Author: Robyn Carr
On the third day, the respirator was removed and Mike opened his eyes, but looked at Jack and his parents blankly. The nurses tried to stimulate him, but he was groggy and listless.
While Jack took his place at his friend’s bedside to wait out another long night, Mike’s mother put a hand on his shoulder. It was the middle of the night when he turned to look up into her dark eyes. Mrs. Valenzuela was a handsome and strong woman in her sixties; she had raised eight kids and had a passel of grandchildren. When she wasn’t in the ICU she was in the chapel worrying the beads; by now the rosary that dangled from her hands should have caused blisters. She hardly slept. “You’re a very patient man, aren’t you, Jack?”
“Not in this, I’m not,” he admitted.
“I know about you. Miguel is not the first young man you’ve kept vigil for. He said you’d never leave your man—no matter how dangerous staying with him could be.”
“He exaggerates,” Jack said.
“I don’t think so. I’m going to get some rest so I can be alert in the early morning. Thank you for doing this.”
“I wouldn’t leave this one, Mrs. Valenzuela. He’s a good troop.”
In the middle of the sixth night, Mike opened his eyes, turned his head and said, “Sarge?”
Jack was on his feet instantly, leaning over the bed. He saw clarity in Mike’s eyes. “Yeah, Gunny. Right here. Lotta people here for you, buddy. You have to stay with us now—the hospital staff is ready to throw us all out.”
A nurse was instantly at the bedside. “Mike?” she asked. “You know where you are?”
“I just hope I’m not in Iraq,” he said weakly.
“You’re in the hospital. In intensive care.”
“Good. No snipers here.”
“Mike, I’m going to call your mother,” Jack said. “I’ll be nearby.”
Jack walked out of the ICU and down to the lounge where family and friends could wait, make phone calls, rest. The Valenzuelas were in the trailer provided by the police department, but there were easily a dozen men passing the night in the lounge, just to be close by. “He’s awake. He’s recognizing people.”
A collective sigh of relief came out of the room. Jack called the trailer to bring Mrs. Valenzuela to her son’s bedside, then went back to ICU. By the time he got there, two doctors were examining his friend. One of them was Sean, the other a neurologist.
Sean came around the bed and, his hand on Jack’s arm, led him away from Mike. “I haven’t called Mel yet, but I’m going to. I just wanted to say something—you’ve been here every night, through the night, for almost a week. I’m damn glad you decided not to let her be lonely. You’re a good man, Jack. A good friend.”
“I told you—he’s a good guy. He’d do the same for me.” He smiled. “As for Mel, when she took me on, she made my life.”
While Jack was away Mel had one important errand to occupy her. She picked up Liz at the corner store to make the trip to Grace Valley to see Dr. Stone, the OB. Liz was waiting outside for her. “Are you sure you don’t want to invite your aunt Connie along?”
“No, really,” she said. “I want to go with just you.”
“That’s fine. You look very pretty today,” she said.
Liz smiled. “Thanks,” she said.
It pleased Mel that Liz had gone to some trouble to look nice today, since she’d be meeting Dr. Stone for the first time. Her hair was shiny clean and curled, her makeup tasteful. She had on those tight jeans with a long sweater pulled down over the belly that wouldn’t allow them to close anymore.
“Are you looking forward to this?”
“I think so,” she said. “I’m nervous.”
“Nothing to worry about—it’s completely painless.”
When they got to the Grace Valley clinic, Mel realized that the appointment was probably not the only reason behind Liz’s primping, and there was definitely another reason Liz didn’t invite Aunt Connie. As they pulled up to park, a very familiar little white pickup was waiting across the street. Rick got out of the truck and began to walk toward them. When Liz saw him, she beamed with happiness and ran to him, meeting him halfway. Now, Mel had seen them together since Liz returned to Virgin River—at the bar and around town. They were pretty cautious, especially around Connie and Ron, and Connie and Ron seemed to always be around. Rick would hold her hand, drop an arm over her shoulders, maybe put a mature little kiss on her temple.
But this was different. She ran into his arms. He held her closely, lovingly. She saw Rick in a different light, his arms full of a pregnant girl. Tall, broad, strong, handsome, yet a boy—full of all that seventeen-year-old testosterone.
They embraced and kissed in the middle of the street, kissed like grown-ups. Liz’s hands were on his cheeks, pulling him hard against her mouth. Hungry, eating each other’s mouths—there was enough passion in their kiss that steam was rising. He held her tight against him, his hands running up and down her back. He slid a hand over her tummy while he talked and smiled against her parted lips. This was no boy, but a man. Man and woman, yet children.
Mel cleared her throat.
They reluctantly parted and walked toward Mel. “Hey, Rick. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I had to cut school. I don’t think an ultrasound appointment for the father is the usual excused absence. But Liz wanted me here.”
“I can understand that.” So old. So young. They were kids; it was disconcerting. In fact, their apparent love for each other was somehow more unsettling than getting a poor young girl through something like this alone. These two seemed to want to have this baby together, and what could be more impossible for kids so young?
“Well, let’s go in and meet the doctor.”
Mel had talked to John Stone, told him about her patient. The exam got under way. Rick took his place beside Liz, holding her hand, like any young husband might. She looked up at him adoringly while his eyes were more fixed on the monitor. John moved the wand over her belly, and on the screen the baby fluttered and kicked. “Oh, man,” Rick said. “Man, look at that.”
“Can you make it out? Arms here, legs, head, butt. Penis,” John said.
Mel hadn’t been prepared for this—she watched a slow transformation come over Rick. His eyes grew wide; they began to mist. He gripped Liz’s hands tighter and his mouth fixed in a firm line as he struggled for control. It’s one thing to see a round tummy and know it’s yours, to feel movement there and understand it had life. But it was a whole lot more to see that baby, and know it’s your son.
“Oh, God,” Rick said. Then he lowered his head and his lips touched Liz’s brow while she held on to his hands. Then she started to cry and Rick began to whisper to her, “It’s okay, Liz. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He kissed her tears away and Mel thought she might cry with them.
Mel had known this boy for quite a while, since her first night in Virgin River. She was at once amazed by him and felt that she didn’t know him at all. When had he crossed over into this other life? What was he doing here, looking at his son on a monitor when he should be in his calculus class?
John finished with the ultrasound, printed them a picture to take with them, then, pulling Mel’s hand, led her out of the room, leaving the kids alone for a few moments.
“Whew,” Mel said. “I didn’t know he was going to be here. I know that boy pretty well, but I never knew him like that. A father. Growing up way too fast.”
“Young and dumb, and so in love they make me ache. You think it’s too soon for me to get Sydney into the convent?” John asked.
“At eight? Maybe just slightly.”
“She’s almost six months along. Fifteen years old. Holy shit, huh?”
“Shh, don’t let them hear you.”
“Mel, they’re not going to hear me. In fact, we’d better knock on the door or they’ll be doing it again. Right in the exam room.”
“They’re not doing it, John. Their hearts are breaking. How can there possibly be a happy ending here?”
On the drive home, Mel asked Liz, “Why didn’t you tell me Rick was going to meet us there?”
Liz shrugged. “Connie wouldn’t like it.”
“Why not? He’s the father.”
“Aunt Connie’s pretty mad about this. Mad at me and Rick. And my mom—jeez. She’s on the moon, she’s so pissed. She doesn’t want me to see Rick at all….”
“She sent you back to Virgin River, but doesn’t want you to see Rick?” Mel asked, wondering, How does this make any sense?
“I know,” Liz said. “Stupid, huh?” She rubbed her hands over her belly. “A boy,” she said quietly. Sadly.
Mel stole a glance and saw a tear running down the girl’s cheek.
If a woman is old enough to have a baby, Mel found herself thinking, then she’s old enough to love what’s inside her. Old enough to love the man who put it there.
Nine
While in Los Angeles, Preacher was able to leave Paige and Chris at the hotel for short periods of time while he went to the hospital. He was confident there was no danger to her. Although she still made phone calls to that treatment center regularly, even if Wes somehow slipped away, he had no way of knowing where they were. But whenever he returned, she would sigh audibly, her relief obvious, when he was back, shoring her up. He wasn’t quite sure if it was that terror from her marriage or something deeper. There were still some very large holes in his understanding of her. The largest of which was her family.
On the long drive to the city from Virgin River, hours and hours in the truck together while Chris slept on and off in the backseat, there had been lots of time to talk. Paige shared happy and animated stories about the soap-operaish beauty shop in which she had worked, good times in the old half a house she’d shared with her best friends, and she even talked about old boyfriends. She had opened up more about life with Wes, in hushed, careful tones so that Chris wouldn’t hear and possibly become upset. But when it came to her widowed mother and older, married brother, she seemed to clam up, grow tense and gloomy. There was deep ambivalence, but she didn’t explain. “I haven’t had much of a relationship with my family since I married,” she said. “And Bud and I were never close, not even as kids.”
“Maybe that will change now,” he replied. “Listen, you don’t want to miss an opportunity. I’d give anything for an hour with my mother. I joined the Marines to get brothers.”
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
“Hey, don’t let me talk you into anything. But if you’re right here…”
“You might not like my family, John,” she said.
“Hey, Paige, I don’t have to like ’em. They don’t have to like me. I’m just saying, you have a chance to visit now, if you want to.”
It was four days before she called her mother, another two before a meeting was arranged. She invited John to take her to her brother’s house for dinner with the family; her mother would be there.
Preacher suspected within three minutes what the problem was, but it took him about an hour to put it all together. Fifty-eight minutes too long. He wasn’t slow; he hadn’t been around too many people like this. A big, silent, loner type of guy like Preacher, when he got a whiff of something off, he gave it a wide berth.
Bud, Paige’s older brother, met them at the door of a small tract home in a dusty little suburb where there were only about four different styles of homes, very few trees, and where people worked on their cars in driveways. Bud’s house had an above-average front lawn, trim and green, right next door to a house with a cyclone fence around a grassless yard. Bud was wearing a T-shirt with his khaki pants, holding a beer. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, coming out onto the stoop and down the sidewalk toward them. “There’s my girl. How you been, baby?”
