Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(72)

“Oh, I wish that, too. Or rather, I wish my daughter had told Sean about Rosie before bolting like she did. I do understand—she was terrified and her heart was breaking. Still…But that’s beside the point. What we wish other people would do has nothing to do with us. That’s not moral fiber, that’s being judgmental and unforgiving.”

“I’ve never been judgmental or unforgiving a day in my life,” Maureen protested.

“Know what? I absolutely believe you. You couldn’t embrace my daughter and granddaughter if you were. So, it must be that what you call moral fiber for yourself is closer to heavy starch or moral constipation! Otherwise you’d have dinner with that nice, handsome, charming man and see if you could become friends. And leave it open to the possibility you could become better friends. And even better friends.”

Maureen shook her head dismally. “You and I come from such completely different backgrounds, Viv. I was planning to be a nun!”

Viv’s eyes widened in shock, but very briefly. “Well, you’d have been some kick-ass nun, that’s for sure. I’ve seen you with your boys—they don’t even sass. But something obviously changed your mind about the convent…”

“Patrick Riordan, Sr., my husband. He hounded me until I gave in and dated him, then married him. And he’s been the only man in my life. The only one. I can’t imagine another man…”

“You must have loved him very much.”

“Well, of course I did, but that’s got nothing to do with it. I’m just far too mature to be thinking about a relationship with a man. Those days are gone. It was hard enough for me when I was young and my body was—” She stopped, unable to finish.

“What? Maureen, you’re beautiful! Your figure is amazing! You play sports and your mind is quick and you seem so confident.”

Maureen snorted. “Of course I’m confident. With my clothes on!” She took a drink of her wine. “Patrick was and will be the only husband of my lifetime.”

Vivian laughed softly, respectfully. “Maureen, I wouldn’t even suggest you should marry again. My interfering does have some limits.” She scooted forward on the sofa, closer to her friend. “I guess your dating girlfriends aren’t keeping you in the loop, giving you the inside skinny—”

“They know I don’t want to hear about their love lives,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “I’m from the old school, Vivian. The one where we don’t talk about personal things.”

“We’re going to do that now, Maureen,” she said. “I want to tell you some things about grown-up love. It’s easier, Maureen. And better. There’s more time, more tenderness, more patience. Our bodies aren’t what they were and things don’t always perform on schedule like they did when we were mere kids in our twenties. Sometimes a little help is called for—some-thing to help with the erection, or maybe with the lubrication—but it’s all part of intimacy that can be wonderfully fulfilling. Maureen, no one’s body is what it was forty years ago—but I’m here to tell you, it’s probably in perfect working order.”

Maureen seemed to think about this for a moment, and it did bring a flush to her cheeks. “You must have a very nice gentleman friend,” was all she said.

“Carl is a lovely man and I’ll save you the trouble of asking, because you won’t be able to work up the courage—we’re intimate. He’s actually a bit younger than I am—I’m fifty-five and he’s fifty. Fifty-year-old men without medical problems are usually still quite virile. For we ladies, the symptoms of menopause hound our sex lives—we get so dry. But that’s completely normal and easily remedied. Carl and I don’t manage a lot of alone time with our work and family obligations, but the nice thing about being this age…there’s no pressure. Simple unhurried affection is so rewarding. And I wonder, do you know what the hottest erogenous area of a man’s body is?”

Maureen fanned her face with her hand. “I imagine it’s his, you know, penis…”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “Just like with women—it’s the mind. When people like each other, Maureen, the rest follows as naturally for a woman in her fifties and sixties as for a woman in her twenties.”

“You’re lucky with Carl.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Vivian said. “But, Maureen, I wasn’t in the market for a man—I had my hands full with Franci and Rosie. Besides, I was working for him during his wife’s final days, God bless her. I was supporting him through his grief along with the rest of the office. It surprised me completely when he asked me out on a date a year or so after his wife died.”

“But you knew him—you must have been comfortable with him.”

“When a good man comes along, you owe it to yourself to at least have a look.”

But Maureen just shook her head. “I have to admit, only to you, this is the only area of life in which I feel completely vulnerable. Thankfully it hardly ever happens. But I wouldn’t know where to begin…”

“Then let me tell you,” Vivian said. “When you go out to dinner, if he has good manners, is pleasant to both you and the waitstaff, is enjoyable company, you’ve begun. That’s all it is. Friendship, companionship, affection—one day at a time. Women our age with our life experience don’t have time for nonsense—we need substance and sincerity. The minute the relationship isn’t one hundred percent positive, we can always find a good book.” She smiled and glanced at Maureen’s needlework on the accent table beside the chair. “Or sewing.”