My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(51)

“She’s making the rounds right now, going from business to business, from organization to club. She even put up a Facebook page that gives instructions for donating. Her aunt helped her set up an account for donations at a local bank. And what people don’t realize about her is that it’s actually pretty hard for her to put herself out there like that. She’s studious, an introvert.”

“What’s the Facebook page called?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even looked. I think it’s probably Megan’s Reconstructive Surgery or something. Now tell me what you’re doing, besides sitting in your car outside day care?”

“People try to keep me busy,” she said. “It verges on annoying, to tell the truth. From family and extended family to old friends from high school, I get invitations and visits and offers of things to do. I still need some time alone, though. I need time to grieve. According to my grief group, there’s no bypassing it by staying active, even though some activity helps.”

“You did go back to grief group,” he said. “Did you confess about the Christmas presents for Jake?”

She gave a little laugh. “You’ll never believe it—I confessed and three people in my group had done the same thing. Some people admit that years after losing a loved one like a sister or parent they still reach for the phone to call them, to tell them something, before they’re reminded that, oh, yeah, they’re gone. Right now I’m the baby, the newbie, but they talk about being changed and seeing their growth when someone with fresh pain comes to the group. There’s only one thing wrong with this—I desperately want to graduate.”

“I can imagine,” he said. “And you will. We both will. There’s a new, hopeful life out there for both of us.”

Chapter Eleven

The rest of Angie’s week verged on idyllic. After making sure her aunt Mel didn’t need her help in the clinic, she drove into the coastal towns every morning. She went from business to business, large and small, showing a couple of pictures, explaining about Megan’s situation. She was in restaurants, print shops and even tattoo parlors. Sometimes she collected cash—a few dollars here and there. Sometimes she gave account deposit information for Farmers Trust Bank. She found special support at the fire department—they offered to continue to collect for her. Then she went on to the police and sheriff’s departments in Fortuna and Eureka.

The one thing she wouldn’t do was post Megan’s picture in a business window or on a bulletin board. Merchants could verify the legitimacy of the cause through the bank and Brie Valenzuela, attorney.

At the end of each day she went to the bank to make a deposit and get a balance. The first couple of days it was modest—a couple hundred here, couple hundred there. And the end of the day before meeting up with Paddy, she drove to the Thicksons’ house to update them on her progress. Then on the fourth day, Friday, there was a huge surge in donations. Up to this point Angie had collected six hundred and change, when someone suddenly made a thousand-dollar deposit. It was an anonymous donation.

“How does something like this happen?” she asked the teller.

“Word of mouth, I’m sure,” she said.

“Maybe firefighters or police—they said they’d continue collecting. But I’d planned to go back next week and see what kind of results they had.”

“No matter who’s responsible, the result is very nice,” the teller said with a smile.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Angie said. “I’m stunned.”

Angie was excited to tell Megan and her parents about the fund—which was nearing two thousand dollars—but she was even more eager to tell Patrick. They were spending the evening at his place tonight, and when she arrived, he was already cooking their dinner. She told him the news about the growing fund, and he was so proud of her, so happy for her, that he picked her up and spun her around.

As he served her dinner, she said, “A girl could really get used to this.”

“So could a guy, but unfortunately there’s that boat…”

“You ready to go back to the Navy, to the plane?” she asked him.

“Not sure yet. I’ve always wanted that life,” he said.

“Even when it’s dangerous?”

“Especially when it’s dangerous,” he answered. “The thing about a jet like that…you want the challenge it demands, and the rush is just unparalleled. The job it does can’t be compared to anything else in my mind. But when there’s a tragedy, like what happened with Jake, it shakes things up. I’ve had my doubts lately, wondered if I should move on to something with less rush and more stability.” He looked into her eyes and said, “You know what I learned while sitting out some leave here?”

“I can’t wait to hear.”

“It’s not something I’m real proud of, but it’s a fact—I’ve always wanted Jake’s life,” he said.

Marie, she thought.

“You said you had a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend,” she reminded him.

“Sure, I was serious about her, but it wasn’t mutual. And I wasn’t like Jake—I wasn’t insanely in love with her. Why’d I think that was okay?” he asked her. He just shook his head. “From the time I realized what Jake and Marie had going on, that was what I wanted. But I only admitted that to myself recently. Since he died, really. Most of my friends are married, most of them have ordinary relationships. They run hot and cold. A lot of them get bored or take their women for granted. But from the minute Jake and Marie got together, they were madly in love. Totally committed. I don’t think that happens to too many people.”