by Robyn Carr
An hour and a half later they walked into Jack’s, holding hands. Rather than sitting up at the bar as usual, Aiden steered her toward a table because she had so much on her mind. She quizzed him about how he saw marriage, exactly. She wanted to discuss things like his religious commitments, because she’d fallen away from her church a long time ago. She wondered if he had strong feelings about how he wanted to be married. When she was young, she admitted, she’d had bride fantasies, but she had been a part of so many big weddings fraught with tension it no longer seemed important. And how about where he thought they’d live? Because she’d lived in her house all her life and wasn’t sure if she’d find it a relief to have something new and different or the kind of change too difficult to make. The only subject that didn’t come up was the most immediate one—Annalee. Erin, being a lawyer, knew that once you set the legal machine to work on an issue like that, there was little to do besides wait for it to work.
Through all of this they managed to order coffee and a couple of omelets, which Jack delivered on steaming plates in just minutes. “Here you go, you two. Say, Aiden—did you catch up with your cousin? Did you have a good visit?”
Aiden looked up in confusion. “Cousin?”
“Little blonde girl—Anna something…She said she’d barely arrived at Luke’s when everyone took off for the hospital.”
Jack shook his head. “Not that I know of. Something wrong?”
Aiden pushed back from the table. “Shit.” He shook his head. “Has she been around since?”
“Not my cousin, Jack. My ex-wife. She showed up unannounced, making waves, causing a few problems. It turns out our divorce papers from eight years ago weren’t filed or recorded properly, so we have to do it all again, and she’s not exactly cooperating. She even showed up out at Erin’s place when I wasn’t there. And I can’t figure out how—”
“Crap,” Jack said. “That was me. I bought into it. When she said she at least wanted to meet your girlfriend, I said Erin’s name. God, I’m sorry, Erin.”
But Erin had a very wide-eyed, startled look on her face. “I know how she found me. I was so rattled by her presence, by the things she said, I completely forgot. A woman called from the post office saying they had a delivery and needed directions.” She swallowed. “There was never a delivery.”
Fourteen
Aiden and Erin left Jack’s and went on to Luke’s, where they told Luke and Shelby, Sean and Franci what they had just learned about “Cousin” Annalee.
Annalee was obviously incredibly clever and yet her objective was still very unclear. “I know it’s not really me she wants, regardless of what she says,” Aiden said. “I’m fairly sure it’s about money—money sure solved all our problems eight years ago. But how she intends to get it out of me is a real mystery.”
Aiden explained that the business card declaring her a fashion consultant was a dead end. “No company affiliation, the cell-phone number isn’t a working number. I can’t get myself into the kind of devious mind-set that would tip me off on what to expect next.”
“Maybe that’s what she’s counting on,” Sean suggested. “That you’ll get tired of looking over your shoulder and sleeping with one eye open and just pay her another ten grand to go away.”
“I know someone who can get in that mind-set,” Erin said. “Call Ron Preston and tell him about this latest. Believe me, he’s handled some of the most notorious divorces on record. And the things people have been known to do to each other just blows the mind.”
Aiden had planned to touch base with him after talking to his brothers anyway. He just wanted his family in the loop and alert.
Ron Preston recommended a temporary restraining order based on the fact that Annalee had visited and harassed Erin. It was impossible to serve such an order of restraint when the whereabouts of the suspect was unknown, however. “We’ll put in a call to the local sheriff’s department and the police departments of towns large enough to have more than a couple of officers and let them know that a TRO is forthcoming as soon as we can locate the suspect. In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open, document everything that’s at all suspicious and stay in touch. You’ll be hearing from me.”
Aiden made sure that in addition to Erin’s number at the cabin, Ron Preston had Luke’s house number. “There’s almost always someone around Luke’s to answer the phone.”
If there was an upside to all this, it had removed the last microscopic shred of doubt from Erin’s mind about who was lying. With that worry completely eliminated, she was the one to make the announcement to the Riordan clan. “When this is all resolved and Aiden is completely free of any legal complications, we plan to get married. We’re not sure when or how, but that’s what will happen.”
Of course that was met with great happiness and an air of celebration that served as a relief from worries. The Riordan family got about the business of trying to plan out and enjoy their last couple of days with Sean, Franci and Rosie before they had to depart. Erin had felt completely welcome before they announced they’d get married, but now she was immediately pulled in as a member of the family. She felt embraced by them, protected and loved.
“I hate that you’re leaving so soon after I’ve met you,” Erin told Franci. “I’d love it if we had more time.”
“We’re going to have lots of time, don’t you worry. Most of us on both sides of the family have military roots—we’re used to traveling for holidays and vacations to spend time together. I suggest we plan ahead for some big family gatherings. We could find a beach spot for a summer vacation. Virgin River at Christmastime is fantastic and I know we can talk Luke and Shelby into reserving us cabins.”
“I like that idea,” Erin said. And if we can ever get through this mess, I’m going to love this family, she thought.
Luke and Sean managed to wrestle a couple of picnic tables into the back of Luke’s truck to take out to Erin’s cabin for a big family dinner. Aiden bought a new, large gas grill that could be stored in the shed when they weren’t in residence but that he had no doubt would get plenty of use over the years. When clouds gathered in the afternoon, the men put the chaise lounges from the deck into the shed and placed two picnic tables there instead. Aiden grilled salmon under the cover of an umbrella and the entire family ate outside on the covered deck while a summer rain fell.
The next night they met at Luke’s; dinner was a simple buffet because Sean and Franci were trying to pack the car and Maureen wanted to spend every last second with Rosie. Franci’s mom from Eureka was there, as were Walt Booth and Muriel.
The next morning, when Sean’s SUV was packed, the same crowd gathered for goodbyes. The brothers shook hands before embracing; Erin and Shelby hugged Franci close.
But the only one who Rosie cried over was Art. He got down on his knees to hug her and told her to be good in the car. She clung to him and tears came out of her eyes. “Will you bisit me?” she asked him.
Art looked to Luke. “Will I visit her?” he asked.
“Probably. And Rosie will visit you. They’ll be back for visits, for sure.”
So he said to her, “I’ll visit you, Rosie. Be good in the car.”
“I lub you,” she said to him. “I lub you!”
And Art said, “That’s because we’re good friends. Thank you.” And he held her tight for a moment. He added, “No fishing without Sean!”
That just about did in the farewell gathering. When Art finally stood to his full height, Sean stepped toward him with his hand out. “I’m going to miss you, Art. Be sure to watch over that new little guy—Brett Lucas.”
“I will do that, Sean,” he said, nodding.
Luke was not real good at sentiment. He walked over to the driver’s door of the SUV and opened it for Sean. “Let’s not drag this out—the women are all crying. I hate that part.”
Sean laughed and gave Luke one last, brief hug. “Take care, bud. I’ll be on the cell all the way. We’ll keep you posted on our progress.”
“Just
drive like an old woman, that’s all I ask. Now, get on the road!”
Maureen Riordan had said goodbye to her sons a hundred times; sometimes she’d even bid them farewell as they were going off to war. It was always a little hard, though they were grown men who had chosen their work, their lives, and she knew they were doing exactly as they’d planned. This time—kissing Rosie’s cheek and knowing it would be a while before she could hug her tight added a new dimension to the melancholy of farewell.
But this time as Sean and his family piled in his car and pulled slowly out of Luke’s compound, she leaned against George. His arm came around her and gave her a comforting squeeze. This was something she hadn’t had in so long—a partner to take the sting of goodbye away when the farewells were finally done and everyone had to get back to their lives. This time when she got back to her life, there would be love, affection, a best friend and even adventure as they took to the open road.
She sniffed back her threatening tears and said, “Well. They’re off. I’ll make more pancakes for anyone interested. And I brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”
Through all the many goodbyes over the years, this one was the easiest and sweetest for Maureen because she had George. With George she had places to go, people to see, new experiences to explore.
George was the only one to really notice that her mood was neither happy nor sad, but serene. Comfortable and quietly blissful. He put an arm around her waist, nuzzled her neck and said, “You’re looking especially beautiful, sweetheart.”
“I’m feeling that way, too. Thanks mostly to you.”
After Sean, Franci and Rosie left, roughly every twenty minutes Art said to Luke, “It’s Tuesday.”
And Luke would say, “I know that, but it’s not one o’clock yet, Art. We leave right after one o’clock.”
“I know that, Luke,” he said. And then he’d study his watch for a moment.
The watch had helped Art in several ways—he felt more confident and he was always on time returning from the river or doing his chores. He could only tell the hour hand and occasionally he got the two hands mixed up, thinking it was two o’clock when it was twelve-ten, but not often. Luke had miscalculated when buying him a watch with hour and minute hands rather than a digital, but they were getting by.
On Tuesday and Sunday afternoons Luke or someone else from the household would take Art to Fortuna to spend a couple of hours visiting with Netta. The term visiting should be used loosely as the two didn’t seem to talk all that much. On most of those visits Luke would go into the house with Art, say hello to Ellen and Bo and if they were present, the two other women who lived there. Once he was comfortable that all would be well, he’d ask Ellen if she minded him leaving to run an errand or two.
“Not a problem,” Ellen would always say. “Art’s a delight. Just be on time picking him up in two hours.”
Luke always made it back a little early and waited until Art was ready to go. When he was leaving with Art, Ellen would always say, “See you at two o’clock next time. Not early.”
“It’s Tuesday,” Art said for the umpteenth time.
“Tell me when it’s one o’clock, Art.”
At almost one, Luke went to give Shelby a kiss. “I’m headed to Fortuna, baby. Need anything while I’m out?”
“Just whatever you want for dinner,” she said. “And if you go to Costco or Walmart, grab some diapers and baby wipes.”
“How are you fixed if I don’t do much shopping? Has the little pee pot got a few days’ worth?”
“I’m good,” she said, laughing. “If you don’t go shopping, what will you do? Sit around Ellen’s house and wait?”
“No, I should talk to Ellen and Bo about Art—get their take on this getting-married business. He’s driving me to drink.”
“You do that,” she said. “Aren’t you leaving a little early?”
“He’s sitting in the truck, Shelby,” Luke said a bit tiredly. “When I invited Art to live here, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.”
Shelby just laughed at him.
Their routine on visiting days was to leave Virgin River just after one and head into town. They’d have McDonald’s—Art looked forward to that almost as much as fishing, visiting and shopping. All the way to Fortuna, Art kept saying, “Netta wants to be the bride.”
“Not a good idea, bud,” Luke said. “I think you guys are too young for that.”
“But Netta wants to be the bride…”
By the time they finished lunch and got some gas in the truck, it was almost two and they could go to Netta’s house. Art would almost always look at his watch before getting out of the truck and say, “Two o’clock!” It baffled Luke that if Art was so conscious of the day and time, why did he have to badger Luke all day long. But what really should bewilder Luke was the way Art could do that without making him want to jump off a cliff. In almost all other things Luke was impatient and could be easily driven over the edge.
Ellen opened the door and said hello, let them in. Art stood inside the front door until Ellen told Art where to find Netta. “Netta’s in the backyard, Art. I think she’s been watering flowers with the hose. Go find her.” And then off he went, smiling. “Going shopping today, Luke?” she asked him.
“I wonder if we could talk about some things,” he said. “If you have a little time.”
“Sure. How about some tea or a soda?”
“Do you have a cola?”
“Coming right up. Let’s sit in the living room. I’m sure Art and Netta will be fine and the girls are watching one of their favorite movies.”
She poured herself a glass of iced tea, gave Luke a glass of ice and a can of cola and led the way. “How’s the baby?” she asked, sitting in her favorite chair.
“Terrific. If you like getting peed, puked and pooped on and getting no sleep.” Then he grinned and sat opposite her. “Turns out I happen to actually like it. He’s really something.”
She laughed. “How’s Art doing with the baby?”
“He’s very careful. He doesn’t bother the baby unless he thinks something’s wrong, like if there’s too much crying. I think he has very sensitive ears. Noise seems to get to him. If there’s a lot of crying, he’ll point it out to us even though we’re right in the middle of it, trying to quiet the baby. Shelby could be walking, jiggling, shooshing, and Art will say, ‘The baby’s crying, Shelby.’”
“It’s probably disorder that bugs him,” she said, laughing. “It’s really the only thing Art has to go on. His routine is probably his greatest security. Besides you and your wife, of course. Haven’t you noticed?”
Luke leaned back on the sofa. “Well, if his routine is his security, why does he start telling me first thing in the morning that it’s Tuesday or Sunday? Fifty times, even after I tell him I know?”
“He probably doesn’t want to forget. Or you to forget. It’s very important to him.”
“Hmm. But he goes off fishing sometimes—and it’s not exactly on the schedule…”
“I bet it is. I bet something about it is routine—like he’s finished his chores or had his breakfast or something. I mean, everyone’s different, but most mentally challenged adults function best if they do things almost by habit. For example, the girls all know that after your shower you dry off, put on your bra first, then your panties, then dry your hair, then put on your clothes, then your shoes. One of my girls had her appendix out and we wanted to keep her in her pajamas and at least lying on the couch, if not in bed, for the day, and that just was not happening. I thought we were going to have a brawl. We settled for stay-at-home clothes—a sweatsuit—and kept repeating, ‘no lifting’ over and over until I was saying it in my sleep.”
“That a fact?” Luke said. “That simple?”
She laughed. “Simple? Well, until it’s not. Sometimes that stuff can get on my last nerve.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen, something worries me a lot. Art keeps talking about getting married.
I happen to agree with you—who are we to deny anyone love and affection, regardless of their mental acuity? But Art and Netta? Married?” He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Someone would have to take care of them for life. Art’s never going to be completely self-sufficient. He gets by just great, even stays in his own cabin next door, keeps it clean as a whistle, can fix some of his own meals if they’re simple, but—”
Ellen was frowning. “Luke, are you sure about this? Netta hasn’t mentioned wanting to get married.”
“Art won’t shut up about it, I’m telling you.”
“I bet it’s one of those real specific, literal things. Come on, let’s go ask,” she said, standing up.
“Just like that? Ask?”
“We might not get the answer, but we can ask. Leave your drink—we’ll come back.” She led the way through the house and out back.
Netta was still watering flowers and Art stood beside her, hands in his pockets, looking happy as a clam.
Ellen said, “Art? I have a question. Have you been talking about getting married?”
“I don’t drive a car,” he said with a shrug.
“I want to be the bride,” Netta said right away, not looking at anyone.
“I know,” Ellen said with a laugh. “I know, I know, I know. But do you want to get married?”
Netta looked at her and frowned in confusion.
“Netta, do you want to live here and work in the bakery?” And Netta said she did. “And Art? Do you want to live with Luke and Shelby?”
Art looked panicked for a second. He cast pleading eyes to Luke. “I have my own house, Luke. I help you.”
“You absolutely do. You live with us, you help us and you fish in our river. You seem to catch a lot of fish—we appreciate that.”
Art visibly relaxed.
“I want to be the bride,” Netta said, showering the flowers with the hose. “I want to be in the wedding.”
“You do such a great job in the bakery, Netta. Thank you for watering the plants. Your favorite show—all about weddings—will be on TV on Thursday. Do you two want some kind of snack right now?”