Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(34)

“Tell Jack for me, okay? He thinks all the brothers-in-law are true brothers. This’ll go down hard. You tell him—”

“Brie, stop!” Mel insisted. “Come to us. Take a week off and come up.”

“I can’t,” she said, sounding suddenly deflated. “I have a big case building. Brad knows all about my case,” she said. “He broke it to me now, when my defenses are down, when I have nothing in me to fight with.” She laughed bitterly. “Do you fight for a man who’s been sleeping with your best friend for a year?”

“I don’t know,” Mel answered, her heart sinking.

“Mel, tell Jack I’ll call him in a while. Tell him I don’t want to talk to him about this yet. Please…”

“Sure, honey. Whatever you want. You have someone to lean on? Your sisters? Dad?”

“Yeah, I’m leaning like crazy. But I have to be strong through this—strong and mad. If I talk to Jack, he’s going to make me cry. I can’t afford to fall apart yet.”

And then abruptly, Brie hung up, leaving Mel holding a dead phone with a completely shocked expression on her face.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“She asked me to tell you Brad moved out. Asked her for a divorce.”

“No,” Jack said. “He couldn’t have.”

Mel nodded. “And she said, please, she doesn’t want to talk to you about it right now. Later. She’ll call later.”

“Bullshit,” he said, grabbing for the phone.

“Shouldn’t you respect her wishes?” Mel asked, even as Jack punched in numbers.

He stood with the phone at his ear for a long time as it rang. Then, apparently Brie let the machine come on, because he said, “Pick up, Brie. Come on—I have to hear your voice. Goddammit, pick up! I can’t do this—waiting around like this. Brie—”

Mel was close enough to hear Brie say, “You absolutely never do as you’re told, do you?” And Jack sighed heavily. Mel left the kitchen.

The cabin was very small, so going as far as the living room didn’t really afford Jack much privacy as he stood by the kitchen sink, but he turned his back and talked in soft tones for a long time. There was plenty of quiet to indicate he also listened, something Jack was pretty good at, for a man.

Mel looked at her watch a couple of times. It was more than thirty minutes before he put the phone down and sat beside her on the couch. “You make her cry?” she asked him.

He nodded. “’Course I didn’t mean to—I just had to know about this, that’s all. I want to talk to him. She threatened to kill me if I call him.”

She ran a finger under the bruise on his cheek. “I had no idea, when I married you, how much you’re in everyone’s business.”

Jack stood and left the room. He went to the empty bedroom where he stored boxes of things he’d brought from his quarters behind the bar. He had a dusty, framed black-and-white photo in his hand and rubbed the sleeve of his shirt over it, cleaning it off. It was Jack, age sixteen, holding Brie, age five. Jack held her on his hip, her arms around his neck. He was looking off, pointing at something; she was laughing, her golden curls lifted by the wind. “She was always like my shadow,” he said. “I couldn’t shake her. When I went into the Marines she was only six. All the girls got sloppy about me leaving, but Brie was heartbroken.” He took a breath. “I know she’s a big-shot prosecutor. I hear she’s one of the scariest prosecutors they have—a real killer. But it’s hard for me to think of her as anything but my baby sister, little Brie. I wanna do something….”

“You should let her tell you what she needs,” Mel advised. “Don’t get her all mixed up in your agenda.”

“My agenda…” he said absently.

“You’ve suffered a loss, too, Jack. It’s a real tight family you have—I saw that. This is going to shake up everyone. Just try not to make your loss taxing on Brie’s emotions. She has enough hurt. Okay?”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah.” He sat back on the couch, the picture resting on his lap. The expression on his face darkened. “I thought of him as a brother,” he said. “I trusted him with the care of my sister. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how he could defect like this.” He grabbed his wife’s hand. “You know, in the middle of all that, while Brie’s trying not to cry, she says to give Paige her phone numbers. To tell Paige she’s prosecuted batterers and knows all their tricks. Mel, I usually understand the things that men do. Right now men don’t make any sense to me.”

Paige called Brie and one of the recommended lawyers. Brie advised her to be prepared for contact from her husband—it was probable he’d get in touch. Argue, maybe threaten, try to use their child as leverage. “I know,” Paige said. And peaceful sleep through the night was impossible, even though John assured her they were locked up tight and he wouldn’t miss a sound.

She was jittery and distracted; the smile patrons had grown accustomed to as she served and cleaned up was missing. She looked outside a lot, scanning the area. Every time the phone rang, she tensed. “John, if he called here, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

“Of course. But he has your lawyer’s name—he should really call him.”