Return to Virgin River (Virgin River #19)(18)

“I’m sorry that the only thing I seem to be able to talk about is how much I miss my mom,” she said to Janette.

“That’s okay, cookie. It won’t always be like that but while it is, I’m here to listen. I listen for a living, you know. Now tell me a story. Tell me about the book.”

“Which one?”

“Are you working on more than one?” Janette asked, surprised. She knew Kaylee hadn’t been writing much since her mom was diagnosed.

“Well, the one that’s due, that was due before Christmas, is a suspense novel, and right now the suspense is whether or not I am ever going to finish it. It is two and a half chapters in length. It’s boring and disjointed and I have very little interest in it. But I had a wild idea about a woman starting fresh in a small town. She’s working for a local movie producer. She rents a small house from a man who trains dogs and of course, she’s afraid of dogs.”

“Kaylee, what’s that story for?”

“For me. It’s alternative journaling. Fictionalizing my experience while I make sure to add a few legitimate feelings and thoughts. I won’t do anything with it.”

“That’s brilliant,” Janette said. Janette, as it happened, was a counselor. A marriage and family therapist. “I sometimes recommend that to my clients. But why don’t you just keep a diary? I bet in ten years it would be really interesting.”

“You have no idea how not interesting that would be,” Kaylee said. “I went to counseling after my divorce and at the insistence of the counselor, I kept a journal. I read through it about six or seven years later and found it so embarrassing, I destroyed it. It’s a terrible experience—expose all your deepest, darkest feelings and emotions and take a clear look at them later. Oh God, that is humiliating. It’s much better to make up a story without naming names.”

When she was dead and gone and someone unearthed these stories, they might see some similarities between her and her fictional heroines, but they’d never be entirely sure. And she was writing down her real experiences and feelings, which the counselor said never hurt. She didn’t advocate mailing the vitriolic letters Kaylee wrote to people like her ex, her estranged father, women friends who ultimately turned out to be crappy friends. But giving all of them new names and faces and exposing them secretly inside a novel... There was a real satisfaction in that.

One of Kaylee’s writer friends kept killing her ex-husband in book after book. He never went easily. He suffered. It was delicious. Kaylee had a little fun with the demise of her ex as well. It was kind of irresistible.





* * *



The next day, Gerald Templeton called Kaylee. Bonnie had been sick. That was why Kaylee hadn’t heard from them. Bonnie was feeling better, but not good enough to take a big road trip. In another week, if she was up to it, they were going to come up and have a look at the fire damage. Their oldest son, Rick, lived in Oregon, and he was hoping to meet his parents there.

“That reminds me, Gerald. I met a man named Paul Haggerty. He said he knew you and to please remind you that he’s a builder. He’s hoping you’ll consider him when you get around to repairs and renovation.”

“I remember Paul,” Gerald said. “Did you get his number?”

“I have his card,” she said, happy to be assisting in some small way.

Kaylee had been there a couple of weeks, wandering around by day, calling friends and writing in the evenings. She was a frequent visitor at Jack’s Bar and often had dinner there. Sometimes Mel would drop by and they stole a little girl time. She walked the roads up, down and around the mountain near her rental house. Given the elevation of this little mountain town, the weather was not as hot and steamy as those towns in the valleys. Right now Sacramento would be simmering. But in the mountains, it was so pleasant. She discovered that on the side of Landry’s house there was a large garden and if it weren’t for the frequent barking around his property, she might have taken a closer look. She did see Landry from afar now and then. He could usually be found having his morning coffee on the porch or maybe watching the sunset or, most often, working with a dog or two in the yard.

She bought her own bear repellent, a can so large she had to wear a backpack to carry it. And the upside of that—it was too heavy and bulky for her to run. It would bang her in the back. Thank God, she thought. No running or even jogging.

It was early evening, the sun just starting its downward path, when she was returning from her second walk of the day. As she passed in front of his house, raising a hand in hello, the rug beside him appeared to jump up. The dog.

“Hey, Kaylee, how’s it going?”

She froze. She’d seen this dog from a distance. This was the closest she’d been to it and it was a very big dog. He was there on the porch with Landry. There was no fence and, of course, no leash. She couldn’t move. She imagined the dog would leap off the porch and fly like a torpedo toward her and take her down.

“How about a beer?” Landry said. “Or maybe a glass of wine?”

She was speechless. Didn’t he realize there was a monstrously large dog standing beside him, glaring at her?

“Kaylee?”

She was paralyzed. She held her hands clasped in front of her and took a cautious step backward.

“You okay?”