give me a minute to clean up my tools.” She grabbed her pan and trowel, disappeared into the kitchen and he heard the water run. Momentarily she was back. “Come with me. Come on, Luce.”

He followed her out of the house and across the yard to the bunkhouse. She opened the door and surprised him again. It was one whole room, but it was a big room—as a bunkhouse it could’ve held six twin-size beds. She had a bed in one corner, a settee and chair in front of it, a small table with two chairs and, along one wall a few appliances—a bar-size refrigerator, microwave, small oven, sink, a few cupboards and drawers. The bathroom, such as it was, occupied the corner—a toilet, sink and small shower—right out in the open.

But she had the room fixed up a little bit—fresh paint, bright colors of yellow, red, a little rose and pale green. The bedspread matched the love seat and chair cushions.

While he was looking around, she was digging a corkscrew out of a drawer. She handed him the bottle and the implement and went after glasses. “Nice little place,” he said, going to work on the cork. “Hope I don’t have to pee while I’m here. More to the point, I hope you don’t have to.”

Muriel laughed, then she grabbed something that leaned up against the end of her cupboard and, one-handed, glasses in the other hand, she erected a wooden TV tray between the chair and short couch. “Instant coffee table,” she said. “Please pour.”

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a platter covered in Saran, then grabbed a big box of crackers out of a cupboard and placed it on the tray next to her platter. Sliced ham and salami, sliced cheese, olives, veggies and hummus. “Ah,” he said. “You were expecting me.”

She laughed and sat in the chair. “Walt, it’s my dinner.”

“Oh. Oh, I wouldn’t want to take your dinner.…”

“I sliced up twice as much, in case you came for your cup of sugar.”

“You really don’t cook? At all? You eat like this?”

“I have a feeling this isn’t going to hold you for long,” she said, picking up a celery stick and dipping it through the hummus. “Well, you’ll be all right. You can make yourself a pot roast or something when you get home tonight.”

And he thought—if we begin to keep company, I will have to be in charge of the food.

And she thought—if we see much of each other, I’ll probably gain weight.

“From the outside, this looks like a bunkhouse or guesthouse.”

“It was. Or is. First it was an artist’s studio for the rancher’s wife,” she said, pointing up to two skylights in the ceiling. “Then a bunkhouse for hands or lumberjacks. The kitchen and bathroom facilities were an afterthought, I believe. My Realtor had the junk hauled out, then I did some painting. I’ll stay here while I work on the big house. And if you have to relieve yourself, the bathroom in the big house works just fine. The door closes and everything.” She took a small sip of wine. “Hmm,” she said, letting her eyes close briefly. Then she clinked his glass. “To new neighborhoods.”

“This isn’t exactly what I expected of a movie star. Spackling. Living in one room.”

“How interesting,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “You’re exactly what I expected of a general.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Thinking anyone who isn’t carrying an M16 is a wimp and women who dress up can’t do heavy work. Walt, time for you to get with it. Movie stars are people. Most of them, anyway. And besides, I’m not a movie star now—I’m retired.”

“What’s that like, being a movie star?”

“Being a star, as you put it, is like living an imaginary life. Acting, however, is the hardest work you’ll ever find. Look at me,” she said, connecting with his eyes. “Closely, closely—yes, like that. Now look angry.” He scowled for her. “Very nice,” she said. “Now—look vulnerable.” He frowned in confusion. “Not easy, is it? Add to that, you have to memorize one hundred and twenty pages of dialogue, be on the set at 6:00 a.m. and won’t get done before 10:00 p.m., you’ll either sweat or freeze, you’ll stand at attention for so many goddamn hours your hips will lock and the man you have to kiss will have breath that would gag a maggot or the promising young actress who’s playing your daughter will be a snotty little shit who holds up the whole production and costs everyone time and money.” She leaned back and grinned at him. “It’s not easy. I swear to God.”

“Well, no wonder you retired.”

“Why’d you retire?”

“Over thirty-five years is a long time for an Army officer,” he began.

And they talked through a bottle of wine and her snacks. Walt learned a little about the life of an actress and Muriel heard about the Army and Walt’s family, including the death of his son-in-law, the new grandson and Paul. Before long the wine was gone and it was almost ten o’clock. There was no kiss good-night or anything even close, but Walt said, “If I had time on my hands, could you use help with painting and such?”

“I’d never turn down a helping hand,” she said. “But are you any good at it?”

“Passable. I admit, I hired tradesmen to get it done at my place, but only because I was still in D.C. and wanted the place ready when I retired. I don’t want to intrude in case you’re training your dog or running errands. Why don’t I call ahead?”

“That would work,” Muriel said. She went to the counter of her little makeshift kitchen and wrote down her number. “Or, you can always just come for your sugar.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for the wine. Very nice wine.”

“I have plenty of wine,” he said.

“And I have plenty of sugar.”

“So,” he said. “We’re in business.”

After a weekend in Virgin River, Vanni and Paul returned to Grants Pass. On Tuesday morning, Paul called Terri.

“Hi, Terri, it’s Paul. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, Paul. How are you?”

“Great, thanks. I’ve been out of town and—”

“Let me guess,” she said tiredly. “Virgin River again?”

“As a matter of fact. I have a couple of potential building contracts down there and I’ve been crunching some numbers to see if it’s doable.”

“Big surprise,” she said with an unhappy laugh. “Kind of a strange place to go when you have a child coming you claim to want to be involved with, don’t you think?”

“Both these jobs will be complete by the time you deliver. And it’s not far—I can get to Grants Pass when I need to. Listen, I wanted to do this in person, but there’s no point in blindsiding you—I’ll be getting married fairly soon.”

He heard a sound; he wasn’t sure if it was a snort or a laugh.

“That won’t be a problem,” Paul said. “She knows all about my situation with you. She also has a child and—”

“I know,” she said, cutting him off. “Your best friend’s baby.”

“She understands we’ll be sharing custody and—”

“I’m not sure I like that idea so much,” she said impatiently.

“Well, we have to deal with what we have,” he said. “And speaking of that, I’ve been looking at the calendar. It has to be time for that doctor’s appointment by now.”

“What appointment?” she asked.

“The one with the OB-GYN. The one I’m going to with you.”

“Oh, that. I had my appointment last Friday. Everything seems to be fine.”