Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(84)

Rick stood up. “Yeah, things are a little better. Probably thanks to Jack having a sit-down with Connie.”

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

“We have a couple of things ironed out,” he said. “Lizzie’s staying with me. I gotta have her close, Preach. Keep her reassured, you know.”

“’Course. You gotta keep an eye on that.”

“We’re spending nights with my grandma—I think it makes her feel good to have people there. And my grandma has always said that house will be mine someday, anyway. Not a lot of room there,” he said with a shrug, “but enough for now. We have a little crib in the room and a couple of things for the baby. Lizzie is helping out at the store during the day. She’s taking a leave from school for a little while. She didn’t go back after Christmas break and she’s a lot happier. Lots calmer. The baby will be here in a couple of months, then she’ll need some time with him. She’ll get a little behind, but I’ll graduate on time. Then we’ll work on her diploma.”

“Planning to keep that baby?” Preacher asked.

“Can’t do anything else, man. It’s not going to be easy. I’ll take care of the baby while she’s at school, and when she gets home in the afternoon, I can come in to work till eight, nine, whatever. We’re not going to try to get married till we have a year or two together. And get a little bit older.”

“You thought about college?”

Rick laughed. “Not for a few months now.”

“One thing at a time, bud. You have a family to think about. Then, there’s always community college when Liz is in high school. All I’m saying is, these things don’t have to come in a hurry. No point in taking on things that will only tip you over the edge. You’re only seventeen—there’s time.”

“That’s kind of what Jack said….”

Preacher grinned. “Did he, now.” He and Jack had talked about this. A lot.

“God,” Rick said, shaking his head. “You guys. You’re the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“So are you, pal. You just have to never panic. Things can fall into place.”

“Maybe that’s right,” Rick said.

“Sure that’s right. You’re doing fine, kid. Give yourself a little credit. You make us old boys real proud.”

Mel went to the bar in the afternoon, looking for Jack. Preacher told her he was out at their property, shooting with Mike. “Where’s Paige?” Mel asked, looking around.

“Lying down with Chris, I think. She took him up for a nap and said she might.”

Mel looked at her watch. She had twenty-five minutes to kill before her next appointment and had been looking for an opportunity just like this. She jumped up on a stool facing Preacher. “Paige seems very happy,” she said.

The look that came over Preacher’s face was wistful. Angelic. “She does,” he said. “It blows my mind.”

Mel couldn’t help but chuckle. “Could I have a ginger ale?” she asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something….”

He poured her a drink, put it on a napkin in front of her. “Yeah?”

“You remember that time several months ago, after the boys were up to fish and play poker, Jack had that meltdown. Got tanked, passed out, had to be carried to bed. You said sometimes the past snuck up like that and it would take him a while to get his stability back.” Preacher gave a single nod, frowning slightly. “So—you know what that was, right? I’m sure if you served in combat, the Marine Corps talked about it some.” He just looked at her. “Post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD.”

“Has he been having trouble with that?” Preacher asked.

“No, he’s been good. I watch, though. I want to tell you a story. A short one. I had a friend back in L.A., in the hospital where I worked. She was an administrator, older than me. A brilliant woman. When I knew her she’d been in her second marriage for twenty years. One night over a glass of wine she told me that her first marriage, a brief marriage, had been extremely abusive. She got beat to a pulp regularly. And while her second marriage was totally kind and loving, sometimes she’d see an expression on her husband’s face or he’d have a tone of voice—completely innocent for him—yet it would conjure something from her previous life with her ex-husband and there’d be a rush of emotions—fear, anger. Terror. It would put her in a funk, depress her, really challenge her ability to cope. She said it was as if her nervous system was programmed to react a certain way, which had helped her to survive the first marriage. But she felt bad about the way her reaction would make her second husband feel. Like he’d done something wrong, when really, the wrongdoing was ages ago.”

Preacher looked down. “You mean I could remind her of that shitbag somehow?” he asked.

“Not really, no,” Mel said. “It’s way more subtle than that. Something harmless and innocent ‘suggests’ that earlier time…because…” Mel’s explanation trailed off.

After a moment of silence, “I can get that,” he said. “Like a war veteran hearing fireworks and suddenly feeling like he’s back in a firefight.”

“Exactly,” she said. “And then there’s the thing about shame. My friend, she told me that sometimes she would be chased by it. It’s hard to understand why a woman who has done nothing wrong and has been abused would ever feel shame—it’s the shame of letting herself get into that situation, at not getting out faster, shame at having let it happen. It’s not a right or wrong thing, it just is. We can’t judge feelings. John, I wanted you to know about this. In case you run into it.”