by Robyn Carr
“Jesus,” she said. “I guess everyone has baggage. Gimme a beer.”
He poured one from the tap and put it before her. “So maybe the thing to do is just let him be awhile.”
“Is he going to wake up soon?”
“No. He’s tanked. I was just about to carry him to bed when you walked in. I’ll sleep in the chair in his room, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case he’s not just drunk. In case he gets sick or something. He carried me down a road in Iraq—about a mile. I’m not letting anything happen to him now.”
She drank some of her beer. “He’s carried me a little, too,” she said. “I don’t think he knows it, though.”
They sat in silence for a little while. She drank about half her beer. “I’m trying to get a picture of him carrying you,” she said. “Must’ve looked like the ant and the rubber tree.”
He surprised her with a chuckle.
“How’d he get you to come here? To this little town?”
“He didn’t have to talk me into it. I kept in touch with him when he got out, and when I got out, I came up. He said I could stay and help around the bar if I wanted to. I wanted to.”
A noise behind her made her turn. Jack fell off the chair and crashed to the floor, sprawling there.
“Nightie-night time,” Preacher said, coming around the bar.
“Preacher, if you’ll get him to his room, I’ll stay with him.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mel. Could be unpleasant. You know?”
“Not a problem,” she said. “I’ve held many a bucket, if it comes to that.”
“Sometimes he cries out.”
“Sometimes, so do I.”
“Is it what you want?”
“It is. I want to.”
“You really do care about him, then?” he asked.
“I said so, didn’t I?”
“Well, okay. If you’re sure.”
Preacher crouched and pulled Jack upright. Hands under his armpits, he got him to a limp standing position, then putting a shoulder to his midsection, hoisted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Mel followed him to Jack’s bedroom.
She’d never been in Jack’s quarters. It was set up like a little efficiency apartment with two means of entry—either through the kitchen behind the bar or the back door that led out to the yard. It was L-shaped, the bedroom being in the short end of the L and the living area larger. There was a table with two chairs by the window and while there was no kitchen, there was a small refrigerator.
Preacher put Jack on the bed and unlaced and removed his boots. “Let’s get the jeans off,” she said. To Preacher’s dubious look, she said, “I assure you, I’ve seen it all.” She undid the leather belt and unsnapped the jeans. Mel took the right pant leg, Preacher took the left and they pulled, leaving him in his boxers. Mel unbuttoned his shirt and rolling him from side to side, removed it. She took the clothes to his closet. Hanging on a peg just inside the door was a holster with a handgun in it and it made her gasp. She hung the pants and shirt over the gun.
Preacher was staring down at Jack, clad only in boxers. “He’s gonna kill me for this,” Preacher said.
“Or thank you,” she supplied, giving him a small smile. “If my pager goes off, I’ll come for you.” She pulled the comforter over Jack.
“Or if you have any problems,” the big man said.
When Preacher had gone, Mel pulled off her boots and in stocking feet, she poked around a little. He had a roomy bathroom with cupboards and drawers. She opened one and found that he kept underwear and socks in there. Towels were stored there, as well, and remembering that first day in Virgin River, she sniffed one. Downy, like he had said.
The closet was a medium-size walk-in. There was a small laundry room with cabinets in addition to the washer and dryer. The bathroom and laundry room had doors that closed, but the bedroom was in full view of the living room.
Looking around, it was so obviously Jack. Very masculine; very functional. He had a leather couch and big leather chair. There was a television on the facing wall and beside it, a glass-and-wood gun case filled with rifles, the key dangling from the lock. There was a heavy wood coffee table and a side table between the sofa and chair with a lamp on it. The walls were of rough-hewn wood and there were only two framed pictures on the side table. A family photo showing all of them, Jack, four sisters, four brothers-in-law, eight nieces, one silver-haired father as large as Jack. Beside it, a rather older portrait of his mother and father.
She picked up the family photo. This was a family of strong good looks, the men all tall and handsome, the women trim and pretty, the girls adorable—the youngest just little, like three or four, the oldest a teen. She thought Jack the best looking of them all, and he stood in the middle of the group, an arm around a sister on each side.
She took the throw off the couch, wrapped it around herself, and curled up in the large chair. Jack hadn’t moved a muscle. Eventually she, too, nodded off.
Somewhere in the night, sounds came from Jack’s bed. He was fitful, rolling around, muttering in his sleep. Mel went to the bed, sat on the edge and touched his brow. He grumbled something unintelligible and curled toward her, grabbing her and pulling her into the bed. He rested his head against her. She took his head in the crook of her arm and lay down beside him. “It’s okay,” she said to him. And he quieted at once, draping an arm over her.
She pulled the comforter over them both and snuggled up to him. She sniffed the pillow—Downy. Who was this guy? she found herself asking. Looks like Paul Bunyan, runs a bar, has all these guns, and cleans and launders like Martha Stewart.
In his sleep, he pulled her closer. His breath smelled of Scotch. Whew, she thought. She put her face against his hair, which smelled of his musk combined with the wind and trees. She inhaled deeply; she’d already begun to love his particular scent and the taste of his mouth. She had wondered what was under the shirt—a nice mat of brown hair on his chest and a couple of tattoos. On his upper left arm an eagle, globe and anchor, almost as big as her hand. On the upper right, over a ribbon, the words:
SAEPE EXPERTUS,
SEMPER FIDELIS,
FRATRES AETERNI
She couldn’t resist, she rubbed her hands over the mat of hair on his chest and over his smooth shoulders. She pulled him close. Within minutes, she had fallen back to sleep, cradling Jack in her arms, his arm comfortably embracing her.
* * *
In the dim light of early morning, Jack awakened with a pounding head. He turned his face to the side and the first thing he saw were Mel’s golden curls against the pillow next to him. She clutched the covers under her chin, sleeping soundly. He raised himself up on an elbow and looked down at her face. Her pink lips were parted in sleep; sooty lashes lay against her cheek. He lifted a soft curl off the pillow and held it to his face, inhaling. Then he leaned toward her and lowered his lips to gently touch hers.
Her eyes came open. “Morning,” she whispered sleepily.
“Did we do it?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Good,” he said.
She smiled at him. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”
“When we do it, I want to remember it. I don’t even know why you’re here.”
“I stopped by the bar for a beer just about the time Preacher was scraping you off the floor. Headache?”
“It went away the minute I saw you. I must have had one too many.”
“Did it work? Did you scare away all the demons?”
He shrugged. “It got you in my bed. If I’d known it was that easy, I’d have gotten plastered weeks ago.”
“Lift the covers, Jack,” she said.
He did so. There he was, boxer clad and sporting quite a
healthy morning erection. And there she was, fully clothed. “Don’t look down,” he said, dropping the comforter. “You have me at a huge disadvantage.” She laughed at him. “We could do it now,” he suggested. He felt the texture of her hair between his thumb and finger. “I’ll treat you real, real good.” He grinned.
“No, thank you,” she declined.
“Did I try anything?” he wanted to know.
“No.” She laughed. “Why?”
“I drank enough so that could have been really humiliating. Assault with a dead weapon.”
She ran her fingers over the tattoo. “I sort of expected this,” she said.
“Rite of passage. I bet every young marine wakes up with a splitting head and a little remembrance of the Corps.”
“What does this mean?” she asked, running her fingers over the words on the other arm.
“Often tested, always faithful, brothers forever.” He touched her cheek. “What did Preacher tell you?” he asked her.
“That the boys come up here and stir up some of your roughest memories of the wars you’ve been in. But I suspect that now and then you’d have those memories anyway, whether they came or not.”
“I love those boys,” he said.
“And they’re devoted to you. So—maybe it’s worth a little discomfort now and then. Friendships like that don’t come cheap.”
Ten
Jack was back to his old self. It was either the Scotch or the fact that he woke up to a pretty blonde in his bed. He bet on the blonde.
He never did ask Preacher precisely what he had told Mel. And he didn’t ask Mel to be more specific. It didn’t really matter. What did matter was that he had bonded with Mel on a new level that night without planning to. That she knew he was tortured over something terrible from his past and instead of shying away, stayed with him, willing to take it on—it had meant something. She had held him while he tossed and turned against a mean-spirited ghost. After that, she yielded more willingly to those kisses. He was definitely ready to move ahead with her.
They were the current talk in Virgin River, which gave Jack a strange satisfaction. For a man who didn’t want to be tied down to a woman, a man who tended to keep his woman in the shadows, he found himself wanting everyone to know they were a couple. And he worried that she would make good on her threats to leave before he could convince her to stay forever.
Jack took Mel to the coast to whale watch and they talked all the way there and back, but on the high cliffs above the ocean, they held hands, quiet, while the great fleet of behemoth mammals swam by, jumping out of the water and landing with an enormous splash. Their own guard of dolphins escorted them to the north. She let him kiss her for a long time that day. Many times. Then if his hand wandered she said, “No. Not yet.” And that gave him hope. Not yet meant it was on the agenda.
He was completely smitten. Jack was forty and this was the first time that he had a woman in his life he couldn’t imagine giving up.
* * *
Mel called her sister. “Joey,” she said quietly, in almost a whisper. “I think I have a man in my life.”
“You found a man in that place?”
“Uh-huh. I think so.”
“Why do you sound so...strange?”
“I have to know something. Is it okay? Because I’m not even close to being over Mark. I still love Mark more than anything. Anyone.”
Joey let out her breath slowly. “Mel, it’s all right to get on with your life. Maybe you’ll never love anyone as much as you loved Mark—but then maybe there will be someone else. Someone next. You don’t have to compare them, honey, because Mark is gone and we can’t get him back.”
“Love,” she corrected. “Not past tense. I still love Mark.”
“It’s all right, Mel,” Joey said. “You can go on living. You might as well have someone to pass the time with. Who is he?”
“The man who owns the bar across from Doc’s clinic—the one who fixed up the cabin, bought me the fishing pole, got my phone installed. Jack. He’s a good man, Joey. And he cares about me.”
“Mel... Have you...? Are you...?”
There was no answer.
“Mel? Are you sleeping with him?”
“No. But I let him kiss me.”
Joey laughed sadly. “It’s okay, Mel. Can you really think otherwise? Would Mark want you to wither away, lonely? Mark was one of the finest men I’ve ever known—generous, kind, loving, genuine. He’d want you to remember him sweetly, but to get on with your life and be happy.”
Melinda started to cry. “He would,” she said through her tears. “But what if I can’t be happy with anyone except Mark?”
“Baby sis, after what you’ve been through, would you settle for some marginal happiness? And a few good kisses?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“Give it a go. Worst case—it takes your mind off your loneliness.”
“Is that wrong? To use someone to take your mind off your dead husband?”
“What if you put that another way? What if you enjoyed someone who took your mind off your dead husband? That could pass for happiness, couldn’t it?”
“I probably shouldn’t be kissing him,” she said. And she cried. “Because I just can’t stay here. I don’t belong here. I belong in L.A. with Mark.”
Joey sighed heavily. “It’s only kissing, Mel. Just take it one kiss at a time.”
When they hung up the phone, Joey said to her husband, Bill, “I have to go to her. I think she might be heading for a crisis.”
* * *
Mel had started thinking about the past more—that morning that the police came to the door to tell her that Mark was dead. They had worked the swing shift together at the hospital the night before. They’d taken their lunch hour together in the cafeteria. But Mark was on call and the E.R. was busy, so he stayed through the night. It happened when he was on his way home.
She had gone to the morgue to view him. Left alone with him for a little while, she took his cold, lifeless body into her arms, his chest riddled with three perfect holes, and wept until they dragged her away.
She had a video in her mind—one that ran from the pictures of Mark lying on the floor at the convenience store, the police at her door at dawn, through the funeral, those nights that she cried literally through the entire night, right up to the long days of packing up his things and the long months of not being able to part with them. She saw the film in her head as if from above, curled into a fetal position in her bed, grabbing herself around the gut as though she’d been run through by a knife, crying hard, loud tears. Cries so loud that she thought the neighbors would hear and call for help.
Rather than just telling his picture that she loved him, she began carrying on long, one-sided conversations with his flat, lifeless face. She would tell him everything she’d done all day and it would inevitably end with, “I still love you, damn you,” she would exclaim harshly. And urgently, “I still love you. I can’t stop loving you and missing you and wanting you back.”
Mel had always thought that Mark was the kind of lover, the kind of husband, who would find a way to contact her from beyond, because he was so devoted. But there had never been any evidence that he’d crossed back. When he went, he went all the way. He was so gone, it left her feeling desolate inside.
She woke up crying three days running. Jack had asked her if anything was wrong, if there was anything she wanted to talk about. “PMS,” she told him. “It’ll pass.”
“Mel, have I done anything?” He wanted to know.
“Of course not. Hormones. I swear.”
But she was starting to think that the brief reprieve she seemed to have experienced lately was now officially over and she was on her way back to the darkness of grief and longing. Back to the sta
rk loneliness.
Then something happened to jar her out of it. She returned from her short walk to the corner store to watch her soap with Joy and a recovering Connie to see a rented car in front of Doc’s. When she went inside she was face-to-face with her sister’s bright smile. Mel gasped, dropped her bag and they swooped together, lifting each other off the ground, laughing and crying at once. When the crazy moments had passed, still holding Joey’s hand, Mel turned toward Doc to make a formal introduction. But before she could, Doc said, “Kind of scary, there being two of you.”
Mel ran her hand over Joey’s shiny and smooth brown hair. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“You know. I thought you might need me.”
“I’m okay,” she lied.
“Just in case, then.”
“That’s so sweet. Do you want to see the town? Where I live? Everything?”
“I want to see the man,” Joey whispered in Mel’s ear.
“We’ll do that last. Doc? Can I have the afternoon?”
“I certainly wouldn’t be able to stand having the two of you yakking and giggling around here all day.”
Mel rushed on Doc and gave him a kiss on his withered cheek, which the old boy quickly wiped off with a grimace.
Mel’s spirits were high and she didn’t think about Mark for a little while. She took Joey to all her favorite places, beginning with her cabin in the woods, which Joey thought was charming, if a little in need of her professional decorator’s touch. “You should have seen it when I arrived,” Mel laughed. “There was a bird’s nest in the oven!”
“God!”
Then they went to the river where there were at least ten men in waders and vests, angling. A couple of them turned and waved to her. “The first time I was here, Jack brought me and we saw a mama bear and her cub, right downriver, fishing. First and last bear I’ve ever seen. I think I’d like to keep it that way. The next time I came, I fished. I fly-fished—not as good as what they’re doing, but I actually caught a fish. I have my own gear in the trunk.”