Hidden Summit (Virgin River #17)(53)

“How’d she take it?”

“I’m a lucky guy,” he said. “She was everything I expected. Supportive and understanding, if a little shocked out of her mind.”

“Then don’t let her get away,” Brie said. “I’ll call Max with this name. He has detectives assigned to the prosecutor’s office.”

“Appreciate it,” he said. “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“Of course. And, Conner? I’d like to tell you this over the phone so I don’t have to look you in the eye. I read that letter from your ex-wife, laborious though it was. I wasn’t nosy, I had to be sure she didn’t reference something we should know—like if she learned you were the only witness of the crime or something like that. Many things are easy to assume—it was your store, there was a threat from an unknown source, the police were called immediately, et cetera—”

“Brie, I don’t care that you read it,” he said. “I gave you permission anyway.”

“I thought you should know something. What you do with it is entirely up to you, but you should know. She knew she was sick, Conner. When she met you and married you, she thought she could tame her wild compulsions by being hooked up to you, and she has regrets about that, about the position she put you in. She didn’t suddenly learn she was a sex addict when you caught her with another man. She thought you were the kind of man who could ground her, slow her down, keep her happy, so to speak. That was before she knew very much about her disease.”

“Disease,” he said in a grumble.

“Did you know that? That she married you with that agenda?”

“No. And I don’t know that I buy that whole disease thing, either.”

“I know,” Brie said. “I don’t really get it, either. But then there are a lot of things I have trouble understanding. I don’t understand why smart, strong women let men hit them, and yet I end up helping a lot of them. The human condition, Conner, is complex and often confusing. But there’s one thing I do know—holding a grudge isn’t going to help. I hope you can let it go soon. I realize you didn’t feel the need for any information from her letter, but I wanted to be sure you knew that. Conner, it wasn’t your fault in any way. She knows it and you should know it.”

Leslie hadn’t met Dan’s fiancée, Cheryl, even though she’d helped Dan with some of his housewarming party details. She called Cheryl just the same. “Let me come over a little early on Sunday and help you around the house or kitchen,” she said. “You probably have a lot of people coming and tons to do.”

“That’s so nice of you,” she said. “It’s appreciated.”

So Leslie, armed with her favorite Merlot and a bunch of flowers, headed to Dan and Cheryl’s new house. They’d built in the countryside, far enough up the side of a hill to afford them a decent view. It was a small house at the end of a long, curly drive, and while there was still plenty to do around the yard, it was a nice-looking brick-and-wood ranch. There were a few pots of flowers flanking the front door.

The front door was opened by a lovely, smiling woman. “Hi, I’m Leslie,” she said, cradling the wine and flowers in one hand and sticking out the other.

“Gee, it’s nice to finally meet you. Dan is one of your biggest fans.”

“And I’m one of his,” Leslie said, entering. She held out the flowers and wine. “These are for you.”

“You’re so sweet,” Cheryl said, taking the flowers. “I don’t drink, but if you’d like a glass of that… I don’t even know if there’s a corkscrew in the house.... Maybe Dan has one on that fancy knife of his. Want me to ask?”

“Gee, I never even thought to ask,” Leslie said. “Since I’ve seen Dan at Jack’s…”

“He likes a cold beer sometimes,” Cheryl said, heading for the kitchen. Once there she put the wine and flowers on the counter; the work island was full of food trays in progress—a veggie tray, potato and corn chips still in bags sitting in big bowls, a couple of large Crock-Pots, bags of buns, condiments, relishes such as pickles, onions, tomatoes. “He doesn’t overdo it,” Cheryl went on. “He’s one of the lucky ones. An amputee doesn’t want to throw himself off balance.” And then she laughed. “Have you ever seen Dan on one leg?”

“I’ve heard,” Leslie said.

“He’s pretty amazing. He says it’s a survival instinct. And me? I don’t drink because I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

“I didn’t know,” Leslie said, somewhat embarrassed.

“Then you’re probably just about the only one. I had quite a reputation back in the drinking days. I’ve been sober three years.”

“Congratulations. Is that the appropriate thing to say? Congratulations?”

“I’ll take it,” she said with a laugh. “They knew they had a tough one when they saw me coming.” Cheryl opened a cupboard and pulled out a vase for the flowers.

“They?” Leslie asked before she could stop herself.

“Sorry, I spend so much time talking to other people in recovery sometimes I forget there are people who haven’t faced all that. AA. Rehab. And I’ve been taking courses toward a counseling degree. I work at the college, get discounted courses, and my dream job is working with people in recovery.”