“I’m doing pretty well, Connie. Thanks. You staying for dinner?”
“I think we’re going to pass,” she said. “Listen, just so you know, I think about you all the time, pray for you that you’ll get adjusted and stuff.”
“Thanks,” Rick said meekly. “Um, Liz. She doing okay?”
“She’s trying, Ricky. She’s stronger than she looks. She’s trying.”
“Good,” Rick said.
“Take care then,” Connie said. And they left the bar.
And Dan thought, this guy is imploding.
Twelve
Walt Booth had dinner at his daughter’s house at least twice a week. With Muriel away, Vanni was even more conscientious about making sure he was invited regularly. His daughter so enjoyed cooking, it was always a pleasure to have her do it for him. Then after dessert, if it was still early, he’d take his coffee to the great room and sometimes rock the baby for a while before Matt was settled in bed. Sometimes Paul would join him there, take in a little of the television news, but Paul was often occupied in the garage, working on built-ins for the interior of their house.
Vanni refilled Walt’s coffee while he rocked little Matt on a typical evening. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately,” she said to her father.
“Maybe I just said everything I have to say. Maybe there’s nothing left.”
“Ha-ha,” she said, smiling. “Then tell me what you hear from Muriel.” And Walt’s chin immediately dropped. “Uh-oh. Have you and Muriel had some kind of trouble?”
Walt looked up. “I don’t know if it’s trouble or not, but she’s not exactly pleased with me right now.”
“And why is that?”
He shrugged. “She can’t get away from that movie. She’d like me to farm out the dogs and get Shelby to feed the horses, and for me to go to Montana for at least a long weekend.”
Vanni sat back on the sofa, holding her own coffee cup. “And the problem is?”
“I don’t particularly want to go to Montana,” he said.
“Well. That must make her feel completely special.”
He grunted. “I don’t belong there, where she’s working.”
“I can’t imagine she’d ask you if she thought you’d be in the way. In fact, it might be good for you to see her at work. I know if she’d asked me, I’d be on the next plane. I’d love to visit a movie set.”
“There you have it, Vanessa,” he said. “I can’t see myself on a movie set. It’s completely out of my experience. I’d probably just embarrass her.”
“What nonsense! It would be fun, Dad! You’d not only learn more about what she’s doing, you’d have a little time together in the mornings and evenings.”
“I’m not so sure it would be fun….”
“Dad…? What did you say to her?”
He made a face. “It’s more what she said to me. I told her I didn’t think it was such a good idea, me going to her movie set, and she drew a line in the sand.” He shook his head. “Not really like Muriel, but that’s what she did.”
With some exasperation, Vanni said, “Do you think you can possibly make this explanation any more confusing? What’s going on?”
“When I told her I didn’t really want to come to her movie, that I’d feel out of place and strange because I don’t know anything about movies, much less making them, she said…” He cleared his throat. “She said that was ridiculous, there wasn’t anything special about this location set—it was just a lot of working people. Grips, carpenters, cooks, et cetera. I had to Google ‘grips,’ that’s how little I know. And she expected me to make an effort or she was going to be left to assume she didn’t matter enough for me to swallow down a little unease so we could have some time together.”
Vanni grinned. “She told you.”
“She hasn’t called since. And my calls go to voice mail.”
“How long has that been going on?”
“All week. We usually talk every day.”
“Apparently, Dad, you haven’t left the message she’s been waiting for.”
“Apparently.”
Vanni just stared her father down for a long time, until he said, “What?” Then she got up, went to the mantel and pulled a framed five-by-seven picture from it. She handed it to her dad, who took it with his free hand while he held on to his sleeping grandson with the other.
“Remember that?” she asked as he looked at the picture.
It was one of Vanni’s favorite pictures. Walt was wearing his mess dress, the military version of a tuxedo, and Peg was wearing a lovely, slim black gown and string of pearls that now belonged to Vanni. A smile found his lips. “Your mother was such a beautiful woman. I was never good enough for her. You look like her, you know.”
“I know. Do you remember when that was taken?”
He shrugged. “We attended a lot of military functions. I saw your mother in that dress a hundred times.”
She sat on the couch and leaned toward him, her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped. “You were on your way to dinner at the White House. Not one of those big gang dinners that the president and his wife pass through for five minutes, but the real deal. There were to be twelve couples—all high-ranking generals and their wives. Mom was going to meet the first lady, get a tour of the private living quarters, have dessert with the first lady. She was very nervous. I remember her saying she was going to feel out of place—she was a horsewoman, private pilot, gardener, skeet shooter, mother. But it was important to you, Dad. And she was proud of you, she would do anything to show how proud she was to be your chosen partner.”
Walt’s eyes glistened. It was easy for Vanni to do that to him. He stared at the picture of Peg, missing her still.
And missing Muriel so much.
“So,” Vanni said. “I think you know what you should say in the next message you leave for Muriel. It had better have your flight-arrival times in it, or you might be kissing goodbye the best thing that’s happened to you in at least five years. The way I see it, if you could expect my mother to step up and do things that made her uncomfortable because it meant something to you, you’d better do so for your current woman. If you don’t, you’re going to lose her. And that makes no sense.”
Walt lifted his eyes from the picture.
“We’ll get the horses fed and the dogs watched,” she said, smiling.
Mel Sheridan had a wonderful time taking a few digital pictures of Abby and Cameron to e-mail their mothers. The totally unexpected part was that Abby and Cameron started to get into it, and Mel was delighted. She, naturally, loved pregnant bodies, pregnant couples. She loved preserving the images for posterity.
She took her camera out to the cabin and shot a few pictures on the porch—Abby leaning against the rail beside the red potted geraniums, Cam beside her. Then Cam behind her, his hands on her belly. Then Cam behind, hands on the belly, lips on her neck. Cam kissing the belly, while Abby’s head was tilted back in a laugh. All the while, Cam was whispering things that made Abby smile, touch his face, kiss his head. And before they knew what was happening, Mel had coaxed them out of some of their clothes. It took hardly any doing, really. Soon they were topless, his hands strategically crossed or placed over naked breasts, the green of the forest and dappled patches of sunlight behind them. In one, buried behind them in the trees, a doe looked on.
They were a beautiful couple, magnificent photos, Cameron and Abby so obviously in love with each other and the babies that produced that unbelievable mound. Mel spent the morning loading the pictures into the computer and then onto a disk. Cameron and Abby selected a demure, fully clothed photo to send to the mothers, but Abby took the disk to Vanni’s house to let her see them all.
“Wow,” Vanni said. “These are incredible. Which one did you send to the mothers?”
“This one.” She pointed. A front view, clothed. “The rest we’re keeping for our private collection, but I wanted to show you.”
Just viewing the pictures, so intimate, so trusting, so in love, started something of a chain reaction. Vanni said, “I want to throw you a shower,” she said. “Just our friends, not the entire town. Right away. Saturday afternoon….”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“What in the world is it going to hurt?” Vanni asked. “Still pretending you’re not pregnant?”
“Well, that ship has sailed….” Abby said.
“No kidding,” Vanni laughed. “Give up, Abby. Hardly anyone has all the details, but there isn’t a person around here who doesn’t know you’re having these babies together. You live together, for God’s sake. You go to doctor’s appointments together. We’ll just have a nice buffet, invite couples who already know just about everything. Those people who don’t already know Cam’s the daddy are pretty clear he intends to be. You don’t have to say anything about it. Just come and enjoy yourself.”
“I have to check with Cameron, but—”
“Cameron?” Vanni laughed. “Would this be the Cameron who begged you to be his roommate so he could be at your beck and call? The same man who can’t keep his hands off you in public? Oh, you’re a riot. Pregnant women really are a little out of reality, huh?”
“I get your point….”
“And just for good measure, we’ll invite your mothers….”
“Oh, now wait just a minute,” Abby said, gripping her belly as if it would fly away.
“Don’t worry,” Vanni said. “They’re both on deck to get down to Virgin River the second the babies come, right? They’re not going to come now, for heaven’s sake. Not on such short notice with the births imminent. It would be crazy.”
Abby just kept shaking her head, but she picked up the phone and called Cameron at the clinic, running Vanni’s plan by him.
“Sure, why not?” he said. “A shower would be fun for you. And Vanni’s right—our mothers aren’t going to descend on us now.”
So, Abby called her mother, Cameron called his. And both sets of parents commenced packing at once.
“Oh God,” Abby moaned, leaning back on Vanessa’s couch, rubbing her belly.
“Don’t wig out on me,” Vanessa said. “They have to meet sometime. Not only am I sure everything will be fine, I’m sure they’ll like each other very much.”
Cameron held Abby in his arms, in their bed. “I don’t want you to worry,” he whispered. “We’re going to have a nice weekend.”
“So much for going low profile,” she whispered. “We’re having a party and introducing our parents to each other. Everyone is going to know.”
He chuckled and ran his hands over her belly. “Nothing low profile about this,” he said.
“I’m very close to my mother,” she said. “She’s like my best friend. But even though I’m over thirty, I never could let myself tell her exactly how this happened. Just that I met someone and because of the divorce, we didn’t continue to see each other. She wasn’t happy about the fact that I didn’t contact you, but at the same time I think she was afraid for me to contact you…. In case, you know…”
“In case I was a real bastard, like the first guy,” he supplied. “And what have you told her about us? Now?”
“That I met a wonderful man who cares about me and the babies….”
“But not that I’m the same man?”
“Not yet, no.”
“You’re going to have to tell her now,” he said. “Or my mother will.”
