“Why don’t you seem happy?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t how I thought I’d spend the next six months. It’s going to be a lot of hard work. And later, when the film is out, there will be promotion—that’s also a lot of hard work. And none of it can be done here. I’ll be in L.A. for some of it and on location in Montana in spring and early summer.”
He took a bolstering drink and then reached for her hand. “We’ve been over this, Muriel. If you feel strongly about doing the film, I’m behind you. If you have worries, I don’t want one of them to be me.”
She smiled a small smile. “I have to leave tomorrow to begin rehearsing.”
“Tomorrow?” he asked, shocked. “My God! Should you be packing?”
She shook her head. “No need. I just have to get together my cosmetics. I can take the dogs with me—I had them put it in my contract that I’ll have help with pet care. They’ll send someone to stay in the guesthouse and take care of the horses. And—”
“Why don’t you need clothes?” he asked.
“I have a place in Los Angeles. A small but very nice condo. I left behind a full closet—those clothes wouldn’t work for me here and the clothes I wear around here won’t work for me there. I figured in a year or so I’d empty the place out and either rent or sell it, but now it’ll come in handy. I’ve let a couple of friends use the place for visiting relatives, so it hasn’t gone to waste.”
“You never even mentioned it,” he said, and for a moment he was grateful for that. If he’d thought all along that she still had another home, he might not have been so optimistic about their chances.
“Really, I didn’t think I’d ever use it unless I was in L.A. visiting or something…”
“Muriel, are the dogs going to be a problem while you’re making this movie?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll have some long hours, but the studio will make sure there’s someone assigned to walking them, feeding them, all that. I just won’t get to run Luce or train Buff like I’d planned to.”
“Let me keep them for you. Let me take care of the horses.”
“Walt, I can’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask, Muriel. Really, it’s selfish. I don’t want to think of someone else living in that bunkhouse or the dogs pooping on concrete somewhere when I can run them along the river. Besides a little babysitting, what do I have to do? Shelby’s gone, Vanni and Paul have their own place, I take care of horses every day anyway…”
“It’s a lot of bother, Walt.”
“I offered. No strings,” he added. “I didn’t offer so that you’d feel obligated to me in any way. I mean, who knows? Jack Whatshisname might turn out to be just what you’ve always dreamt of.”
“You jealous of him already?” she asked.
“You’re goddamn right,” he said, leaning back in his chair, drawing those fierce eyebrows together. “He’s going to spend the next six months with you and I’m not.”
“Well, he doesn’t stand a chance,” she said softly.
He thought, this must be how Peg felt when he was leaving for a long remote tour, as though there was a chance he wouldn’t come back to her. “I’ve been down this road,” he told Muriel. “Separations for work. It’s not easy, but it’s highly survivable. Do you need a ride to the airport?”
“That would be nice. It’s just to Garberville.”
“Picking up a charter?” he asked.
She shook her head. “They’re sending a jet.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I haven’t been down that road,” he said, shaking his head. “You want meat loaf? Or do you want to go upstairs, let me peel your clothes off and tell you goodbye properly?”
She grinned at him. “Let’s think about meat loaf for breakfast.”
“Good idea,” he said, standing. He reached for her hand. “Come on, honey. This is my last chance to pamper you before your Oscar. What time does your flight leave?”
“When I get there.”
The next morning, Walt drove her to the Garberville airport where there was a Lear waiting. The pilot and cabin steward, nicely uniformed, were waiting at the bottom of the airstairs and they fussed over her very impressively. She had only one small bag and traveled in her jeans and boots, leather jacket and cowboy hat. She kept them waiting while she gave Walt a long, deep kiss goodbye. “If there’s a break in the filming, I’ll be up for a visit. And I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Muriel, stop being reluctant and sad. You want this and I want it for you. You’re good, that’s why you’re getting this chance. Knock ’em dead. And if Jack Whatshisname makes a play for you, tell him to fuck off. You have a boyfriend already.”
She laughed. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“And I’m a good shot.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks for taking on the animals. They mean a lot to me.”
“Me, too,” he said.
He stood there in the blistering cold until her private jet took her away. He watched it until it was out of sight. All he could think was, what if she doesn’t come back? What if she really does get that Oscar and is lured into one more and one more and one more? A private jet came for her and she didn’t even have to pack. And having her own jet didn’t make her the least intimidated or uncomfortable. This was Muriel’s real life.
What the hell was I thinking I could mean to her?
What if she’s all done being mine?
Mel heard a truck pull up in front of the clinic and thought it must be Bruce bringing mail and asking after specimens to be delivered to Valley Hospital. She walked out onto the porch, but didn’t recognize the truck. She frowned as a woman got out of the passenger side. This was an attractive woman in her early thirties—trim, brown hair, pink cheeks. She looked up at Mel and smiled somewhat shyly. “Hi,” she said.
Mel frowned, then returned the smile. “Hi. How can I help you?”
“Oh, you already have.” She took two steps up onto the porch. She wore light makeup, slim jeans, a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt and down vest.
And then it dawned on her. Cheryl Chreighton! Her transformation was nothing short of astonishing. In just a few months’ time her complexion had pinked up, her eyes were clear, she’d dropped about twenty-five pounds—probably most of it the edema that she carried from drinking—and she was not just clean, but actually groomed and styled. Someone had cut her hair and showed her how to fix it. She wore women’s clothes and a very happy smile. “Oh, dear God.”
“Absolutely,” Cheryl said. “Dear God and you.”
“Look at you,” Mel said in a breath.
“Thank you,” Cheryl said solemnly. “This is because of you.”
“No, it’s you,” Mel stressed. “All I did was make a few phone calls. You did the work. Have you come home?”
“No,” Cheryl said with a laugh, shaking her head. “This isn’t a good place for me. I have a job and a place with some roommates. Not exactly a group home, but close—we’re in recovery. Not much of a job, but I don’t need much of one right now.” Cheryl swallowed and looked down. “I doubt I’ll ever come back here,” she said. “There aren’t any meetings here or anything.” She looked up bravely and gave a shrug. “I don’t think I’d be happy in a place where I used to be the town drunk. Not just an average town drunk, a below-average town drunk.”
“That wouldn’t matter, you know that. But the meetings—you need the meetings. Recovery without aftercare is like major surgery without stitches.”
Cheryl chuckled. “Yeah, you got that right.”
“How long has it been?” Mel asked.
“A hundred and twenty-seven days. I don’t think we can count the day you took me. I was blitzed. I don’t see a time I’ll be skipping those meetings, even though I really don’t want a drink today…. Mrs. Sheridan, what I have right now, I don’t want to give it up. I’m at meetings all the time, sometimes twice a day. If it’s forever, that’s okay.”
Mel almost said, “Call me Mel,” but caught herself. This was Cheryl’s show; she could do anything she wanted. “Good for you,” she said, smiling. “Wonderful.”
“I have to see my parents. I haven’t seen them since I left here that day with you.”
“I’m sure they’ll be so happy to see you….”
Cheryl laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. My mother thought the whole rehab thing was crazy and my dad thought we were doing pretty good the way he doled out the booze on his terms so he thought he had it under control. That might explain a few things. And they’re not well, either of them. I need to see them, but I can’t stay here. I wouldn’t come alone, though. My sponsor is with me.”
Mel leaned down a bit to peer into the truck. A silver-haired woman sat behind the wheel and gave Mel a brief wave and she thought, ah good. A mature woman, hopefully with years of sobriety under her belt. That would give Cheryl a good shot at success.
“And there are amends,” Cheryl said. “I’m not sure I can cover the whole town, but I wanted to catch you and Doc, maybe Jack…”
Mel was temporarily shocked and for the first time realized she’d come onto the porch without a coat. She shivered. Tears gathered. “Cheryl, my God, I’m so sorry. Someone should’ve gotten word to you. I’m surprised your parents didn’t— Doc passed away suddenly last October. We don’t know why. His heart maybe. Or a fatal stroke. There was no autopsy….”
“Doc? Gone?” Cheryl asked.
“I’m sorry,” Mel said. Mel blinked and a tear escaped. “He was so happy you decided on treatment. He’d be so proud of you.”
“God,” she said. “Isn’t it amazing how fast things can just shift? He was always kind to me….” Cheryl shook herself. “Well. I can’t remember if I ever did anything terrible to you that I should make amends for, but—”
“You didn’t,” Mel said quickly, shaking her head. “In fact, you were nice to me. You offered to help me with babysitting a long time ago. You cleaned out that horrible cabin Hope McCrea gave me as my free housing.”
“I don’t remember about babysitting,” Cheryl said.
“Trust me. You were nice to me.”
“Thanks for that,” Cheryl said. “But Jack—I know I was a thorn in his butt. I wonder if I should go see him, tell him I’m sorry about that.”
“You should definitely see him, though I already know he’s not holding any grudge. But it would make Jack so happy to see you sober and well. It would be a good thing.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Cheryl.”
“That’s amends to you, too—I made a pass at Jack. I mean, I want to tell him it was just booze. I’m not really insane.” Then she smiled. “Well, no more than the average drunk.”
Mel let go a small laugh. “That must have happened way before I found him—you have no amends to make to me. And I’ll bet Jack understands. Still, you can’t imagine how happy it would make him to know you’re in recovery. Cheryl—I never told him I took you to a treatment facility.”
“You didn’t?” she asked, shocked. “I thought the whole town knew!”
“Not from me or…Doc. We don’t talk about clinic business.”
“Wow. I didn’t expect that.”
