A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(56)

“You had your own issues,” she said easily, sipping her drink. “Bobby’s injuries were physical—yours were emotional. Everyone is entitled to have space to recover. Besides, you gave me the one thing I needed most, and for that I’ll be grateful forever. I had a chance to say goodbye. He was real important to me, Ian. Even though he wasn’t himself, I really needed to hold him in my arms, tell him I loved him so much, and that it was all right for him to move on—that I’d be fine. Do you have any idea how much that meant to me?”

“Even though you had so much to—”

“I just told you—it wasn’t too much. We were busy, yeah. But everyone felt like I did—on different levels. He was his mother’s baby—she needed that time. His father’s pride—he needed time, too. Bobby was amazing—his brothers and sisters needed that time to say goodbye.”

Ian was quiet for a moment before he said, “If I’d read the goddamn letters, I might’ve been one of the people to pitch in, in case he was thinking in there, counting faces…”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she tipped the bottle over both their glasses. “Want help finding more things to be guilty and regretful about, since your original ideas aren’t covering all the bases? As I understand it, you were barely home from a miserable war, broke up with your fiancée, fell out with your dad, left the Marine Corps, to which you thought you’d give at least twenty years. So, Bobby’s injuries were just one more thing, and all the family is so grateful you risked your life to try to save him.” She took a sip. “Ian, no one’s mad at you for not being around.”

“Yeah. You sure about that?”

She leveled him with a determined green-eyed stare. Then she snatched the pile of letters and dragged them over to her. “Let’s start right here.” She snapped off the rubber band and, once she saw they were stacked in order of delivery, lifted the first one and opened it.

“‘Dear Ian,’” she read.



“I hope you’re well. You’ve been out of sight for too, too long and I miss you so much. It would be so nice to hear from you. I want you to know that Bobby’s been moved to a wonderful nursing home. His entire family and my entire family work together to be sure that he’s always around loved ones. We help with some of his care, but there’s an awesome staff here. He’s not in pain. Really. Of course we don’t know everything, but doctors have run every test imaginable and examined him a hundred times—he feels nothing from his neck down. And he never exhibits any symptoms of tension or anxiety. I’ve been told he could make tears if he felt suffering. Ian, there are no tears. In fact, even though they say I’m crazy, I think sometimes I see the closest thing to a smile.

“My life feels strangely normal. I work at the insurance company—same job, same friends. I don’t make a lot of money but my boss is real flexible; he’s a great guy—he brings his yellow Lab to work with him every day. Bobby’s wonderful mother insists I have nights out with some of the girlfriends who were keeping me busy while the two of you were in Iraq—we even go dancing sometimes, but a couple of them are pregnant so more often we do movies, dinners out, picnics in summer and parties with our gang in winter. I seem to have inherited a really large family and huge group of friends, almost all married with families. They’re the same friends I’ve had for years—there are three girlfriends from high school I’ve known forever and four women from work I’ve known since I started there. You’d think working together every day, we’d get sick of each other—but we still drive the boss crazy talking and laughing all the time. “I like to take my time with Bobby in the early mornings before work—but not every day. Most days, though, when he’s just coming awake, I like to be the first person he senses. Don’t laugh at me now, but I think he can smell me. He turns his head toward me and I can tell he knows. Then I like the evenings. Reading to him relaxes us both. I’ve been reading Bobby Ivanhoe—it’s just amazing how much I get into this story by reading aloud. I have no clue if he’s hearing me, and I’m sure he isn’t understanding me, but I almost can’t wait to get to the nursing home and start the next chapter. Bobby has read more good books since he was injured than he ever did before. I get right up on the bed with him to read and sometimes he turns his head toward me and seems to nuzzle me, burrow his head into my shoulder….”

Marcie read on, through a dozen letters, every once in a while replenishing her glass and his. At one point she got up and fixed herself a glass of cold well water, but continued on. Eventually, the letters contained more about her and less about Bobby, because of course he remained unchanged. She had written all about her trip to British Columbia, about the charm, the landscape, the friendly people. Then there was an all-girls cruise for four days, three nights. She took Ian through two years of her life as the wife of a disabled marine, as a sister, a sister-in-law, daughter-in-law, friend. There were family gatherings, new births, weddings, things that were normal. She had a falling-out with a close girlfriend that alienated them for a few weeks and in the next letter explained how they worked it all out. She told him about a bad haircut, about her younger brother Drew’s plethora of girlfriends and his careless ways with them. She even reported on the VW’s broken fuel pump.

The letters were more about Marcie’s life than Bobby’s. And Marcie’s life was not the torture he’d envisioned. But the thing that had him riveted was that she wrote to him as if he were an old friend. An important friend. And she always included her phone number, asking him to call her collect anytime. And she always closed with “Miss you…”