Virgin River (21 page)

“God,” Jack said. “When?”

“A year ago. Today.”

“God,” he said again. He leaned an elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand. He massaged his eyes. “She knows it was today?”

“Of course she knows. She’s been heading for it. Painfully.”

“In L.A.,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “And to think I wanted to punch him in the face a few times for hurting her.”

“Look, I feel kind of funny about this. Disloyal. One of the things that drew her here was that no one knows. No one looks at her with pity. No one asks her fifteen
times a day how she’s doing, if she’s lost more weight, if she’s sleeping yet… I guess I thought she’d have told you, since…”

“She’s holding back,” he said. “Now I know why.”

“And I let it out. I don’t know whether to be guilty or relieved. Someone who cares about her out here should know what she’s been through. What she’s going through.” She took a breath. “I didn’t think she’d make it a week here.”

“Neither did she.” Jack was quiet for a minute and then said, “Can you imagine what kind of courage it took for her to chuck her big job in L.A. and come to this little town, to work with a man like Doc Mullins? She told me a little about what it was like there—city medicine, she called it. A battle zone, she said. She thought it was going to be real dull and boring here. Then she ends up riding to the hospital with a patient in the back of an old pickup, over these roads, holding an IV bag over her head, freezing. Christ, I could’ve used her in combat.”

“Mel has always been tough, but Mark’s death really derailed her. That’s why she did this—she started being afraid to go to the bank, the store.”

“And she hates guns,” he supplied. “In a little town where everyone has a gun because they have to.”

“Oh, jeez. Look, it’s no secret—I begged her not to do this—I thought it was crazy and way too drastic a change,” Joey said. “But something about this seems to be working for her. What she calls country doctoring. Or maybe it’s you.”

“She has these spells,” he said. “When she’s so sad. But it passes and there is such a brightness inside her. You should have seen her the morning after she deliv
ered her first baby at Doc’s. She said she felt like a champ. I’ve never seen anyone so lit up.” He chuckled at the memory, but there was a morose tone to his laugh.

“You know what—I think I’m going to call it a night. Go back to Mel’s and hang out until she gets home, so I can be there for her.”

“Let Preacher drive you,” he said. “These roads at night, in the rain, can be treacherous if you don’t know them. The first night Mel drove out to the cabin, she slid off a soft shoulder and had to be towed out.”

“What about Mel?” she asked.

“Doc might just take her straight home—he has no respect for that little car of hers. Or she could come here for her car—she’s pretty good on these roads now, but if she has any worries about it, I’ll drive her out. Fact is, it wouldn’t surprise me if she was out at Patterson’s half the night, so don’t worry. She hates leaving a sick patient. But I’ll wait up.” He went to the bar and got a piece of paper. “Call me if she shows up at the cabin. Or, if you need anything,” he said, writing down his number.

It was nearly ten by the time Mel walked into the bar. She saw Jack at the table by the fire, but frowned when she looked around and didn’t see Joey. “Where’s my sister?” she asked. “Her car’s out front.”

“I had Preacher take her home in the truck. Her first night in town she shouldn’t have to deal with those roads in the rain.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she said. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, then.”

“Mel?” he called. “Sit with me a minute.”

“I should go to Joey. She came all this way…”

“Maybe we should talk. About what’s been going on with you.”

She had been on this precipice for days, teetering on the fine edge of losing it. The only thing that seemed to take her mind off the violent event that changed her life was work. If she had a patient or an emergency, she could lose herself in it. Even the day with her sister, showing Joey the town, the lambs, the beauty, took her away a little bit. But it just kept coming back, haunting her. A picture of him lying on the floor bleeding out could float in front of her eyes and she’d have to pinch them closed, praying she wouldn’t break down. There was no way she could sit down and talk about it. What she needed right now was to get out of here, go home and have a good hard cry. With her sister, who understood.

“I can’t,” she said, her words little more than a breath.

Jack stood up. “Then let me drive you home,” he said.

“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “Please. I need to just go.”

“Why don’t you just let me hold you. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”

So, Mel thought. She
told
him! She closed her eyes and held up a hand as if to ward him off. Her nose became red, her lips pink around the edges. “I really want to be alone.
Please,
Jack.”

He gave his head a nod and watched her leave.

Mel went down the porch steps to her car, but she didn’t make it. It hit her before she could get there. She was nearly doubled over by the sudden crushing pain of memory, of loss. The emptiness came back, draining
her of all good feelings and filling her up with the horrific unanswerable questions. Why, why, why? How can this happen to a person? Even if I’m not good enough to deserve better, Mark was! He should have lived to be an old man, to save lives and treat people with the brilliance and compassion that made him one of the best emergency room doctors in the city!

She had made it all day without falling apart, but now in the dark, in the cold night rain, she felt as though she was going to collapse to the ground and just lie there in the mud long enough to perish, to be with him. She stumbled toward a tree and grabbed the trunk, embracing it, holding herself up and holding on at the same time. The cries that came out of her were loud and wrenching.

Why couldn’t we at least have had a baby? Why couldn’t even that small thing have worked in our favor? Just to have a piece of him to live for…

Inside, Jack paced back and forth in the bar, feeling his own helplessness because he couldn’t do anything for her. He knew all about the crushing pain of loss; even more about the difficulty of getting beyond it. He hated that she’d left without at least letting him try to comfort her.

Frustrated, he opened the door to go after her. There sat her BMW, right in front of the porch, but she wasn’t in it. He squinted to look into the car, but then he heard her. Sobbing. Wailing. He couldn’t see her. He stepped out onto the porch, went down the steps into the rain. And then he saw her—holding on to the tree, the rain drenching her.

He ran to her, embracing her from behind, holding the tree with her, holding her against the tree. Her back
heaved with her cries, her cheek pressed against the rough bark. The sound of her anguish broke his heart; no way could he let her go, no matter what she said about being alone. This crying made her weeping over baby Chloe look like a mere rehearsal. She was wracked. She started to crumble to the ground and he put his arms under hers and held her upright as the rain soaked them.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she howled. “Oh God, oh God, oh God!”

“Okay,” he whispered. “Let it go, let it out.”

“Why, why, why?” she cried in the night, her breath coming in jagged gasps. Her whole body jerked and shook as she cried. “Oh, God,
why?
”

“Let it all out,” he whispered, his lips against her wet hair.

She screamed. She opened up her mouth, tipped her head back against him and screamed at the top of her lungs. He hoped she wouldn’t wake the dead, the sound was so powerful. But he only hoped she wasn’t heard so that no one would disturb them and stop this purging. He wanted to do this with her. He wanted to be there for her. The scream subsided into hard sobbing. Then more quietly, “Oh, God, I can’t. I can’t, I can’t.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Her legs didn’t seem to hold her up anymore; he was keeping her upright. He had the passing thought that no amount of emotion he had ever expelled in his lifetime could match this. It was almost phenomenal in its strength, this pain that gripped her. What had he thought? That his few days of brooding, a good drunk, had been demonstrative of his pain? Hah! He held in
his arms a woman who knew more about gut-wrenching pain than he did. His eyes stung. He kissed her cheek. “Let it go,” he whispered. “Get it out. It’s okay.”

It was a long time before she began to cry more softly. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Twenty. Jack knew you don’t stop something like this until it’s over. Till it’s all bled out. They were both soaked to the skin when her breath started coming in little gasps and hiccups. It was a long time before she pushed herself away from the tree and turned toward him. She looked up at his rain soaked face, hers twisted with pain, and said, “I loved him so much.”

He touched her wet cheek, unable to tell the tears from the rain. “I know,” he said.

“It was so unfair.”

“It was.”

“How do I live with it?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

She let her head drop against his chest. “God, it hurt so much.”

“I know,” he said again. Then he lifted her in his arms and carried her back into the bar, kicking the door closed behind him. He took her to his room in the back, her arms looped around his neck. He put her down on the big chair in the sitting room. She sat there, shivering, her hands tucked between her knees, her head down, her hair dripping. He went for a clean, dry T-shirt and towels and came back to her, kneeling in front of her. “Come on, Mel. Let’s get you dry.”

She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that were both terribly sad and exhausted. She was listless. Spent. And her lips were blue with cold.

He peeled off her jacket, tossing it on the floor. Then
her blouse. He was undressing her like one might a baby, and she didn’t resist. He wrapped a towel around her and keeping her covered, reached beneath and undid her bra, slipping it off without exposing her. He pulled the T-shirt over her head, holding it for her arms, and once it covered her to her thighs, he yanked out the towel. “Come on,” he said, pulling her upright. She stood on shaky legs and he unbuttoned and pulled down her trousers before sitting her back down. He removed her boots, socks and pants; he dried her legs and feet with the towel.

Though still drenched himself, he used the towel to attempt to dry her curling hair, blotting the locks between folds of the towel. He wrapped the throw from the couch around her shoulders, then went to his bureau and found a pair of clean, warm socks. He rubbed her cold feet vigorously, warming them, and put on the socks. When she looked up at him, some sanity had seeped into her eyes, and this made him smile a small smile. “Better,” he said softly.

He went to the cupboard in his laundry and brought out a decanter of Remy Martin and two glasses. He poured her a small amount of the brandy, neat, and took it to her, kneeling in front of her. She took a sip and then in a voice both weak and strained, she said, “You’re still wet.”

“I am,” he said. “Be right back.”

He went to his closet and quickly stripped off his clothes, pulling on only a pair of sweatpants, leaving his chest bare and his wet clothes in a pile on the floor. He poured himself a little brandy and went to her. He sat forward on the sofa at a right angle to her, putting the palm of his hand against her cheek and was pleased
to note that she had already warmed. She turned her face against his hand and kissed the palm. “I’ve never been taken care of like this,” she said.

“I’ve never taken care of anyone like this,” he said.

“It seemed like you knew exactly what to do.”

“I guessed,” he said.

“I crashed,” she said.

“It was a helluva crash. If you’re going to go down, go down big. You should be proud.” And then he smiled.

He held her hand as it lay on her lap while she lifted her brandy to her lips with the other hand, trembling a bit. When it was gone, he said, “Come on. I’m putting you to bed.”

“What if I cry all night?”

“I’ll be right here,” he said. He pulled her hand and led her to his bed, holding up the covers so that she could slip in. He tucked her in as if she were a little girl.

Jack dealt with the wet clothes, spinning the water out of them and putting them in the dryer. When he checked on Mel, she was asleep, so he went back into the little laundry and behind closed doors, called Joey. “Hi,” he said. “I didn’t want you to worry. Mel is with me.”

“Is she okay?” Joey asked.

“She is now. She had a meltdown. Out in the rain, it was awful. I don’t think she has another tear in her, at least for tonight.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “That’s why I came! I should be with her now…”

“I got her in some clean, dry clothes and put her to bed, Joey. She’s asleep and I—I’ll watch over her. If she wakes up and wants to go home, I’ll take her, no matter
what time it is. But for now, let’s let her sleep.” He inhaled deeply. “She’s had it.”

“Oh, Jack,” Joey said, “were you with her?”

“I was. She wasn’t alone. I was able to… I held her. Kept her safe.”

“Thank you,” Joey said, her voice small and shaky.

“There’s nothing more to do right now but let her rest. Have a glass of wine, get some sleep and try not to worry about Mel. I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

With only a dim night-light in the room, Jack pulled a chair from his table near to the bed. His feet planted on the floor, his elbows resting on his knees and the rest of his Remy clutched in his hands, he watched her sleep. Her hair curled across his pillow and her pink lips were parted slightly. She made little noises in her sleep—little hums and purrs.

I have a high-school education, he thought. She was married to a medical doctor. A brilliant, educated man. An emergency room hero, made even more perfect in death. How do I compete with that? He reached out and lightly touched her hair. There’s no way, he thought. I’m sunk. And my heart hasn’t beat the same since she walked into town.