Paradise Valley (Virgin River #7)(80)

“When I told her I didn’t really want to come to her movie, that I’d feel out of place and strange because I don’t know anything about movies, much less making them, she said…” He cleared his throat. “She said that was ridiculous, there wasn’t anything special about this location set—it was just a lot of working people. Grips, carpenters, cooks, et cetera. I had to Google ‘grips,’ that’s how little I know. And she expected me to make an effort or she was going to be left to assume she didn’t matter enough for me to swallow down a little unease so we could have some time together.”

Vanni grinned. “She told you.”

“She hasn’t called since. And my calls go to voice mail.”

“How long has that been going on?”

“All week. We usually talk every day.”

“Apparently, Dad, you haven’t left the message she’s been waiting for.”

“Apparently.”

Vanni just stared her father down for a long time, until he said, “What?” Then she got up, went to the mantel and pulled a framed five-by-seven picture from it. She handed it to her dad, who took it with his free hand while he held on to his sleeping grandson with the other.

“Remember that?” she asked as he looked at the picture.

It was one of Vanni’s favorite pictures. Walt was wearing his mess dress, the military version of a tuxedo, and Peg was wearing a lovely, slim black gown and string of pearls that now belonged to Vanni. A smile found his lips. “Your mother was such a beautiful woman. I was never good enough for her. You look like her, you know.”

“I know. Do you remember when that was taken?”

He shrugged. “We attended a lot of military functions. I saw your mother in that dress a hundred times.”

She sat on the couch and leaned toward him, her elbows on her knees and her hands clasped. “You were on your way to dinner at the White House. Not one of those big gang dinners that the president and his wife pass through for five minutes, but the real deal. There were to be twelve couples—all high-ranking generals and their wives. Mom was going to meet the first lady, get a tour of the private living quarters, have dessert with the first lady. She was very nervous. I remember her saying she was going to feel out of place—she was a horsewoman, private pilot, gardener, skeet shooter, mother. But it was important to you, Dad. And she was proud of you, she would do anything to show how proud she was to be your chosen partner.”

Walt’s eyes glistened. It was easy for Vanni to do that to him. He stared at the picture of Peg, missing her still.

And missing Muriel so much.

“So,” Vanni said. “I think you know what you should say in the next message you leave for Muriel. It had better have your flight-arrival times in it, or you might be kissing goodbye the best thing that’s happened to you in at least five years. The way I see it, if you could expect my mother to step up and do things that made her uncomfortable because it meant something to you, you’d better do so for your current woman. If you don’t, you’re going to lose her. And that makes no sense.”

Walt lifted his eyes from the picture.

“We’ll get the horses fed and the dogs watched,” she said, smiling.

Mel Sheridan had a wonderful time taking a few digital pictures of Abby and Cameron to e-mail their mothers. The totally unexpected part was that Abby and Cameron started to get into it, and Mel was delighted. She, naturally, loved pregnant bodies, pregnant couples. She loved preserving the images for posterity.

She took her camera out to the cabin and shot a few pictures on the porch—Abby leaning against the rail beside the red potted geraniums, Cam beside her. Then Cam behind her, his hands on her belly. Then Cam behind, hands on the belly, lips on her neck. Cam kissing the belly, while Abby’s head was tilted back in a laugh. All the while, Cam was whispering things that made Abby smile, touch his face, kiss his head. And before they knew what was happening, Mel had coaxed them out of some of their clothes. It took hardly any doing, really. Soon they were topless, his hands strategically crossed or placed over na**d br**sts, the green of the forest and dappled patches of sunlight behind them. In one, buried behind them in the trees, a doe looked on.

They were a beautiful couple, magnificent photos, Cameron and Abby so obviously in love with each other and the babies that produced that unbelievable mound. Mel spent the morning loading the pictures into the computer and then onto a disk. Cameron and Abby selected a demure, fully clothed photo to send to the mothers, but Abby took the disk to Vanni’s house to let her see them all.

“Wow,” Vanni said. “These are incredible. Which one did you send to the mothers?”

“This one.” She pointed. A front view, clothed. “The rest we’re keeping for our private collection, but I wanted to show you.”

Just viewing the pictures, so intimate, so trusting, so in love, started something of a chain reaction. Vanni said, “I want to throw you a shower,” she said. “Just our friends, not the entire town. Right away. Saturday afternoon….”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“What in the world is it going to hurt?” Vanni asked. “Still pretending you’re not pregnant?”

“Well, that ship has sailed….” Abby said.

“No kidding,” Vanni laughed. “Give up, Abby. Hardly anyone has all the details, but there isn’t a person around here who doesn’t know you’re having these babies together. You live together, for God’s sake. You go to doctor’s appointments together. We’ll just have a nice buffet, invite couples who already know just about everything. Those people who don’t already know Cam’s the daddy are pretty clear he intends to be. You don’t have to say anything about it. Just come and enjoy yourself.”