Paradise Valley (Virgin River #7)(56)

“Afraid of what, darling?”

She took a deep breath. “Afraid of growing old alone?”

Muriel laughed lightly. “Oh, you’re so young. No, I’m not afraid of growing old alone. I’m afraid of growing old trapped.”

They were quiet for a few long seconds. Then Shelby said, “Wow. I never even thought of that.”

“Why would you? Either of you? You’re young, in love, have long, steady lives ahead. And I certainly don’t feel that ending up with a man like Walt would trap me in any way, it’s not that.” She looked steadily at Vanni, then Shelby, then ahead at the gloriously rising mountains covered with towering trees. “I don’t think I could live with myself if I trapped him. What if there was another role that intrigued me, that I wanted to try? I thought I was ready for retirement, to leave the movie business behind, but then a great role for a fifty-six-year-old woman came to me and I found it irresistible. And here I am, not wanting to pass it up, yet not wanting to leave Walt and this wonderful life behind.” She laughed. “It’s been years since I’ve faced a dilemma like this. Really, I had sworn off men.”

“I’m just guessing here,” Vanessa said. “But somehow I don’t think Daddy would feel trapped by you or your career.”

Muriel was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “I don’t know about that. He keeps asking me when the filming will be done, but he won’t even commit to a long weekend visit in Montana.” Then after another few minutes of silence, Muriel said, “I probably should have given up acting to breed horses years ago.”

There was a time, before Jack had two children, Preacher had his two, Mike and Paul one each, before the living quarters at the bar were enlarged for Preacher’s family and before everyone had their own homes on the outskirts of town, that it was standard for the same gang to meet for dinner several times a week. Now they had to make an effort to all be there on the same night.

It’s not as though this bothered Jack much—he saw everyone every day. Sometimes a day or two went by without his seeing one or two of the women, but the guys would always stop by for lunch or a beer or something. He was missing the old squad, though. Time for a Semper Fire union. He wanted the brotherhood around to bolster him. All this came to mind because he was leaving in the morning for San Diego; he was going to pick up Rick and bring him home.

Rick didn’t want the escort. He told Jack to stay home and if it wasn’t too much trouble, catch him at the bus when he got in. Like Jack was some neighbor guy he didn’t want to impose on or something. The kid was coming home after being blown up in Iraq, and Jack, who loved him as much or more than anyone, shouldn’t go to any trouble? That wasn’t how it worked. Not in his experience.

Mike walked in the back door and right behind the bar. He liked to get his own beer. He also liked to stand back there with Jack. Then, not a minute later, the sound of Paul kicking the mud off his boots on the porch could be heard, and he walked in. He sat up at the bar and tapped it twice, his signal that he was ready for a beer.

Another minute passed. Then Paul said, “Ready to go?”

Jack should have known they were there to give him a little moral support. The whole ordeal with Rick had been a load for everyone, but clearly hardest on Jack. “Yup,” Jack said. “I’ll leave at about 5:00 a.m. if I sleep in, then drive down, spend the night, scoop him up and bring him home.”

“Be good to have him home,” Mike said.

“He’s not like he was,” Jack said. “He’s got a peg leg and a giant bug up his ass.”

“None of us were like we were. For a while,” Paul said. “He’s a kid. He’ll get through it. Or we’ll get him through it.”

“Mel’s working on finding someone for him to talk to. A professional,” Jack said. “I have PT all worked out, but he needs other stuff, too.”

“Liz know he’s on the way home?” Mike asked.

“Yeah. Because I told her. Rick couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone when she called him, or call her back. Almost two months and he didn’t take even one of her calls.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Really, I want to choke him, but I know what’s going on. And I know he can’t help it.”

“He’s screwed up,” Paul said.

“He just doesn’t know how tough it’s going to be when he’s ready to start unscrewing himself, if he keeps burning all his bridges,” Jack said. “Ask me how much I look forward to ten hours in the truck with him?”

“Maybe he’ll sleep.”

“Go easy on him, Jack. You said it yourself—it’s not like he wants to be messed up.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just tough. I’ve always been amazed at how strong he is. Right now—his glass is not half-full. Know what I mean?”

“Well, everyone’s entitled to be imperfect sometimes,” Mike said.

“Yeah. It’s just that…”

“What?” Paul asked.

“It’s just that I can take about anything but self-pity. Anything. But feeling sorry for yourself is the most candy-assed thing you can cave into.”

Mike chuckled. “Because you never indulged? Oh my brother, I did some self-pity that would’ve put your head on fire. Man, I was in a hole so deep…”