Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(84)

“Forget I said that,” she answered. “What did you get for take-out lunch?”

“Wonderful, fat deli sandwiches, coleslaw, sweet tea and brownies. How does that sound?”

She smiled at him. “Better than you know.”

George pulled the RV off the road at a scenic outlook beside the ocean. They sat at the table and ate their sandwiches, talking about all the places in the United States they hadn’t seen and would love to visit. Maureen lived in Arizona and had never been to the Grand Canyon; George wanted to extend his RV adventure into Canada and Alaska. It all began to sound like a fantasy, a dream trip.

“George,” she said. “What if one of us gets sick?” she asked.

“We’re not going to the wilds of Africa,” he said with a shrug. “We can stop at a hospital. We’ll see a doctor or—” But then he smiled at her. “But we should, if we feel like it.”

“Should what?”

“Go to Africa. And maybe a long cruise…”

She sat back in her chair. “Have you been dreaming this up for years?”

He shook his head. “Just the opposite. I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself. I’m not young—I have some years of travel in me, then I’ll probably have to settle down a little and be happy with the occasional trip. You have longer, I suppose. But the truth, Maureen? All these fun ideas didn’t even occur to me until I met you. Mary thought of stuff like this, but we were never able to act on them. You know what my late wife used to say? That it was her goal to have the grandchildren say, ‘Anyone seen Grandma?’” He laughed at himself. Then he sobered. “I’m so sorry. It’s probably such a faux pas, trying to tempt you with things my late wife said.”

But Maureen loved it. It had been such a long time since she’d been tempted by anything! By a man, by living, by having fun, by risk and chance and dare! She would love to sell her condo, get rid of all that precious furniture she’d polished, pampered and protected for so many years—furniture that never managed to look good in that fancy condo! She’d love to give her sons the keepsakes she’d stored for them! The old school pictures, report cards and clay handprints. And the little china and crystal bric-a-brac her mother and mother-in-law left? What was she going to do with them after she was dead? Cart them with her to heaven? The boys could have all the Christmas ornaments from their childhood, their baby pictures, their school projects; their wives could have their great-grandmother’s silver and dishes. It wasn’t as though she sat up on lonely nights caressing that stuff! She’d much rather see the Grand Canyon!

She thought about drifting from grandchild to grandchild across the country, taking them on overnights in an RV, going on shopping trips and buying them presents from Europe, Asia, Africa!

Six months, George had said. Six months to see if they were really as compatible as they seemed. She laughed suddenly. She hadn’t made Patrick, Sr., work at winning her for any longer than that!

“Funny? Did I offend you?” George asked.

She grabbed both his hands across the RV’s table. “Not at all. I think I would have loved Mary. We would have been friends. In spite of the fact that she was Presbyterian!”

“That’s what I think,” he said. “But, Maureen, don’t get the impression you’re exactly like her. You didn’t get my attention because you’re anything like my late wife! In fact, you’re very different in lots of ways. I’ll tell you all about that another day. It’s bad manners to discuss your wife with your girlfriend.” He frowned slightly. “You have an odd look on your face. Does all this talk about her bother you? Does my suggestion about an RV upset you?”

“No, not at all,” she said. She didn’t intend to give him too much information too fast, but truthfully, she was looking forward to things. Fun, exciting, fantastic things that had never occurred to her before…and someone very wonderful to do them with. She suddenly realized that while she’d been content the past several years, she hadn’t been excited about the future in a long time. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt that way.

Fifteen

The very day that George proposed the RV idea, Maureen was invited to have dinner with Vivian and Carl. In fact, the invitation was extended to George, as well, but Maureen was not quite ready for a double date—things were just too new. She had offered to cook them a nice dinner, but Vivian demurred. “Carl is a wonderful cook and he loves it. His kids have plans tonight and he’s going to run by the grocery on his way over,” she had said. “For once, just be a guest.”

So after a couple of hours of playtime with Rosie, Maureen was back at Vivian’s for dinner. Vivian and Carl were already in the kitchen; Carl was searing something at the stove and Viv was in charge of some slicing and dicing on the cutting board.

“Mo!” she said happily, turning from her chore and wiping her hands on a towel. “Here you are. Meet Carl. Dr. Johnson.”

And as Carl turned from the stove and extended his hand, Maureen found herself face-to-face with a very tall, very handsome black man. “Carl Johnson,” he said, as though she hadn’t heard his name.

“How do you do,” she said, taking his hand and looking up at him. Her first thought was that Vivian might’ve mentioned that he was black. In that kind of quandary, she blurted, “Johnson? You’re Swedish!”