Moonlight Road (Virgin River #11)(85)

Both of them gave Ellen their complete attention and nodded.

“There are some apples in the basket on the patio table. Go ahead.”

“Pizza would be better!” Netta said. “Pizza or chips!”

“Just fruit between meals,” Ellen said. “We’ll have pizza Friday night.” Then she turned and walked back into the house while Luke stood there in something of a daze.

By the time Luke got back to the living room and to his cola, Ellen was sitting down in her chair. “Okay, you just totally blew my mind out there,” Luke said.

“Phooey,” she retorted. “You’re the one who explained to me that Art’s very literal.”

“But you told Aiden that some special-needs adults actually fall in love and get married…”

“They do. They’re as individual as the rest of us, in every way. But I don’t think Art and Netta want to get married. Netta’s really obsessed with the wedding show—she wants a wedding. Wants to be a bride, wear a white dress, have a party. She doesn’t have a realistic concept of what comes after that. She knows what marriage is, sort of. She knows the people on the wedding show are getting married, knows that I’m married to Bo, but she doesn’t really know what it means to be married. I thought it would make her so happy if I bought her a secondhand wedding dress to play around in—but she didn’t want to take it off, so I had to get rid of it.” Ellen rolled her eyes and blew out her breath. “Boy, did I pay for that. She was furious with me for days. A little furious for weeks.”

“I should know these things,” Luke said. “For Art, I should know things like this.”

“Listen, this is what I studied in college. This group home is what Bo and I do because we want to. Just three special-needs adults—only women. You do a great job with Art, but if you’re committed to his quality of life, it wouldn’t hurt for you to be just a little more involved in a support group of parents and guardians. You’d learn a lot and you could be involved in the community.” She paused and smiled. “You’d hear about some challenges that make yours look like a walk in the park. But, Luke, even though Art is your only concern and he seems to be doing just fine, something might come up and you should have people on your side—people who can help you if you need advice.”

“People like you…” It wasn’t a question.

“I go to an afternoon support group every Thursday. We meet at a community resource center and all my girls go along—there’s a nice, comfortable gathering and some activities for them while the rest of us chat. It’s informal. We need the connection. We call it Happy Hour,” she said with a smile. “There are small groups all over the place—some who meet for evenings, some for breakfast or lunch. There are seven in my group, which I chose because by that time of day Bo can handle the bakery and I can get away. When you get the baby under control and a little older, you, Shelby and Art should drop in. Art would enjoy himself, I think.”

“I will,” he said. “Listen, I know I’m not experienced. Art’s so easy, I didn’t think I needed to be….”

“I’m so glad that when something bothered you, you asked. You’re doing great, Luke. Art’s very lucky.”

“Thanks,” he said. But inside he was thinking it was really Art who had changed him, and he wasn’t sure who to thank for that. “I’m lucky, I think. Good thing Art didn’t need some expert, that’s all.”

“Oh, I think maybe you sell yourself short. Come join us when the baby’s a little older.”

“We will.”

A good week had passed since Mel Sheridan had stormed away from her dinner, seriously miffed at her husband. That night she was angry and didn’t eat, didn’t curl up against him to sleep. But after that one night, she couched her pique in distant politeness that was completely alien to her personality. She was angry. And stubborn? She could not let go of it! In her mind there was no excuse for his lack of cooperation. A week later she was still holding back in a punishing way and she knew it, but she thought she was doing it in a way that didn’t really cross the line into the category of horrible bitch.

What she’d been doing was avoiding the whole subject of the next baby, of the surrogacy. She went to the bar to see Jack, but far less often. When she did jump on the familiar bar stool to have quality time with him, their conversation was superficial. She fed the kids and got them in bed at night and fixed herself something easy—can of soup, fried-egg sandwich—leaving Jack to have dinner at the bar alone. She didn’t snuggle against him and they hadn’t made love. The absence of their usually rich, satisfying sex life for no reason other than her pissy mood was hard on both of them. But she’d be the last to admit it.

She knew exactly what she was doing and hated herself for it, but she did it anyway. She wasn’t sure what would happen first—either she’d get over it or Jack would cave and go along with her plan.

“You haven’t made up with Jack yet, have you?” Cameron Michaels said to her when they happened to meet in the clinic’s kitchen for a coffee break.

“How can you tell?” she asked.

He laughed. “Right. Like it’s not obvious you’re pissed.”

She poured them each a coffee. “Has Jack talked to you about this?”