Moonlight Road (Virgin River #11)(97)



“But I miss it, too, Mel,” he said. “I wanted to rub your back because you cramped, wanted to hear you tell me you were too messy or cranky. I miss watching for the blood to come and knowing that—uh-oh—once again, it didn’t come and you were going to get big and ripe and furious.” He chuckled. “All that stuff changed suddenly for me, too. Scary sudden.”

“But do you see? It made me a different kind of woman and there was no warning. It all changed too soon. It was supposed to change at forty-five or fifty, not thirty-five! I just figured out how to get pregnant after all that trouble and work and then bam! It was taken away from me again!”

He wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Replaced with children for you to raise and chase and yell at and swat and bring into the bed with us. Replaced with the wisdom that comes from survival and growth and balance. No more blood—no arguing about whether you can grit your teeth and let me love every last piece of you in spite of what time of the month it is. No more surprises—we can plan now. And once we’re past this crisis, no more crazy mood swings…”

“You think this is just a crazy mood swing?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Nope—this is you admitting that losing a body part you found essential is very hard, but that you can admit it. That it’s loss, just like it was loss for Rick to lose a leg. So guess what, Mel? We’re not going to make any more babies. Luckily, we did that already. Now we can relax and enjoy them.” He bit at her neck. “Now I can make love to you as much as you want. All the time, if you want. We can get a sitter, lock the door and go at it like bunnies for days, if you want.”

“That isn’t making me feel better,” she informed him.

“Multiple orgasms have always made you feel better,” he whispered.

“Pah,” she scoffed.

He chuckled. “You sure fake it good, then. You’ve always been so mature about accepting what feels good….”

“Jack, there’s this place inside me, right here,” she said, sliding his hand over her lower abdomen, “that feels empty, like something important is missing….”

He pressed down with his big hand. “Because something that was there before, that you counted on, that you believed was an important part of who you are, is gone. Gone, Mel—because it was life or death. Those were the choices.”

“I didn’t realize how much I missed it, how much I’d like to have it back.”

“I know, baby.”

“What now?”

He shrugged. “If you feel like crying over it, I can hold you. Eventually, though, you’re going to realize that you’re ten times the woman you were when I met you and getting better every day, and that your womb never had that much to do with the you I fell in love with. Thank you just the same, though, for giving me children before you gave it up. And thank you for giving it up so we could be together…”

“That whole surrogate idea—what was so bad about that idea?” she wanted to know.

He shook his head. “Not sure. I just had this gut feeling you were trying to fill a hole in our lives that didn’t exist. Compensating. Being somehow unrealistic about the life we have together, which is as close to perfect as anyone could have. You know, when people compensate, sometimes what they give up is far greater than what they get.”

“I asked Phil Prentiss what he would do if they never got a baby and he said they’d die with a lot of excess love in their hearts….”

“And let’s not,” Jack said. “Let’s spend every drop. On the kids, on our families, on your patients, on the town. On people we don’t know yet and the ones who have been our good friends forever. On each other. Let’s spend our last drop as we’re taking our last breaths.”

Mel smiled at him, though a big tear ran down her cheek. “I have to give Phil and Darla’s packet to that young couple….”

“Of course you do,” he said, wiping away the tear. “And it’s going to double the size of your heart.”

Sixteen

A few days after Aiden’s arrest and release, his divorce lawyer called him at Erin’s cabin. “I have news. You are not divorced. But then, you weren’t exactly married.”

Aiden frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Your wife has been the wife of many,” Ron said. “She’s a con—this must come as no surprise, eh?” he asked. “But you were her second spouse, while she was still married to her first spouse. Her first husband was and probably still is her partner and partner in crime—his was the name on the back of your check. She’s used so many aliases, we’re not sure we’ve tracked them all yet. The couple are Bosniak—Albijana Kovacevic and Mustafa Zubac. She isn’t going to sue you, smear your reputation or do any of that. She can’t afford to. They’re wanted in five states.”

Aiden couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe.

“Aiden?” Ron asked. “Dr. Riordan?”

“Uh, back up. Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve e-mailed you some photos, but yes, we’re sure. They have a scam they’ve been running all over the place. Pretty young Annalee or Busha or Cerilla or any one of her aliases, marries. Usually a fairly rich older gentleman. Not so rich it would stand out, but with enough in the bank to be a lucrative target—they don’t invest much time. She’s been a masseuse, waitress, dancer, child-care provider…”

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