A Summer in Sonoma

by Robyn Carr

  “Billy…I hope you don’t get mad—I mean madder—but I told Beth. She asked if we ever considered bankruptcy.” She shrugged helplessly. “I guess it can make some things just go away….”

  He frowned. “I know what bankruptcy does,” he said. “I’d like to pay what we owe. After all, we owe it.”

  “But, Billy…”

  “We’ll get to that later. First, I want to see where we are. Can you let me do that? They’re not just your bills, Jules. They’re mine, too. In fact, I should have done a better job with this since the beginning.”

  “Are you ever going to forgive me?” she asked him. “For not making the decision with you? I mean really forgive me?”

  He pulled her against him and held her close. In her ear, he whispered, “Jules, none of this should have gone the way it went. I don’t blame you for anything—I swear to God. I blame myself, that’s the truth. If I’d taken better care of you, you wouldn’t have been so afraid…”

  “Billy, I—”

  “Shh. I guess we both need a little time to deal with it, to get things straightened out.”

  “Don’t let it be too long, Billy. This is very hard for me, too. And I’ve never had to go through anything without you before.”

  “Well, that’s the problem, baby. I thought if I just kept working, everything would be okay. Instead, I was gone too much. I let you go through everything alone. We have to fix that.”

  Cassie had set a nice table in her small dining room and primped as though this was a decision-making date, when it fact it was almost the first time in her dating history that there was no decision to make, and that felt so damn good. She loved Walt like a buddy, a big brother, probably the most decent, easy-to-be-around guy she knew next to Billy. A buddy who was allowed to steal that little kiss—she couldn’t resist. As it happened, it was always a good kiss. As long as it went no further than that, Cassie wasn’t worried.

  Tonight, she was just returning a few favors. Walt had picked up every tab they’d had since they met and there was no way he was letting her pay for anything, so she asked if she could cook him dinner. She’d asked during one of their many phone conversations, which were just as companionable as those talks they had when they were together. And they were together quite a lot for a couple of buddies—a casual dinner about once a week, about four rides on the motorcycle so far, the occasional coffee date when she was on her way home from work.

  She hadn’t seen him in more than a week; she’d explained about Julie’s miscarriage and the need for Cassie to help out. The last time they talked he said he really hoped Julie got on her feet soon; he was missing their time together. Well, so was she. That’s when she suggested dinner. She killed two birds with one stone—made a casserole for Julie at the same time.

  She’d said seven and the doorbell rang at exactly three minutes till. When she opened the door, she was slightly taken aback. His appearance was altered. He wore khakis, a cotton shirt and he wore boots, but these were shiny brown leather dress boots, no chains. Of course, he still had the ponytail and naked lady, but there was no stubble on his face and his hair wasn’t all messed up by a helmet. “Well, Walt,” she said, smiling, “if you weren’t about six-five, I’d hardly know you.”

  “I’m only six-three,” he said, presenting her a bouquet of flowers with one hand and a bottle of wine with the other.

  “Only,” she laughed. “Come in. Let me put these in water right away.”

  “Something smells real good,” he said, stepping inside.

  “Lasagna,” she told him. “What do you make for a great big guy who likes his food? I’m not good with steaks on the grill—I destroy them. I guess I don’t have enough testosterone or something. I was kind of torn between a turkey and lasagna.” She stood at the sink, unwrapping the flowers, and threw a look over her shoulder. “Lots of garlic bread. A little salad to keep you healthy.”

  “Sounds perfect,” he said. “Should I have brought a vase?”

  “Of course not,” she said, laughing. “I have the perfect vase.” But while she opened the paper wrap, she was immediately struck by how unique this arrangement was. It wasn’t something you picked up at the grocery store on the way to someone’s house. These were exotic flowers, calla lilies, birds-of-paradise, orchids, lavender roses—not a typical batch. He must have gotten them from an actual florist. He surprised her all the time.

  She laid the flowers on the drain board and opened a drawer, handing him a corkscrew. “I’ll have a glass of that wine if you’ll open it. And I have Coke and your coffee ready…”

  “I drove the truck tonight,” he said. “I’ll have a glass of that with you, and then I’d love a coffee after dinner. I think this bulk on a full meal will absorb a glass of wine. Or two.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not a bad influence, am I?”

  “You might be a good influence,” he said. “Nah, kidding. I try to take my folks out to a nice dinner every weekend and I usually drive instead of ride. I sometimes have a drink with them. The bike really demands a lot—I can’t afford to take even a minuscule chance. My reputation depends on it. I have to be more than a hundred percent.”

  He popped the cork on the bottle, poured two glasses while she snipped the ends of the stems and put them in water. He swirled, whiffed, took a sip and sighed. “I did good here, Cassie. Taste. Didn’t I do good?”

  She put the vase of flowers on the table and took a glass from him, sipping. She tilted her head appreciatively. “You did very well,” she confirmed with a smile. “Now, tell me about your week. About your jobs.”

  “You might fall asleep,” he said.

  “Try me.”

  So while they had a glass of red wine and a small plate of bruschetta, he told her about a sticky carburetor problem on a 1988 Harley Road King. He’d had to work on it a long time, but felt comfortable enough with the outcome to guarantee the work for a year; if it went down within two, though, he’d make it right. He told her about this guy who’d been coming in, drooling over a refurbished Harley, who’d finally taken the plunge and made the buy. One of the girls in the office got engaged and they all went out for lunch. Then his oldest brother’s kid had a birthday, so there was a family thing.

  “How about your week?” he asked. “Not carburetors or sales, I bet.”

  “Almost the same drill,” she answered. “A compound femur fracture this morning—that was the big event. That’s when the big thighbone is broken and sticking out through the flesh….”

  “Eww….”

  “Yeah, it’s bad. And the usual number of car accidents, mechanicals—that’s when someone just falls—critical illnesses, one hot appy, complicated labor—”

  “Appy?” he asked.

  “Emergency appendectomy. And one gunshot wound. Plus overdoses, assaults, mostly domestic—”

  “Domestic?” he asked.

  “Family disturbance. A lot of variation on that, but usually the husband is beating up the wife.”

  He shook his head. “That’s terrible.”

  “It’s so terrible. You ever run into that with your biker pals?” she asked.

  “Run into it how?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Ever hear about those kinds of troubles with biker couples? Because I read a little bit about the biker gangs and some are known for treating their women like objects they own. It can get real—”

  “Cassie, I’ve never been in a gang. Even when I was younger and ran wild with a bunch of bikers, it wasn’t a gang. And we were too stupid and ugly to have women.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Sure you did. You still want to make sure I didn’t have some poor abused young girl on the back of my bike who had Property of Walt tattooed on her biceps.” He grinned at her. “You want to know if my dad knocked my mom around?”

  “No, I—”

  “My dad never raised a hand to my mom. There’s an old shotgun in the house. I bet she’d have taken it to him if he had. S
he had her hands full in special ed and she raised four boys. Holy hell would erupt when we weren’t polite and decent around the opposite sex. You want my opinion, my brother Kevin was the worst. I guess the girls thought he was cute, but personally I think he’s ugly as a stump and a pain in the ass besides. Man, he used to have a different girl every week and couldn’t’ve cared less if they were calling, crying their little hearts out. My mother wanted to kill him. And I never abused a girl, a woman. Though I probably treated some like crap because I was stupid and had no idea what I was doing.”

  “You’re a dichotomy, Walt.”

  “How?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “You look the kind of guy who could tear the flesh off running antelopes, but you’re so gentle-natured and sweet.”

  “Looks,” he scoffed. “You have to do better than that, Cassie. You look like I shouldn’t be having dinner with you. You should’ve been snapped up years ago.”

  “Friends,” she reminded him.

  “Of course,” he said. Then he smiled. He liked where this friendship was going. He wasn’t leaving tonight without another sample of that delicious mouth.

  “Let me see if dinner’s ready,” she said, rising.

  They spent two hours over lasagna, salad and bread. Walt had another glass of wine and between them they finished his bottle. They had coffee and dessert, then washed up the dishes together. While she was rinsing and he was drying, he said, “Summer’s almost over. It’s already getting chilly on the northern coast in Sonoma County. I have an idea, if you’re up to it. How about a weekend ride?”

  “A weekend?” she asked, getting a nervous look on her face. “Like, a whole weekend?”

  He laughed at her. “That’s what I’m talking about. We can do it the way I usually do it, or we can do it the candy-ass way.”

  “Explain,” she said, lifting the plates into the cupboard.

  “Well, the way I do it, I take the bike along the coast, find a nice piece of beach and put down a sleeping bag. I build myself a little fire. I usually pack some food that’s not fancy, but I hardly ever miss a chance to eat out. We could stop and eat before we stake out beachfront. Or we could do it so you’re comfortable—stay the night at a motel, take advantage of beds and showers.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you. I won’t make fun of you if you need a roof over your head. But pretty soon the weather’s going to turn and we’re going to want to use our rides to check out the fall leaves. And we’ll have to dress warm.”

  “Motel?” she asked, lifting a brow.

  “However many rooms you want, Cassie. I’m not trying to set you up for anything.” Then he grinned.

  “Just how cold and uncomfortable is it right out there on the beach?”

  “It’s great. The fire is nice and cozy, you hear the waves all night long, the ground isn’t too hard. After the middle of August, it gets pretty cool at night. I can pull a little trailer behind so we have a cooler, extra blankets, that kind of thing….”

  “A trailer?” she asked. But what she thought was, how am I going to explain this to Julie?

  “Just a little one behind the bike, so we have everything we need.”

  “Do you just not shower the whole weekend?” she asked.

  He laughed at her. “It’s camping, Cassie. Think you can make it twenty-four hours? We could take off on Saturday morning, get home Sunday afternoon. This may be beyond your limit—I usually don’t even change clothes. I do stop for breakfast, though. That’s a good time to clean up, a little emergency maintenance.”

  “Wow,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d ever try something like that….”

  “It’s fun, Cassie. It’s a little rugged and it gets cool on the ocean, but the sunset is awesome—the whole experience is. Remember, I did that for over a year once. I hated to see it end. But really, a couple of motel rooms—I’m good with that. Your call.”

  “Gee, I wonder if I’m up to it….”

  “I’m real flexible. If you change your mind in the middle of the night and need a bed, I don’t mind.”

  “Really? It wouldn’t be like dragging along an old lady? Waiting for me to wimp out?”

  “I can handle it. Why don’t you give it a try? Just for kicks. If you hate it, you won’t ever do it again.”

  “Well…I guess I could brave it. Gee. A whole weekend on the bike….”

  “You might like it. You’ve liked it so far.”

  It was eleven when he left, and again at the door, he put a big gentle hand on her waist, making it feel small when, in fact, it was not. He pulled her near, and moved over her mouth sensually, lovingly, briefly. Gentle but there was certainly a hidden power there. She wondered if this was a bad idea, letting him have these parting kisses, but truthfully, it was almost her favorite part. When he pulled back, he smiled. “I like this friendship, Cassie.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” she warned.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Don’t you, either.”

  After he had gone, she went to the trash and dug out the bottle of wine they’d shared. She rinsed it and planned to root some ivy in it because she liked the label. Then she got on the Internet and traced it to the Napa Valley vineyard where it came from. And she learned that it sold for ninety-five bucks.

  He was a fool for her, she thought. Maybe she should cool this friendship before she hurt him and left him totally broke.

  Then she realized it was the first time she could remember being concerned that she might do the hurting. That made her smile. It was nice not being the desperate one for once.

  She’d have to reappraise the whole thing after spending two days on a bike and sleeping on the sand.

  Marty stared at Ryan Chambers’s business card at least twice a day. Usually six times. She’d started having wild fantasies that maybe he’d changed, grown up like he said, and that she’d made the wrong choice, marrying Joe. In the midst of her anger with her husband, who happened to show up out of the blue but her old boyfriend? She began to see herself twirling around in those high, strappy heels, dancing. Dining with candles. Being seduced and nuzzled and cuddled and…all of it. The way it had once been with Ryan, when things were going well. The way it had been with Joe before they married.

  She and Joe did nothing but argue, and always about the same things—he didn’t help her at all, didn’t compromise, didn’t put forth any effort to make himself appealing. His idea of a compliment was a slap on the ass. The more she bitched, the shorter his fuse got. He had that good old Italian temperament; he didn’t fly off the handle right away, but after enough pecking, she could drive him into a yell, a sulk. And God, did she peck! She felt she had two choices—to just accept him the way he was, clean up after him for life, endure his slovenly ways, or keep after him and hope eventually he could meet her halfway. Well, there was a third choice…. She could give up and end the relationship. Divorce.

  She started asking herself a lethal question—would it be against the rules to check Ryan out a little bit? Find out if he was being straight with her? It wouldn’t take long; he’d give himself away in no time. She remembered too well the way his eyes would drift to another woman in the room and get that light that said volumes, that had new conquest burning brightly in them. She didn’t ask her girlfriends about this; she knew the answer. It would be wrong.

  But she called him, anyway. She had an hour break between clients at the beauty shop and went out back, behind the building where she’d be alone. “Hi,” she said. “It’s Marty.”

  “I know who it is,” he said with a laugh. “What’s going on?”

  “I just thought I’d… Well, I thought maybe you could talk, that’s all.”

  “I can, but for two minutes. I’m on my way into a meeting. Hey, I have an idea—meet me back at Martinelli’s. We’ll have a drink. Talk.”

  “No,” she said. “No, I can’t do that….”

  “Why not? What’s the difference between a conversation on the phone and one in person? It’s a public place
, Marty.”

  “No,” she repeated. “I can’t do that….”

  “The husband watching you that close? You worried about something? Hey, he isn’t mean to you, is he?”

  “He’s not watching me,” she said. “In fact, he’s on shift. But I— Let’s just say I know better.”

  “Well, whatever you say, Marty. Want me to call you back after the meeting?”

  “No,” she said. “That’s okay. It was just a—” She didn’t finish. It was just an attack of the past, a moment of temporary insanity, a sick and lunatic desire to feel happy for a moment. And it was completely nuts because Ryan wasn’t the answer. He’d never been the answer, not even long before Joe. “Just thought you might have a minute, but go on—go to your meeting. I’ll check in with you again sometime.” And she hung up.

  Two hours later, while she was in the middle of a perm, her cell phone vibrated on her hip and she felt her cheeks grow hot. But she ignored it. When she was done with her client, she listened to the message. Hey, Marty, tell you what—I’m going to swing by Martinelli’s for a beer at about five-thirty. I get the idea you’d like to talk, maybe lean on a friend or something. I can tell in your voice you’re not really all together right now. Don’t worry about it, baby. If you’re there, you’re there—I’m not going to get you in trouble. But if you can’t make it, I get it. Call anytime.

  And then she thought, I’m hopeless! He calls me baby and I get all sloppy inside. She was with Ryan for as long as she’d been with Joe, except Ryan had been a perpetual cheater.

  But he was so young then, just a kid.

  Joe was thirty-four. He was mature, knew what he wanted, was ready to make a commitment to one woman. But his transformation from boyfriend and fiancé to husband had been a complete shock. And so immediate! From the minute the honeymoon was complete—a hiking and camping trip to Yosemite!—he was all done focusing any attention on what would make her happy. Oh, he was conscientious enough during her pregnancy, which came immediately following the wedding, but it was all downhill from there. She just couldn’t reach him!