“Her?”
“A woman, yes. This would be only her second feature film and her first was highly acclaimed. She was a very young playwright when she began her career. Now she’s about my age.”
“Hmm,” he said, knowing so little about this business. “Good enough to consider?”
“Good enough to talk about considering it. I haven’t said anything to Mason yet. I’m still in the pondering stage.”
“When you say talk about considering it, what does that involve?”
“Getting all the principals together in meetings, ironing out details, determining stars and supporting cast, directors, etcetera.”
“Does that mean going back to L.A.?” he asked.
“Maybe not. Actors and directors are often on location when deals are being set up. Conference calls work just fine. This is the kind of script that, done well, could be everything. But if a couple of things slip through the cracks or the right cast can’t come together for the production, could be just another mildly entertaining film.”
“Aren’t a lot of scripts like that?”
“Not really, no. You know what most of them are going to turn out to be from the get-go. This one really does have great potential. But I think the thing that appeals to me the most—I could play myself.”
“As in—yourself?” he asked.
“An unfancy woman who lives in the country and isn’t crazy about a lot of Hollywood flash. I think the script flirts with being autobiographical. It’s about a writer who hates Hollywood and lives on a nonworking farm with animals who are pets—dogs, horses, goats. Because she’s gifted, an actor comes to her asking her to write a script that will make his career before it’s too late—he’s no longer young. They have nothing and everything in common and the relationship is complex while they hammer out a script together—sometimes hilarious, sometimes very sentimental and touching. Passionate in places. Lots of emotion. And no backless gowns or jewelry.”
“You’re thinking about it,” he said.
“I can’t help myself. I’ve always seen myself in roles like this, with the right people involved, but they rarely presented themselves. It’s a life-transition film, like
On Golden Pond
with slightly younger lead actors.”
“Making a comeback?” he asked. “A starlet returning to the big screen?”
She shot him a look of horror. She reined in her horse. “All right, let’s get something straight. I’m not an aging starlet and I wouldn’t consider it a comeback. I’m an actor and to me this is serious work. A challenge I’m up to. In my business the opportunities that are truly good are rare. But I’m no aging starlet, Walt. I work for a living. And the job isn’t easy. But the rewards, if you do the job well, can be good. Not the least of which is pride.”
“You’ll have to cut me some slack,” he said. “I don’t know much about your business. I didn’t say you were an aging starlet.”
“You thought it,” she said.
“You can’t prove that.”
She let out her breath. Slowly, as if deciding on something. She eased up on the reins.
“Hmm. Sounds like you’d like to do it,” he ventured.
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Like the main character, I wouldn’t like being away from here.” She looked at him. “I wouldn’t like being away from you, either, and don’t let that go to your head.”
That brought a small smile to his lips. And then he laughed. “Well, I’ll be.”
“Inflated your ego, did I?”
“Not that,” he said. “I had a moment of déjà vu. I don’t know how much you know about the military, Muriel, but each special training program or promotion or new assignment incurs another commitment. To go from captain to major gives the army four more years of you. Go to flight school, sign up for four more years.”
“I see. Your déjà vu?”
“The first twenty years were a no-brainer. I already had eight and owed four more when I met Peg. When I hit my twenty and could retire on a colonel’s pension, Vanni was eleven and Tom wasn’t even a twinkle in my eye. I had the potential to go further and, like your script, it could all fall apart at any moment if the right players weren’t on board. Or I could go all the way. Not only that, my assignments were getting more complicated—the Pentagon, war zones, attaché to diplomatic service abroad. Every time I reached one of those forks, I’d sit down with Peg. I’d tell her what was involved, tried to be frank about the sacrifices that not only I but the whole family would have to make, and I’d always wrap it up by saying, ‘I can stop right now and be happy. If you ask me to say no, I will.’”
Muriel was gloomily quiet. She wasn’t giving him that
kind of choice. Even though she liked her life right now, she’d decide for herself.
“Now, Peg, she was a very independent woman, but in some ways she was dependent on me. Naturally. As a partner, a father to her children, a provider—she needed me. And I needed her. In the end she would always say—you have to fulfill every ambition you have, go where you can do the most good, and we’ll stand behind you while you do. And she never once made me regret it. Sometimes it was damn hard on her.”
Muriel chewed on that for a moment. “She must have been a remarkable woman.”
“She was,” Walt said easily. He reached over to her and grabbed her hand. “So are you, Muriel. A remarkable woman. It’s my turn to say it. You have to fulfill every ambition. I wouldn’t like being away from you, either. But I’ll be right here, rooting for you every step of the way. Proudly.”
She looked at him with absolute love, though neither of them had uttered such a binding word. Her eyes glistened and she had to purse her lips to keep them from trembling. Men had said wonderful things to her over the years, lavish compliments about her beauty and wit, but never anything like this. She blinked. She took a deep breath. Then she said, “Stop it. I don’t cry. Not unless the director says, ‘Cry.’”
Walt laughed at her and leaned over, sidling up against her and, with an arm around her shoulders, pulled her near. “Would you have to be naked in this one?”
“Briefly. Would that bother you?”
He grinned devilishly. “Not in the way you think.”
F
or the couple of weeks following Thanksgiving, things around Virgin River were far more hectic than usual and every hand was needed. It started with the erection of a huge Christmas tree between the bar and the boarded-up church. As Luke understood it, this was only the second year the town had put up such a tree, and it was a major project. Every available man was needed to chop it, haul it into town, stand it up and, with the use of a rented cherry picker, string the lights and decorate the highest parts. It was trimmed in red, white and blue and hung with gold stars and military-unit patches. It was meant to be a tribute to the men and women who stood the watch, and when Luke saw what they were doing, it made him feel, without a doubt, he’d chosen the right town. It was the first time he’d felt truly at home in years.
Right after the tree lighting, there were three new residences finished and three families to relocate before Christmas. Luke was more than willing to help.
Preacher and Paige had to be moved back into their new enlarged quarters behind the bar. Then Paul transferred his small family along with furniture into his house on the
other side of the general’s stable. And finally, the Valenzuelas were moved into their new home next door to the Sheridans. Throughout this process, Brie was much in evidence, staying busy while she got ready for two major events—moving into her own new house and giving birth. A number of people watched over Brie protectively, making sure she wasn’t taking on too much. Mike Valenzuela was always within earshot of his wife and Jack kept a close eye on his little sister.
Brie had put the last piece of folded clothing in the last drawer when her first labor pain hit—two weeks before Christmas. Jack, almost as excited as if it was his own child coming into the world, told everyone who came in the bar that Brie had been in labor most of the day. Mike called him with updates. Whoever heard of a bartender reporting on centimeters and time between contractions? But Jack did.
That’s when things took a crazy spin that Luke allowed himself to be swept up in. Shelby was looking after Mel’s little ones so she could attend Brie in childbirth, so Luke happened to be at the bar when the call came that Brie was in the last stages of labor. The place came alive. “Mel says she’s getting close,” Jack reported. “Let’s go!”
Luke had no idea what was happening. He meant to quietly slip away so these people could live their lives, when Preacher called him to the kitchen and started snapping orders. “Luke, help me pack this stuff up. You can take the food so I can help Paige load up the kids. Jack will get some good liquor and cigars. Paige—call Paul and Vanni and tell them it’s happening. They’ll make sure the general gets the word.” Luke had no choice but to do as he was told; he boxed up what Preacher pulled out of the freezer, refrigerator and pantry—barbecue, buns, chips, pickles, creamy
coleslaw, pie. He added salmon fillets, seasoned and ready to broil and a big container of rice and peas. A bag of premade salad and a big cheesecake. He saw Jack hurry past him with a box of liquor and cigars. It took only a few minutes before Preacher said, “See you out there.”
“Where?” Luke asked dumbly.
“Brie and Mike’s. We’re having a party.”
“A what?”
Preacher drew a patient breath. “Brie’s having the baby. We all go when there’s a baby, if it’s not the middle of the night. But they’ve barely moved in—I don’t know what they have for food and drink. I think there’s a little more than usual here. We can leave some behind.”
“Wait a minute,” Luke said. “Isn’t she in the hospital?”
“No,” Preacher answered, as if confused by the question. “She’s going to have the baby with Mel and Dr. Stone at home. Enough talking.”
So he went, and all the way there he was thinking,
I hope they don’t make me get too close to this thing.
He decided straight off, he wasn’t sticking around. This whole baby business wasn’t his cup of tea.
He found the house filled with people—Vanni and Paige were in the great room with small children—one in a swing, two in playpens, young Christopher on the couch watching an animated movie. Jack held David balanced on his hip in a kitchen full of men. Preacher was setting up pans on the stove, the general was mixing drinks and Paul was putting out small plates, napkins and utensils. Luke put down the large box of food and said he’d just get going.
“Oh, hell no, you’re not going anywhere,” Jack said. “My sister’s having a baby, her first, and this is the cheering section.”
“Wait a minute here,” he said. “I’m not real big on
babies. We’ve been over this—I have no idea what to do with them.”
“Well, for God’s sake, we’re not going to make you do anything.” Jack laughed. “You know how to eat, raise a glass, smoke a cigar? The delivery team is taking care of the messy stuff.”
“Shouldn’t it be real quiet around here? Fewer people?”
“We’ll be quiet, we’ll stay out of the way.” Preacher handed Jack a bottle for David. “This guy’s going to break in the new crib. Say good-night, David.” The boy had the bottle in his mouth that fast, leaned his head against Jack’s shoulder sleepily and opened and closed the fingers of one pudgy little hand, holding his bottle with the other.
“What if she…” Luke couldn’t go on.
“What if she what?”
“Screams or something,” he said squeamishly.
Jack put his free arm around Luke’s shoulders. “See, you need to be here, buddy. It’s time you learn about the cycle of life. You never know, this could happen to you someday.”
“This is not happening to me someday. I’m way past all this.”
A few male heads came up. There was some subdued laughter. “Is that so?” Jack said. “Cry me a river, pal, I was over forty when Mel tripped me up. We’re all about the same age around here, except Preacher. He’s still a pup, even though he looks older than the rest of us.”
Walt handed Luke a drink. “I was forty-four when Tom was born. I think I’m holding up all right, to tell the truth.”
“You’re going to have to come up with a better excuse,” Jack said. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Well, I have a situation. We usually go to Sacramento for Christmas, but with no doctor in town and Brie just delivering, my family is coming here. There’s a ton of them. I have the guesthouse for my dad, a couple of rooms if we double up the kids, and the cabin is free again. And this is a new Valenzuela baby coming—wanna bet we’ll be seeing a ton of Mexicans around here? Mike’s family is bigger than mine. Buddy—we are out of space. What’s the status of those cabins? Got any ready to rent?”
Luke lifted his eyebrows. This was unexpected. “Tell you what I’ve got,” he said. “They’re habitable and the new appliances have been delivered but not installed, they need inside paint, and furniture has been ordered, not delivered. Thanks to Paul, all new roofs, windows and doors. The countertops and cupboards are installed, but I’m still working on baseboards. I put in new hot-water heaters.”
“If you had a hand with the paint and appliances, think you could free up a couple by Christmas?” Jack asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Luke said. “If furniture can be delivered quickly. But, Jack, even with your help, that would be a push.”
Paul moved closer. “Where’s your furniture coming from? Maybe we can pick it up with one of the company trucks.”
“Eureka. Beds, sleeper sofas, small tables and chairs, etcetera. It was the next thing after paint and appliances.”
“Then we’ll get it done,” Jack said. “That would be perfect. Otherwise, we’re going to have to hang all these people from the trees. Be right back,” he said, taking David off to bed.
Then suddenly Shelby appeared in the kitchen. She was smiling a sweet, secret smile, a very special light in her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d be here,” she said.
“Neither did I.”
To the men in the kitchen she said, “Mel said to tell you it won’t be much longer. And she said you are
not
to get drunk.”
“We don’t get drunk at birthing parties,” Preacher said indignantly. Then he looked over his shoulder and said, “Except Paul. He got toasted after Matt was born, but that was a whole different thing.”
Luke was focused on Shelby’s smiling face. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I was helping with Mel’s kids so she could be with Brie, but now that Vanni and Paige are here, I can observe,” she said. “Brie said it would be all right. I’ve never seen a birth.”
“You’re up to that?” he wanted to know.
“Of course,” she said. She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
Luke made fast work of his first drink and was nursing his second, through many jokes and soft, respectful laughter, when Mike came into the great room holding a very small bundle wrapped in a pink receiving blanket. Mike went to the women first—Paige and Vanni. While they were murmuring, smiling, beaming, the men moved in a crowd out of the kitchen to have a look at what Mike had for himself. The look on Mike’s face was a combination of exhaustion and exhilaration—just what would happen to a guy who’d just helped and worried his way through labor with his wife while she produced this, his first child. His smile was huge; his eyes were bright inside and weary on the outside.
And that’s when Luke started to remember. So long ago. So deep and buried. He migrated to Mike and the baby, smiling sentimentally, gently tugging back the pink wrap to get a better look at her. He even heard himself say, “Good for you, man.”
When Felicia first told him there was going to be a baby, she’d been real upset. It was unplanned, she wasn’t ready. But he had felt something inside him grow proudly. She told him to keep it to himself, she didn’t want everyone to know before she even got used to the idea. But back then he’d been so bonded with his men, his boys, he wasn’t into secret-keeping, especially about things like this. He told them all; they toasted him, got him a little drunk and drove him home.
Against her wishes, he’d called his mom and dad, his brothers. He had been all puffed up on testosterone pride, life had taken on new meaning for him. He never even tried to understand her cranky behavior—he was a young buck with a baby coming and she was pregnant—what was to understand? He put up with her pissy mood; he tried to be patient. He watched her begin to grow.
She told him it was a boy and it seemed like seconds after he learned the news, he got the call. Somalia. But it wasn’t supposed to be long—it was a peacekeeping mission. They’d make a presence there with the Marine Corps and he’d be back quickly. He felt he could do anything because waiting for him were his woman, his son. That euphoria stayed with him for so long, he assumed that was the way all men felt when they struck oil.
But it was ugly in Somalia; lives were lost in Mogadishu and it was in many ways a miracle there hadn’t been more casualties. When he got home the first thing he could fill his eyes with was his wife—she was huge. He should’ve looked at her eyes first, but he couldn’t help himself.
“It’s not yours,” she said. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she said that before she even said hello. “I didn’t want to tell you while you were on a mission, but you’re back safe now. We’re over. I’m leaving. I’m going with the father.
I’m sorry it happened this way. You shouldn’t have been bragging about it. I told you not to.”
In a flash he wondered how that came to be his fault—being proud? At first he thought she was joking, some really sick joke. Then he thought there was a mistake; when had she had time for another man? He’d been making love to her constantly. Next he thought she couldn’t have done that to him—not while he poured every cell of his body into adoring her.
He wanted to kill someone. Her, maybe. Or the father, who turned out to be an officer in his command, a man whose orders he was obligated to follow. A man who’d been with them in Somalia, knowing every day that he had a baby coming with another man’s wife.
The months that followed blurred as he drank too much, avoided people, got in random fights, buried himself in a dark, black loneliness and wished he was dead. Before he got to remembering the scandal, the shame of having been made to look like a complete fool, the sympathy and pity, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “How about that, huh?” Jack said to him, bringing him back. “When have you seen anything as sweet as that?”
Luke pushed it all back down again. Thirteen years had made him very adept at that—shoving it underwater where it should all just drown. He smiled. “Lotta black hair on that little head,” he said.
He briefly remembered how the happiest day of his life had been when his transfer orders finally came and he could get away from Felicia and her new partner. By that time he was lucky he had a career left in the army. He’d been completely out of control there for a while and had been disciplined more than once. Given that he’d performed heroically in Somalia and came home to a wife,
nine months pregnant and leaving him, his commanders cut him a little slack. Moving gave him a second chance, helped him pull it together.
He wanted to leave the Valenzuela house; he was exhausted. But there was that bold press of men, converging on him, catching him up in their celebration. While he’d been drowning in the past, Muriel St. Claire had arrived and was now gathered with the men. There was food to eat, gossip to pass around. He was eventually pushed out on the porch where cigars were clipped and lit. Rather than going with the women, Muriel stayed with the men, accepting her cigar and drink, making them chuckle. If they were a batch of women, the childbirth stories would start, but there were only a few such comments; Jack had delivered his own children, Preacher had almost fainted when Paige gave birth. Dr. John Stone joined them for a cigar, and talk went back to all the work left to be done to get Luke’s cabins ready for the Sheridan and Valenzuela clans to hit town for the holidays.
Luke had no idea if he’d been unusually quiet. He glanced at his watch and was stunned to see it was almost midnight—that was a little scary. Hours had passed and he’d been in the past, not real conscious of what had been going on around him. Then Shelby was beside him, looking up at him. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”