Moonlight Road (Virgin River #11)(43)

“He’s seventy! She might as well be alone!” Luke said.

“Does this mean you’re no longer concerned that your mother is having wild, sinful monkey sex with some guy in an RV?” Aiden asked. “Because any seventy-year-old guy who’s capable of that can read a map and stop at a stop sign.”

“Funny,” Luke said. “Go. Have fun with your squeeze. Leave all the family issues to me. See if I care.”

Aiden chuckled silently. A couple of years ago—before Shelby and the baby and Art and all these domestic tethers—Luke might not even have noticed where his mother was sleeping. Now he was up to his neck in issues. “When I get where I’m going, I’ll give you a call and make sure you have a phone number so you can reach me if there’s a brawl.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Luke said, hanging up on him.

Eight

Maureen and George had towed Maureen’s sedan behind the RV so they could get around without driving the gas-guzzling motor coach everywhere. They were very comfortable at a small, friendly RV park just outside Fortuna. Most of the people they claimed as neighbors were passing through, visiting the redwoods, the coast, the mountains and the vineyards. They introduced themselves as George and Maureen and no one seemed the least bit interested in whether they were married. Most people did want a tour of their motor coach, however, as it was top-of-the-line and fancier than anyone else’s.

They had a very nice routine. They drove into Virgin River almost every day—George liked to help Noah around the church and his fixer-upper house, and Maureen liked to spend time with her daughters-in-law, both of whom she found far more entertaining these days than her sons. They often went to Catholic mass on Friday nights, then out to dinner afterward. On Sunday mornings they liked to listen to Noah preach; George took such personal pride in the young pastor’s skill. And watching the handsome young preacher stand before his congregation in jeans and a plaid shirt, his dog lying not far away, was something Maureen hadn’t thought she’d ever see. “You Protestants,” she said to George, laughing, “don’t know anything about the beauty of ritual.”

The real magic of Maureen’s life happened in or around the RV with George. Things she didn’t realize she’d been missing now fulfilled her—simple things like sitting on the sofa with her needlework while he sat not far away talking to the televised baseball games. George loved baseball and had a comment about every play! The difference between him being highly entertained or simply passing the time had everything to do with how much he talked to the TV. Baseball got lots of commentary; movies she selected for them got none until his eventual snore. She’d had no idea how much she missed the sound of a man’s snore.

Maureen sat on their small patio, the canopy extended over her, enjoying a cool morning breeze, while inside, George washed up the breakfast dishes. She couldn’t remember when she’d had someone to trade off kitchen chores with, and that brought her amazing happiness. And speak of the devil, he came out of the RV, the newspaper tucked under his arm and carrying two cups of coffee. He handed her the mug with one Stevia sweetener and a tiny bit of skim milk. Then he settled into the chair next to her with his black coffee and perused the headlines.

This was another thing she’d had no idea she’d longed for—a person to be quiet with. Someone to sit beside her, present, available but not invasive. For twelve years she’d been entirely alone and not lonely, and never realizing there was an alternative that could feed a need in her. Then George casually reached for her hand, holding it, and she was reminded of that other thing. She felt a zing of sweet affection balanced beautifully somewhere between passion and comfort.

Maureen had thought these feelings were so far behind her, she was surprised that a woman in her sixties could enjoy the same aspect of life that a bride in her twenties might. No, make that more, not the same. As a young woman she’d had inhibitions; she’d been self-conscious and difficult to arouse. Now, when her body was so much less appealing, she felt freer and more sure of herself. She gave a lot of credit to George, who helped her slowly build trust; George, who made her feel so beautiful and desirable. Maureen was the kind of woman who had pulled the sheet over her face during pelvic exams, even after birthing five children. Now, she showered with George sometimes. They laughed at how ridiculous they must look, their flesh so loose, the hair in private places all graying and thin. They laughed about how well those aging bodies seemed to work with a little unhurried coaxing.

She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’ve been thinking, George.”

“Scary,” he said.

“I’ve been awfully critical of my boys for avoiding love and commitment, for not settling down. I can’t count the number of times I asked them what in the world their father and I did to put them off marriage and family. I didn’t realize until recently, maybe they were aping my behavior. I thought I had no interest in a relationship. Or more honestly, that no man would have any interest in me. I had no idea what I was really doing was avoiding any possibility of that—the very thing my sons were doing until recently. For entirely different reasons, maybe. But the result was the same.”

“Different reasons?”

“I always thought that a couple of them, Luke and Aiden for certain, shied away from serious relationships because of their terrible marriages. But how do I know? I just didn’t want the complications in my life. I stayed completely away from social situations in which I might meet a man. Really, George—I had no idea I was avoiding it like I was. And I was so critical of women friends who were looking for love. I honestly thought they were acting like old fools.”