Kitabı oku: «Whispering Rock»

Praise for the novels of

ROBYN CARR

“The Virgin River books are so compelling— I connected instantly with the characters and just wanted more and more and more.” —New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“Virgin River is sexy, tense, emotional and satisfying. I can’t wait for more!” —New York Times bestselling author Carla Neggers

“A thrilling debut of a series that promises

much to come.”

—New York Times bestselling author Clive Cussler

“Jennifer is a beautifully drawn character whose

interior journey is wonderful to behold.”

—RT Book Reviews on Runaway Mistress

“This is one author who proves a Carr can fly.”

—Book Reviewer on Blue Skies

“Robyn Carr provides readers [with] a powerful,

thought-provoking work of contemporary fiction.”

—Midwest Book Review on Deep in the Valley

“A remarkable storyteller.”

—Library Journal

“A warm, wonderful book about women’s

friendships, love and family. I adored it!”

—Susan Elizabeth Phillips on The House on Olive Street

“A delightfully funny novel.” —Midwest Book Review on The Wedding Party

WHISPERING

ROCK

ROBYN CARR

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Michelle Mazzanti and Kristy Price,

an author’s best friends.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to Pamela SF Glenn, CNM, MS—without whose expertise in midwifery this story would not have been possible. My deepest gratitude for poring over manuscript after manuscript with sharp eyes and a ruthless pen, keeping me straight. And to Sharon Lampert, RN, WHNP, for sharing her expertise as a women’s health nurse practitioner, but mostly for picking up your phone no matter where you were and answering delicate questions about female anatomy and function with directness and honesty. I’m sure there are people out there still talking about what they overheard in the grocery store, beauty parlour and Department of Motor Vehicles. The passion and devotion with which you two professionals serve your women patients is inspiring, and was an enormous help in shaping the character of a dedicated nurse practitioner and certified nurse midwife.

Thanks to Paul Wojcik for sharing your experiences in the United States Marine Corps, and to Richard Gustavson, RN with twenty-three years in the Navy Reserves. I thank each of you for reading the manuscripts and for offering your invaluable technical input.

Kris Kitna, Chief of Police, Fortuna, California, thanks for valuable information on local law enforcement, not to mention help with details about hunting, fishing and firearms.

Kate Bandy, the best assistant a writer can possibly have, my dear friend of many years, thanks not only for reading copy and offering suggestions, but especially for accompanying me on an exciting research trip to Humboldt County. Without you there I would have floundered … or slipped off a mountain. Denise and Jeff Nicholl—thanks for reading first drafts, taking exhaustive notes and answering a million questions. Your friendship and support during the whole process means the world to me. Many thanks to Nellie Valdez-Hathorn for her help with my Spanish.

Other early readers whose input was critical included Jamie Carr, Laurie Fait, Karen Garris, Martha Gould, Pat Hagee, Goldiene Jones and Lori Stoveken—I’m deeply in debt to you for your comments and suggestions.

Huge thanks to Clive Cussler, Debbie Macomber and Carla Neggers for reading and commenting on the Virgin River series in the first place. For you to take the time, with your busy schedules, is a monumental compliment.

Huge thanks to Valerie Gray, my editor, and Liza Dawson, my agent, for your commitment to helping me craft the best series possible. Your hard work and dedication made all the difference—I’m so grateful.

To Trudy Casey, Tom Fay, Michelle Mazzanti, Kristy Price and the entire staff of Henderson Public Libraries, thank you for the monumental support and encouragement. I’ve never known a more hardworking and motivated group of public servants.

And finally, thanks to Jim Carr for your loving support. And, my God, thank you for cooking! I wish I’d known years ago that you could!

One

Mike Valenzuela was up and had his Jeep SUV packed long before sunrise. He had a long drive to Los Angeles and meant to get an early start. Depending on traffic around the Bay Area, the drive would be eight to ten hours from Virgin River. He locked up his RV, which was his home. It sat on the property at Jack’s bar and grill; Jack and Preacher would keep an eye on it for him, not that Mike expected any kind of trouble. That was one of several reasons he’d chosen to live here—it was quiet. Small, peaceful, beautiful and nothing to disturb one’s peace of mind. Mike had had enough of that in his former life.

Before coming to Virgin River permanently, Mike had made many trips to this Humboldt County mountain town for hunting and fishing, for gathering with an old Marine squad that was still close. His full-time job had been with LAPD, a sergeant in the gangs division. That had all ended when he was shot on the job—he’d taken three bullets and had a lot of hard work getting his body back. He’d needed Preacher’s robust food and Jack’s wife Mel’s assistance with physicaltherapy on his shoulder. After six months, Mike was as close to completely recovered as he’d get.

Since moving to Virgin River he’d been home only once to visit his parents, siblings and their families. He planned to take a week—one day driving each way and five days with that crowd of laughing, dancing Mexicans. Knowing the traditions of his family, it would be a nonstop celebration. His mother and sisters would cook from morning to night, his brothers would stock the refrigerator with cerveza, family friends and cop buddies from the department would drop by the house. It would be a good time—a great homecoming after his long recovery.

He was three hours into his drive when his cell phone rang. The noise startled him. There was no cell phone reception in Virgin River so the last thing he expected was a phone call.

“Hello?” he answered.

“I need a favor,” Jack said without preamble. His voice sounded gravelly, as though he was barely awake. He must not have remembered Mike was heading south.

Mike looked at the dash clock. It wasn’t yet 7:00 a.m. He laughed. “Well, sure, but I’m nearly in Santa Rosa, so it might be inconvenient to run over to Garberville and get you ice for the bar, but hey—”

“Mike, it’s Brie,” Jack said. Brie was Jack’s youngest sister, his pet, his favorite. And she was really special to Mike. “She’s in the hospital.”

Mike actually swerved on the highway. “Hold on,” he said. “Stay there.” He pulled off the road onto a safe-looking shoulder. Then he took a deep breath. “Go ahead,” he said.

“She was assaulted sometime last night,” Jack said. “Beaten. Raped.”

“No!” Mike said. “What?”

Jack didn’t repeat himself. “My father just called a little while ago. Mel and I are packing—we’ll get on the road as soon as we can. Listen, I need someone who knows law enforcement, criminology, to walk me through what’s happening with her. They don’t have the guy who did this—there’s got to be an investigation. Right?”

“How bad is she?” Mike asked.

“My dad didn’t have a lot of details, but she’s out of emergency and in a room, sedated and semiconscious, no surgery. Can you write down a couple of numbers? Can you keep your cell phone turned on so I can call you? With questions? That kind of thing?”

“Of course. Yes,” Mike said. “Gimme numbers.”

Jack recited phone numbers for the hospital, Jack’s father, Sam, and Mel’s old cell phone that they’d charge on their way to Sacramento and then carry with them.

“Do they have a suspect? Did she know the guy?”

“I don’t know anything except her condition. After we get on the road, get the phone charged and we’re out of the mountains and through the redwoods, I’ll call my dad and see what he can tell me. Right now I gotta go. I gotta get down there.”

“Right,” Mike said. “Okay. My phone will be in my pocket twenty-four-seven. I’ll call the hospital, see what I can find out.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it,” Jack said, hanging up.

Mike sat on the shoulder, staring at the phone for a long minute, helpless. Not Brie, he thought. Oh God, not Brie!

His mind flashed on times they’d been together. A couple of months ago she’d been in Virgin River to see her new nephew, Jack and Mel’s baby. Mike had taken her on a picnic at the river—to a special place where the river was wide, buttoo shallow for fishermen to bother. They’d had lunch against a big boulder, close enough to hear the water whisper by as it passed over the rocks. It was a place frequented by young lovers and teenagers, and that big old rock had seen some wonderful things on the riverbank; it protected many secrets. Some of his own, in fact. He’d held Brie’s hand for a long time that day, and she hadn’t pulled it away. It was the first time he’d realized he was taken with her. A crush. At thirty-seven, he felt it was an old man’s crush, but damned if it didn’t feel awfully like a sixteen-year-old’s.

When Mike met Brie for the first time a few years back, he’d gone to see her brother while Jack was on leave, visiting his family in Sacramento right before his last assignment in Iraq. Mike was oblivious to the fact that his reserve unit would be activated and he’d end up meeting Jack over there, serving under him a second time. Brie was there, of course, recently married to a Sacramento cop. Nice guy, so Mike had thought. She was a prosecutor for the county in Sacramento, the state capital. She was small, about five-three, with long, soft brown hair that flowed almost to her waist, making her look like a mere girl. But she was no girl. She put away hardened criminals for a living; she had a reputation as one of the toughest prosecutors in the county. Mike had immediately admired her brains, her grit, not to mention her beauty. In his past life, before the shooting, he’d never been particularly discouraged by the mere presence of a husband, but they were newlyweds, and Brie was in love. No other man existed for her.

When Mike saw her in Virgin River right after Jack’s son was born, she was trying to recover from a painful divorce—her husband had left her for her best friend, and Brie was shattered. Lonely. So hurt. Mike immediately wanted to take her into his arms and console her, for he was hurting, too. But Brie, crushed by her husband’s infidelity, was determined not to put her heart on the line again, and she wanted nothing of a man, especially another player who’d had more than his share of women. A further complication—this was Jack’s baby sister, of whom he was so protective it verged on ridiculous. And Mike was no longer a driven, devil-may-care Latino lover. He was a cripple. The body just didn’t work right anymore.

It had been only a couple of weeks since he’d last seen her. She had come back to Virgin River with the rest of her family to help erect the frame of Jack’s new house. Preacher and his bride, Paige, were married in that framed structure the very next day. For a man who could barely walk six months ago, Mike had given Brie a fairly decent twirl around the dance floor at the wedding. It was a fantastic party—full of that good old country food, barbecues flaming, the chairs pushed back and the band set up on the foundation of Jack’s unfinished house, the frame strung with floral garlands. He grabbed her, laughing, into his arms and whirled her around with abandon, and whenever the tempo allowed, pressed his cheek close against hers, whispering in conspiratorial amusement, “Your brother is frowning at us.”

“I wonder why that is.” She laughed.

“I don’t think he wants you near a man so like himself,” Mike speculated.

That seemed to amuse her a great deal. She tipped her head back and laughed a little wildly. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said. “It has nothing to do with your great success with women. You’re a man, near his baby sister. That’s enough.”

“You’re no baby,” he said, pulling her closer. “And I think you’re having too much fun with this, getting him riled up. Don’t you realize he has a dangerous temper?”

Unmistakably, she held him tighter. “Not toward me,” she whispered.

“There’s a devil in you,” he said, and looked death in the face by kissing her neck.

“There’s a fool in you,” she said, tilting her head just slightly to give him more of her neck.

In years gone by he would have found a way to get her alone, seduced her, made love to her in ways she’d dream about later. But three bullets had decided a few things. Even if he could spirit her away from her brother’s protective stare, he wouldn’t be able to perform. So he said, “You’re trying to get me shot again.”

“Oh, I doubt he’d actually shoot you. But I haven’t been to a good old-fashioned wedding brawl in ages.”

When they’d said goodbye he had hugged her briefly, her sweet scent like a cinch around his mind, feeling her cheek against his, his arms around her waist, pulling her close. A bit more than just a friendly gesture—a suggestive one, which she returned. He assumed she was having fun with the flirtation, stirring things up a little bit, but it meant far more than that to him. Brie held his thoughts in a disturbing way that suggested if he were capable of giving her love, she would capture his heart and mind in that powerful way that wipes all other women out of the past. He really didn’t have that to offer anymore. Although that didn’t keep him from thinking about her, wanting her.

He could not bear to think about all that mischief and sass lying broken and violated in a hospital. His heart was in pieces, aching for her. Dying to know that she was going to be all right.

He put the SUV into Drive, looked over his shoulder and got back on the freeway. He gunned the engine and veered across two lanes of fast-moving traffic to make the exit to Sacramento.

When Mike got to the county hospital a couple of hours later, he called Sam’s cell phone number and left a message to say he’d arrived and wanted to know where they were. A prosecutor, the victim of a crime, was not going to be with the general population—she would undoubtedly have security.

Sam came to the hospital entrance, extending his hand. “Mike. Good of you to come. I know Jack will appreciate it.”

“I was on my way south and was almost here anyway. Brie’s a special friend. I’ll do anything I can.”

Sam turned and headed for the elevators. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure what you can do. She’s going to be all right. Physically. I have no idea what a woman goes through after something like this….”

“Tell me what you know so far,” Mike said. “Did she know her attacker?”

“Oh, yes. Remember that terrible trial she had about the same time Jack’s son was born? The serial rapist? The media circus? It was him. She identified him for police.”

Mike stopped walking and frowned. “She’s sure?” he asked. That was such a sick, bold move for someone who’d just gotten a free pass. Brie had lost that trial and it was a hard loss, especially coming on the heels of her divorce. It was as if the sky was falling on her. Also, it wasn’t something men like that did. Typically, they bolted. Got away from anyone who had the balls to go after them, as Brie had.

“She’s sure,” Sam said.

Mike couldn’t help but wonder—was she hit in the head? Hallucinating? In and out of reality because of the trauma? “Her injuries?” he asked.

“Her face is battered, there are two broken ribs and the usual …” He paused. “The usual injuries incurred during a rape. You know.”

“I know,” he said. Tearing, bleeding, bruising. “Has she been seen by a rape specialist and police?”

“Yes, but she wants Mel. Understandably.”

“Of course,” Mike said. Jack’s wife, Mel, was the nurse practitioner and midwife in Virgin River and had had years of experience in a huge L.A. trauma center. She was an expert in battery and sexual assault and if she could be the medical eyes and ears, maybe Mike could cover the police angle. “I heard from them at seven this morning. They should be here in two or three hours, depending on how fast they got out of town.”

Mike noticed a uniformed Sac PD officer standing at the entrance to a room; undoubtedly that’s where Brie was. “Well, let me talk to some people, see if I can find out anything at all. But first, I’ll say hello to the family.” He moved to a large clot of people in the waiting area just down the hall. Jack’s three other sisters, their husbands, a few of his nieces. Mike was embraced and thanked. Then he got about the business of talking to nurses, got the number of the detective on the case from the officer guarding the room. All the detective could tell Mike at this time was that the suspect was still at large. The doctor would discuss her injuries, that was all. But it appeared that apart from being horribly assaulted, she would recover physically.

It was almost three hours later that Jack, Mel and baby David arrived. Jack embraced his father, then looked in surprise at Mike. “You’re here?”

“I was already close,” he said. “I thought I’d come over. If I can help, it’s better for me to be on-site.”

“Oh, man, I didn’t expect this,” Jack said.

“Hell, you’ve done more for me,” Mike said. “And you know I love Brie. Mel,” he said, reaching for baby David, “she said she wants to see you the minute you get here.”

“Of course,” Mel said, handing off the baby.

“I think she needs Mel’s opinion of how the rape evidence was collected,” Mike said to Jack. “Go hug your sisters. By that time you’ll be able to see her.”

“Have you seen her yet?” Jack asked.

“No. It’s family only. But I’ve talked to some people, trying to gather whatever facts they’ll share.”

“God,” Jack said, gripping Mike’s biceps hard. “Thanks. Mike, I didn’t expect this.”

“You should have.” He laughed, jostling little David a little. “That’s how it is with us. Right?”

Jack sat by his sister’s bedside at the county hospital for almost twelve straight hours. He had arrived at eleven in the morning and it was now 11:00 p.m. Outside her door, in the hallway, the family had gathered for most of the day, but as evening had descended they’d drifted home because she was out of danger and sedated. Mike had taken Mel and the baby back to Sam’s, but Jack hadn’t wanted to leave Brie. Brie was close to her entire family, but it was Jack with whom she had the deepest bond.

Jack was torn to pieces as he looked down on his little sister. Her face was horrific; the bruising and swelling was terrible. It looked much worse than it was, the doctor promised. There was no permanent damage; she would regain her former beauty. Every few minutes Jack would reach over, gently smooth back her light brown hair, touch her hand. She wrestled in her sleep now and then, despite the sedatives. If not for the ribs, he might have taken her into his strong arms during these struggles. Instead he would lean over her bed, touch her face where there was no swelling, drop a tender kiss on her forehead and whisper, “I’m here, Brie. You’re safe now, baby.”

At almost midnight he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look up into Mike’s black eyes.

“Go on home, Jack,” he said. “Get a little rest. I’ll sit with her.”

“I can’t leave her,” Jack said.

“I know you don’t want to. But I had a nap,” he lied. “Sam gave me a room at the house. I’ll sit right here in case she wakes up, which she probably won’t, and we’ve got the cop in the hall there. Go. Get a little rest so you can be here for her tomorrow.”

“If she wakes up and I’m not right here …”

“They’re putting heavy-duty bug juice right in the IV to get her through the night,” Mike said softly. “It’s okay.”

Jack laughed a little. “I sat by your bed through a week of nights when you were shot.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Payback time. Go home to your wife. See you first thing tomorrow.”

It surprised Mike that Jack actually left. He was the kind of man who went days past exhaustion to be there for someone he cared about. Mike took his place on a chair beside Brie’s bed and sat vigil. Her battered face didn’t shock him—he’d seen worse. But it hurt him inside. He couldn’t imagine the kind of monster who could do that.

The nurses came and went through the night, checking her IV, taking her blood pressure, sometimes bringing Mike coffee from their break room—and it tasted a whole lot better than what the machines dispensed. If he asked, a nurse would sit with Brie while he ran down the hall—a result of the coffee. But Brie didn’t move except for some occasional disturbances that caused her to stir fitfully.

Mike had carried fallen soldiers out of harm’s way; he’d sat by the side of dying men while sniper fire whizzed past his head. But nothing compared to what he felt while looking down at Brie, beaten like this. Thinking of her violation filled him with a kind of rage that had never been visited on him before. Although she was a beautiful woman and strong, his vision kept mixing her up with the vulnerable woman he’d taken on a picnic a couple of months ago. A pretty, young woman who’d just been left by her husband, and was crushed by the betrayal. And what fool would give her up? he thought. It was beyond him.

The rape trial had been one of the toughest of her career. It had taken her months to prepare a case against the suspect for serial rape. The forensic evidence had been strong, but in the end the only witness who hadn’t failed her was a prostitute with a bad record, and the guy walked. Brie had identified him to the police as her rapist when she’d regained consciousness.

In the early hours of the morning she turned her swollen face toward Mike and opened her eyes—or tried to. One was partially shut because of the swelling. He scooted closer. “Brie,” he whispered. “It’s me, Brie. I’m here.”

She put her hands over her face and cried out. “No! No!”

He took gentle hold of her wrists. “Brie! It’s me. It’s Mike. It’s okay.”

But he couldn’t pull her hands away from her face. “Please,” she whimpered pitifully. “I don’t want you to see this….”

“Honey, I saw you already,” he said. “I’ve been sitting here for hours. Let it go,” he said. “It’s okay.”

She let him slowly pull her hands away from her battered face. “Why? Why are you here? You shouldn’t be here!”

“Jack wanted me to help him understand what was happening with the investigation. But I wanted to be here. Brie, I wanted to be here for you.” He brushed her brow gently. “You’re going to be okay.”

“He … He got my gun….”

“The police know, honey. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He’s so dangerous. I tried to get him—that’s why he did this. I was going to put him away for life.”

Mike’s jaw pulsed, but he kept his voice soft. “It’s okay, Brie. It’s over now.”

“Did they find him?” she asked. “Did they pick him up?”

Oh, how he wished she wouldn’t ask that. “Not yet.”

“Do you know why he didn’t kill me?” she asked, a tear running out of her swollen eye and down over the bridge of her purple nose. He tenderly wiped it away. “He said he didn’t want me to die. He wanted me to try to get him again, and watch him walk again. He wore a condom.”

“Aw, honey …”

“I’m going to get him, Mike.”

“Please. Don’t think about that now. I’ll get the nurse. Get you another sedative.” He put the light on and the nurse came immediately. “Brie needs something to help her go back to sleep.”

“Sure,” the nurse said.

“I’m just going to wake up again,” she said. “And I’m just going to think the same things.”

“Try to rest,” he said, leaning over to kiss her brow. “I’ll be right here. And there’s an officer outside your door. You’re completely safe.”

“Mike,” she whispered. She held his hand for a long moment. “Did Jack ask you to come?”

“No,” he said, gently touching her brow. “But when I found out what happened, I had to come,” he whispered. “I had to.”

After having a sedative administered into the IV, she gently closed her eyes again. Her hand slipped out of his and he sat back in his chair. Then, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands, he silently wept.

Jack was back at the hospital before dawn, not looking particularly rested although he had showered and shaved. He had dark circles under eyes that were lit by a very scary inner brightness. Mike had sisters he cherished; he could imagine the rage that burned inside Jack.

Mike stepped into the hall outside Brie’s door to quietly talk with Jack, explaining the night had been quiet and he thought Brie had rested. While they stood there, the doctor making rounds went into the room, his nurse in tow. Mike used that opportunity to visit the men’s room. He stared in the mirror; he looked far worse than Jack. He needed a shower and shave, but he didn’t want to leave her. Family members would be returning soon, but Mike didn’t think they’d be keeping Brie in the hospital for long.

On his way back to Brie’s room, he saw Jack talking to a man outside her door. In fact, Jack was right up in his face. The officer providing security was stepping closer to them, making a gesture with his hands that they should separate. Then Mike realized it was Brie’s ex-husband, Brad, and that probably within seconds Jack was going to kill him just on principle.

Mike made fast tracks. “Whoa,” he said, separating them first with an arm between them, then with his entire body. “Whoa,” he said again. “None of this. Come on.”

From over Mike’s shoulder, Jack demanded of Brad, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Brad glared meanly. “Nice to see you, too, Jack,” he said.

“You don’t belong here,” Jack said too loudly. “You left her. You’re done with her.”

“Hey,” he said, bristling. “I never stopped caring about Brie. Never will. I’m going to see her.”

“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “She’s in no shape to have to deal with you right now.”

“You’re not in charge of the guest list, Jack. That’s up to Brie.”

“Come on,” Mike said sternly. “Let’s not do this here.”

“Ask him if he wants to take it outside,” Jack snapped back.

“Yeah, I’ll—”

“Whoa,” Mike said yet again, widening the space between the two men. “This isn’t happening here!”

Brad moved closer, pushing up against Mike, but lowered his voice cautiously. “I know you’re angry, Jack. In general and at me. I don’t blame you. But if you get tough with me, it’s going to be worse for Brie. And this officer is just going to hook you up.”

Jack ground his teeth, pushing up against the other side of Mike. Mike was having some trouble holding them apart. “I really want to hit someone,” Jack said through clenched teeth. “Right now, you’d do as well as anyone. You walked out on your marriage. You left her while she was building a case against that son of a bitch. Do you have any idea what you did to her?”

Oh, boy, Mike thought. It was going to happen between these two any second, right in the hospital hallway. Mike was a good six feet and pretty strong, but Brad and Jack were both taller, broader, angrier and not a shoulder injury between them. Mike was going to get hammered when they lost it and started pummeling each other.

“Yeah,” Brad said. “Yeah, I do! And I want her to know that I still care about what happens to her. We’re divorced, but we have history. A lot of it good history. If I can do anything now …”

“Hey!” Mike said to the cop. “Hey! Come on!”

The police officer finally got in it, putting himself between Brad and Jack along with Mike. “All right, gentlemen,” the cop said. “I have my orders. No scuffling outside Ms. Sheridan’s door. If you want to talk this over calmly, I’d like you to move down the hall.”

Oh, that was not a good suggestion, Mike thought. If they moved down the hall, they wouldn’t be talking. Mike cautiously backed Jack up a few steps. “Take a breath,” he said quietly. “You don’t want to do this.”

Jack glowered at Mike. “You sure about that?”

“Back off,” Mike said with as much authority as he could muster.

Just then a nurse came out of Brie’s room and Brad snagged her too fast for Jack to intervene. “Ma’am, I’m Ms. Sheridan’s ex-husband. Brad. I’m also a police detective,” he said, badging her. “Off duty. Will you ask her if she’ll see me? Please?”

The nurse made a U-turn and went back into the room.

“What’s he doing here?” Brad asked, indicating Mike with his eyes and a jut of his chin.

Oh, mistake, Mike thought instantly, stiffening. Was Brad crazy? Pissing off the guy who was keeping Jack from killing him? He felt his own fists begin to open and close. The ex wants to know why another man is here? He dumps his wife for another woman, but no guy is supposed to pick up where he left off? Mike actually smiled, though coldly. Balls, he thought. I should just let Jack beat him up.

“He’s a cop,” Jack said, stretching the truth somewhat. “I asked him to come. To help.”

“He can go,” Brad said. “We don’t need his help.”

That did it. Mike took one fast step in Brad’s direction, but was stopped by a strong hand on the bad shoulder, pulling him back. That was all it took to get his attention; he wasn’t going to put Brie through this. But if they all ran into each other somewhere else, like the parking lot, he couldn’t make any promises. Right now he wanted a piece of Brad as much as Jack did.

The nurse returned from the room and spoke to Brad. “When the doctor is finished, you can go in.”

Brad had the good sense not to take on any superior airs. He didn’t avoid eye contact with the other men, however.

“Let me ask you one question,” Jack said to Brad, trying to keep his voice under control to avoid being ejected by the uniform. “Were you at work the night it happened?”

“No.”

Jack ground his teeth. “Then if you hadn’t walked out on her for another woman, you’d have been at the house that night. Maybe waiting up for her to get home. Maybe right inside where you could hear her scream. So much for your good history.”

“Hey,” Brad began, clearly wishing to argue the point. But Jack turned away from him and took several steps down the hall. Right then the doctor came breezing out of the room, looking down at the chart as he walked by all three men. Brad lifted his chin, glared briefly and entered Brie’s room.

Mike let out his breath. “That was gonna be so ugly,” he said. He went to the chair outside Brie’s door and sat. Jack paced, fidgeting. He took several steps down the hall, away from the door.

Mike rested his elbows on his knees. He scratched his itchy beard. He noticed the cop was standing beside him.

“This has got to be tough,” the cop said to Mike, indicating Jack just a few feet away, his jaw pulsing and his hands in fists at his sides.

Mike turned his head, looked up at the young officer. He glanced at his best friend; Jack was tortured, helpless. “Nothing can prepare you for something like this to happen to a woman you love,” he said softly. “Nothing.”

Brie was released from the hospital that afternoon and she went home to her father’s house. Sam and Jack drove her while Mike followed in his own car, watching with concern. He hadn’t been around very many sexual assault victims in his police career, but certainly he’d come into contact with some. He had never seen a woman so stoic, so removed. Once they all arrived at Sam’s, she went directly to the room that had been hers when she was younger. She called Jack to come, to cover the mirror.

Brie took her dinner on a tray in her room that night. Her sisters stopped by one at a time, visited with her in her room, but didn’t stay long. There were five Sheridan siblings, all married but Brie. Two of the sisters were older than Jack, one was a couple of years younger and then there was Brie, the caboose, eleven years younger than Jack. Her three older sisters had brought to the family eight daughters, and Jack and Mel had provided the only boy in little David. So when the family was all together, it was an almost unmanageable crowd. A teeming throng filled with noise and laughter—Mike had seen that for himself on earlier visits. It was not unlike the Valenzuela household. Not so now. The house was still, like a mausoleum.

Mike had a quiet dinner with Sam, Jack and Mel.

“You should probably head for L.A.,” Jack said to Mike when the table was cleared.

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “I can stay a day or so, see if anything develops.”

“I don’t want to hold you up,” Jack said. Then he walked out onto the patio and Mike followed. “I can call you if anything happens.”

Sam came outside holding a tray with three glasses. There was a short shot of amber liquid in each and he put the tray on the patio table. Without conversation, the men each took one, sipping in silence. The June air was sultry in the Sacramento valley, humid and almost oppressive. After a few minutes Sam got up and said good-night. Then Jack finished his drink and went into the house. One by one, the lights inside began to go out, leaving only the kitchen light for Mike. Exhausted as he was, he didn’t feel like sleep. He helped himself to another short shot and went back to the patio, lighting the candle on the table.

The whole family is in shock, he thought. They move around silently; they grieve Brie’s lost innocence. Everyone under this roof is in terrible pain; they feel each physical blow for which she bears the marks.

“You should probably go now.”

He lifted his head and saw Brie standing in the open patio doors, wearing the same clothes she had worn home from the hospital. “Brie,” he said, rising.

“I’ve talked to the detectives several times. Jerome Powell, the rapist, was tracked as far as New Mexico, then the trail was lost,” she said, very businesslike. “I can tell you from experience, the odds are at least ninety-five percent he’s gone—pulled a territorial. I’m going to start counseling and group therapy right away—and I’ve decided not to go back to work for a while. Jack and Mel insist on staying the rest of the week, but you should go. Visit your family.”

“Would you like to come and sit with me?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ll talk to the D.A. every day, see if he turns up anything new. Of course I’m staying here. If I need any assistance in the police department, I have an ex-husband who’s feeling very guilty. And very helpful.” She took a breath. “I wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you for trying to help.”

“Brie,” he said, taking a step toward her, his arms open.

She held up a hand, and the look that came into her eyes stopped him where he was. She shook her head, kept her hand raised against him. “You understand,” she said, warning him not to get too close, not to touch her.

“Of course,” he said.

“Drive carefully,” she said, disappearing into the house.

Two

One week later Mel and Jack returned to Virgin River to resume their routine. Mel went into Doc’s every morning, the baby with her for the day. If something urgent came up, she could always take the baby over to Jack at the bar, or if Jack wasn’t there, Paige or Preacher or Mike were more than willing to babysit. For the most part, David could be counted on to remain content for the half hour or so Mel needed to see a patient as long as she had the bouncy seat with her and he was neither hungry nor dirty. He still took two long naps a day—one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

Mel had been back from Sacramento less than two weeks when a teenage girl from Virgin River came to Doc’s and asked to see her. Carra Jean Winslow was fifteen and Mel had never seen her before. In fact, even though Mel had lived and worked in Virgin River for just over a year, she didn’t know the girl’s parents. Taking note of her age and obvious anxiety, Mel took her to an examining room before asking her what she needed. When a fifteen-year-old girl who didn’t cough or wheeze or bring her parents came in to see the nurse midwife, the possibilities seemed pretty limited and obvious.

“I heard there was a pill that could keep you from getting pregnant if, you know, you had sex,” she said. She said it very quietly, looking at her feet.

“Emergency birth control. But it’s only effective if the intercourse has been very recent.”

“Two nights ago,” she said weakly.

“That’s recent enough,” Mel said, trying to put her at ease with a smile. “Any problems? Pain? Bleeding? Anything?”

“Bleeding. There was some bleeding.”

“First time?” Mel asked, smiling kindly. The girl nodded. “Have you ever had an internal exam before?”

She shook her head and looked down again.

“I’d like to check you, make sure everything is okay. It’s not as terrible as you think,” Mel said, touching her arm gently. “How much bleeding?”

“Not too much. A little. Getting better.”

“How do you feel? There?”

She shrugged and said, “Still a little sore. Not bad.”

“That’s good. I assume, if you’re interested in emergency contraception, you didn’t use a condom….”

“No,” Carra answered.

“Okay, we can handle this. Can I get you to undress and put on a gown for me?”

“My mom. No one knows I’m here.”

“That’s all right, Carra. This is between you and me. I’m only interested in your health. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Everything off, just the gown.”

Poor thing, Mel thought. She ached for young girls who had just stumbled into this sort of thing without planning, without being sure. And that described almost all young girls. But at least she was here, avoiding yet another disaster. She gave Carra plenty of time to get undressed, but didn’t leave her waiting long enough to tangle up her nerves, then returned to the exam room.

“Let’s get a blood pressure and listen to your heart first,” she said briskly.

“I have to pay you myself,” Carra said. “I don’t want my parents to know about this.”

“Carra, confidentiality is important in this office—you can trust that,” she said. “This is all going to work out.” She applied the blood pressure cuff, noting there were a few small bruises on the girl’s upper arm. “You have a couple of bruises here,” she said.

“It’s nothing. It was … volleyball. It can get a little rough sometimes.”

“Looks like someone grabbed you,” Mel suggested.

The girl shrugged. “It happens.”

Mel got the blood pressure, which was normal. She listened to Carra’s heart, looked in her eyes, checked her pupils. Except for the nervous pounding of her heart, she seemed to be in good shape. She showed her the speculum, explained the procedure and eased her carefully into position for the pelvic. “Nice and slow, feet right here, slide down for me. That’s it. Try to relax, your knees apart, honey. Thank you. This isn’t going to be bad at all, so take some deep breaths and try to relax.”

“Okay,” she said, and began to softly cry.

“No crying now,” Mel said gently. “Everything is going to be all right, because you came to see me right away.” She gently parted the girl’s knees and was frozen. Her labia were bruised and swollen; there were bruises on the insides of her thighs that bore a striking resemblance to the bruises on the girl’s upper arm. An unmistakable thumbprint and fingers. Oh, God damn. Mel stood from her stool and looked over the drape at Carra’s face. “Carra, I can see that you’re very sore. Bruised and swollen and a little torn. I’d like to proceed, take a closer look to be sure everything is all right. But only if you’re up to it. Are you okay?”

She pinched her eyes closed, but nodded.

“I’ll be as gentle as I can,” Mel said. She put on her gloves but set the speculum aside. “I’m just going to check your vagina and uterus, Carra—I’m not going to use the speculum because you’re sore. I’d like you to take a deep breath for me, then let it out slowly. That’s it,” she said. “It’ll just take a minute. Don’t clench. Relax your muscles, Carra. There you go, very good. Tell me, does this pressure hurt?”

“Not so much,” she answered.

Why do these things always come in batches? Mel thought. I’m not over Brie! Carra’s vaginal wall was torn, ragged. Raw. Her hymen was ripped open and looked like so many little fingers. She completed her exam quickly, and while she didn’t have a rape kit handy, she did have a sterile swab with which she took a vaginal specimen, although it could be too late for any DNA recovery.

“Okay, Carra, let me help you sit up.” Mel snapped off her gloves and helped Carra get herself settled, legs dangling off the table. “I’m concerned about what happened to you, Carra. It looks like you’ve been hurt. Want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head and a couple of big tears spilled over. Carra was a plain girl with an oblong face, bushy, unshaped brows and a small problem with acne. And right now, a really bad case of regret and fear and nerves.

“It will be confidential,” Mel said tenderly. “It’s not just the bruises, Carra. Your vagina looks ragged. Torn. The damage isn’t serious. It’ll heal. But from everything I can see—”

“It was me. It was my fault.”

“Something like this is never a woman’s fault,” she said, and she used woman purposely, although this was a mere girl. “Why don’t you tell me what happened, and we’ll go from there.”

“But you’ll give me that pill?” she asked desperately.

“Of course. We’re not going to let you get pregnant. Or sick.”

She took a deep breath, but it brought the tears harder. “I just changed my mind when it was too late, that’s all. So it’s my fault.”

Mel touched her knee. “Go back to the beginning. Nice and easy.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Sure you can, honey. I’ll just listen.”

“We decided we were going to do it. He got all excited about that—he said he was sorry after. We’d already started…. He couldn’t stop.”

“He could,” she said. “I can see the bruises from his fingers, like he held you down, held your legs apart. I can see the marks, the tears. Let me help you.”

“I wanted to, though.”

“I know, Carra. Until you didn’t. And you told him no, didn’t you?”

She shook her head. “No. I wanted to.”

“If you said no at all, that’s rape, Carra. Date rape.”

Carra leaned forward, her position pleading. “But I’ve done things with him. Lots of things. And I wanted to.”

“Have you ever had intercourse before?” She shook her head. No. “You can say no right up to the last minute, Carra. That’s the law. And it doesn’t matter what you did with him before. Tell me—is this a boyfriend? Or someone you’ve only known a little while?”

“I’ve known him a long time from school, but he’s been my boyfriend a couple of weeks.”

But they’ve done a lot? Mel was asking herself. “Carra, he moved pretty fast. I want you to think about this. A couple of weeks. This is one determined guy. How old is he?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I’m not telling you any more. I’m not getting him in trouble. It wasn’t his fault. It was my mistake, but he’s sorry.”

“Okay, listen—don’t get yourself all upset. If you change your mind and want to talk about this, you just call me. Or come to see me. Doesn’t matter when. Let’s get you on a dependable birth control and—”

“No. I’m not doing it again,” she said, holding her mouth in a tight line while tears wet her cheeks.

Oh, she’d been raped. Sounded as if she didn’t even have much of a date, Mel thought. “Carra, if you continue to see this boy, this man, it’s going to happen again.”

“I’m not doing it again,” she said firmly. “I need that emergency pill. That’s all.”

“That’s all for right now,” Mel said. “I want you to come back in a week or two, so we can test for STDs and be sure you’re healing up. It’s too soon for anything to turn up today, this soon after exposure. But this is really important. Will you do that?”

In the end she agreed, but she wouldn’t accept birth control. In a very businesslike tone she asked Mel, “How much?”

“Forget it, Carra. This one’s on the house. Call me if you need me. Anytime. I mean it—anytime. Night or day. I’ll write down the number here and my number at home for you. Okay?”

“Thanks,” she said meekly.

After all that, the thing that really tore at Mel’s heart was seeing her patient ride away on her bicycle. The girl wasn’t even old enough to drive a car. And she pedaled while standing up—her tender bottom couldn’t handle the seat.

Mike Valenzuela called Brie. He couldn’t help himself. It had been two weeks since he’d heard her voice. Jack was more than happy to keep him up-to-date on her recovery, how she sounded, but Mike needed more. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

“Pretty rugged. Kind of edgy and nervous,” she answered. “But then, it hasn’t been that long.”

“Physically?” he pressed.

“I … Ah … I guess the worst is over. The bruises are beginning to fade. But it’s amazing how long it takes a couple of ribs to heal.”

“Jack says you took an extended leave of absence from the prosecutor’s office,” Mike said.

“Did he tell you why?” she asked.

“No. And you don’t have to tell me. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said coldly. “Because I can’t work like that—when I can prosecute a suspect for rape and he gets off.” She laughed bitterly. “On me!”

“Oh, Brie,” he said, sympathetic. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“If I get a chance, if they find him, I’m going to bury him. I’ll put him away for life. I swear to God.”

Mike took a deep breath. “You’re one of the bravest women I’ve ever known. I’m proud of you. If there’s anything I can do …”

“It’s nice of you to call,” she said more softly. “Not many people besides family are brave enough—I guess they’re afraid of what they might hear. Does Jack know you called?”

It wouldn’t be long before Jack found out, Mike thought. Sam had answered the phone, asked who was calling before putting her on. “I didn’t call you because you’re Jack’s sister, but because you’re my friend and I wanted to know how you are. I don’t really care if Jack’s okay with it, only if you are.”

“I’m okay with it. His protective nature usually just amuses me. Or annoys me. But not at the moment,” she said. “It feels kind of like a shield, just knowing how he is.”

“I’d be protective if you were my sister, too,” Mike said. “I’m feeling protective myself, though there’s not much I can do but call and talk. I think this is what happens to everyone around the crime, Brie. We all have our responses—from the victim to her friends and family. It’s all part of the healing process. I watched my friends and family go through that, too. It’s one of the reasons I came up here—it was becoming oppressive. Their need for me to heal so they could feel better.”

“I keep forgetting that,” she said. “That’s how self-absorbed I’ve become. You’re a crime victim, too.”

“You’re supposed to be self-absorbed right now. Self-protective. Focused.”

“And that’s how you were?” she asked him.

“Ohhhh.” He laughed. “I wish you could’ve seen my routine. I started out the day by crawling out of bed crippled, the pain terrible. I dosed up on the anti-inflammatory, iced down my shoulder and groin, drank Mel’s protein supplement drinks that would gag a maggot, and then started my exercises with one-pound weights—so light, so nothing. And it would make me almost cry. Then I’d have to lie down. It took me two months to do a sit-up—and Mel would help me with the physical therapy on my shoulder every day, but not until afternoon, not until I could drink a beer first to take the edge off. She’s little, you know, but you shouldn’t let that fool you—she can pull and push and grind on an injured muscle until you beg like a baby. My life was all about getting my body back.”

“I wish this was just about my body,” she said softly.

“There were also nightmares,” he said quietly, almost reluctantly. “I’d like you to know—I’m not having them anymore.” And he thought, you just don’t realize yet how much of this is going to end up being about your body. He had at least a passing knowledge of what rape and assault victims went through. It was going to be a long time before Brie would have a healthy sexual relationship.

Afterward, Mike was pretty astonished that Jack made no mention of his call to Brie. It could mean only one thing—neither Brie nor Sam had mentioned it, and he wasn’t sure why. He gave brief consideration to bringing it to Jack’s attention himself. He could explain his concern easily—he had a few things in common with her at the moment and might be able to offer support. But in the end, he said nothing. He didn’t feel like an odd three-way, checking in with Jack about his feelings for Brie. Nothing had changed in the way he felt toward her, except that at the moment they were both crippled.

The middle of July was steamy and wet, and Mike called her every couple of days, and still Jack said nothing. It seemed to Mike that she took his calls as if looking forward to them a little bit. They rarely talked about the crime and her recovery, but about mundane things. His fishing, what she was reading or watching on TV, weather, Sam and her sisters and nieces, letters that Ricky—a kid from town who had been Jack’s and Preacher’s young protégé and helper in the bar—was writing home from USMC basic training.

She told him about her new phobias—the dark, public places, noises in the night that she’d probably never even heard before. She put her house on the market—she had no intention of living there alone again. She thought she might eventually be strong enough to live on her own, but not there, where it happened.

“Are you getting out at all?” he asked her.

“Counseling, group sessions. The occasional trip to the store with Dad,” she said. “I don’t really want to leave the house. I’ll have to find a way to change that soon, but for now, I just want to feel safe. That’s a tall enough order.”

He could hear the growing strength in Brie’s voice despite her new fears; she laughed regularly, and the sound of her voice brought him great peace of mind. He teased her, told her jokes, even played his guitar for her over the phone so she could tell him he was improving.

Jack, however, was too quiet. Mike confronted him, asked him how he was doing. “I just want her back, man,” Jack said somberly. “Brie—she was always such a goddamn life force.”

Mike gripped Jack on the upper arm. “She’ll be back. She’s got the stuff.”

“Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

“I’m right,” Mike said. “You need me for anything tomorrow? I’m thinking of driving down the coast, having a look around.”

“Nah, enjoy yourself,” Jack said.

Ordinarily, Mike wouldn’t have given even a second thought to going to Sacramento without mentioning it to Jack, but these circumstances were different, and he wasn’t an idiot—Jack would want to know. Still, he said nothing and in fact had covered his tracks, acting as though he was out for a day of poking around. He rose before Jack began splitting logs behind the bar in the early morning—his ritual even in summer, when there was no need to lay a fire. He hit the road south through Ukiah in the predawn hours, arriving in the city by ten in the morning.

After he rang the doorbell, he saw a shadow cross the peephole, then the locks slid and the door opened. “Mike?” Sam asked. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I decided not to call ahead, sir,” he said. “I thought—”

Brie appeared from around the corner, standing behind her dad. “Mike?” she asked in equal surprise.

He smiled. “You look good,” he said, relieved. “Great. You look great. I was saying I didn’t call ahead because I thought if I just came here, maybe I could lure you out of the house for a while. If I’d called, you’d think of a million excuses.”

She actually took a step back. “I don’t know …”

“How about Folsom,” he said. “Enjoy the mountains, walk around the shops, have a little lunch, maybe stop at a vineyard or two. Just a few hours, just for some fresh air and maybe a little practice at facing the public. You have to get out in the world eventually.”

“Maybe not this soon …”

“It’s only soon because you haven’t done it. You’ll be safe, Brie.”

“Of course, but—”

“Brie,” Sam said. “You should take advantage of this. Mike is a trained observer, a cop with years of experience. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

Mike gave his head a slight bow in Sam’s direction, respectfully. “Thank you, sir. You’re welcome to join us.”

He laughed. “No, I think I’ll pass. But this is a good idea. Brie,” he said, taking her hand and rubbing it between his, as if warming it, “you should go out for at least an hour, maybe two. Mike’s come all this way….”

She looked at him pointedly. There might have been a glare in her eye. “You didn’t tell Jack you were doing this, did you.” It was not a question.

“Of course not. He would have tried to talk me out of it. If you needed someone to pry you out of the house, he’d want to be the one to do it.” He grinned. “I couldn’t risk that.”

She seemed to think about this momentarily. Finally she said, “I’d better change.”

“Nah, you’re fine. Folsom isn’t any fancier than your shorts. Let’s just do it. You won’t be out longer than you’re comfortable.”

“Dad.?”

“This is a good idea, Brie. Go out for a while. Have lunch, a glass of wine. I’ll be right here when you get home.”

Mike got her into the car and started to drive. Brie was predictably quiet, which was what he expected. “You might be stressed for a little while, but I think it’ll ease up,” he said. Another few minutes of quiet reigned in the car. “We internalize when we’ve had a trauma. Grow very quiet, very private with feelings.” Again, no conversation. She looked straight ahead, tensely, holding the shoulder strap with one hand, her other crossed protectively over her belly.

“I was the fourth of eight children and had three older brothers,” Mike said as they began to drive into the foothills of the Sierras. “By the time I went to kindergarten, I had three younger sisters as well, so my mother, she was very busy. A lot of old-world traditions and values in my house—my father had trouble keeping us all fed, yet he still thought he had the world by the balls with all those sons, and I’m sure he wanted more. But it was a loud and crazy house, and when I went to school for the first time, my English wasn’t so good—we spoke only Spanish and some very bad English in my home, in my neighborhood. And although my father is successful now, at that time we were considered poor.” He glanced over at her briefly. “I got beaten up by some bigger kids my first week in school. I had bruises on my face and other places, but I wouldn’t tell anyone what had happened.” He concentrated on the road. “Not even my brothers, who offered to add to the bruises if I didn’t tell them who had done it and why. I didn’t talk at all for a couple of months.”

She turned her head toward him, looking at him. He met her eyes. “From working with kids who were victims of abuse, I learned that’s not unusual. To go silent like that. I also learned it’s all right to get your bearings before you start talking.”

“What made you talk?” she asked.

He chuckled to himself. “I don’t know if I remember this correctly, but I think my mother sat me at the kitchen table, alone, and said, ‘We have to talk about what’s happened to you, Miguel. I can’t let you go back to that school until I know.’ Something like that. It was the not being allowed to go back, even though I was afraid of getting beaten up again, that made me more ashamed of those boys thinking I was a coward. Empty-headed machismo even then.” He laughed.

“Did your mother tell the authorities?” she asked.

“No.” He laughed again. “She told my brothers. She said, ‘If he comes home with one bruise, I will beat you and then your father will beat you.’”

“Well, that’s pretty horrible,” Brie said.

“Old World. Tradition.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, Brie. There were a lot more threats than there were beatings. I don’t remember beatings. My father whipped us across the bottom with his belt, but never injured anyone. For my mother, it was the wooden spoon. Not your pansy gringo wooden spoon, but a spoon as long as her arm. Christ, if the belt was unbuckled or the spoon plucked off the shelf, we ran like holy hell. The next generation of Valenzuelas has given up that form of child raising. By the way, it’s not Mexican by genesis—it’s that generation. It was not against the law to beat your child if he misbehaved.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, “Did you marry Hispanic women?”

He looked at her curiously. “I did,” he said. “Both times. Well, mixed Mexican.”

“You’re drawn to that culture…. Very strongly drawn.”

“I love the traditions of my family, but I don’t think that had anything to do with the marriages. I dated a lot of women who weren’t Hispanic. My marriages were brief failures of my youth.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the first time I was too young, and so was she. I was in the Marines, and she worked for my father. I wrote to her, married her while home on leave, returned after my tour of duty to find she was interested in another young man. I could have been outraged, but the truth is—I wasn’t faithful either. I was married and divorced by the time I was twenty-one. My mother was completely ashamed of me.”

“And the second wife?”

“Just a few years later. An employee at LAPD. A dispatcher.” He chuckled. “Time-honored tradition—cops and dispatchers. It lasted six months. My mother has completely lost hope in me.”

“I guess you didn’t cling to all the traditions….”

“You know what I miss about my family’s traditions? My mother’s cooking, my father’s skills and ingenuity. My mother and father did most of their cooking for large tribes on the patio—on the grill and in huge pots over slow burners. Mole, the old family recipe, tamales wrapped in banana leaves, enchiladas, carne asada. My mother’s salsa and guacamole would make you pass out, it’s so good. She makes a fish with sliced olives that’s amazing. Her shrimp in tomatoes, avocado and Tapatío is astonishing.”

“Tapatío?”

“Hot sauce. Pretty hot hot sauce. And my father could do anything—he built a room on our house, a gazebo in the yard, poured concrete, put a wall around the yard, rewired the house, built a freestanding garage—and I’m sure he did all that without building permits, but I had the sense never to ask. And the landscaping was incredible. That was his business, landscaping. He started out trimming hedges and mowing lawns, but later he started his own little business. It’s now a pretty good sized business with a lot of corporate clients. He has a million relatives and sons—he never runs out of employees. My father was an immigrant, but he didn’t have to naturalize. My mother is a first-generation American, born in Los Angeles—marriage to her validated him. But interestingly, she is the one to uphold the old traditions in our family. He wanted to acclimate himself to the U.S. quickly, so he could get about the business of making that fortune poor, hungry Mexican boys dream about. And he did, though he worked damn hard to do it.” He pulled into the town of Folsom, found a place to park and went around to Brie’s side to open her door.

“Tell me about your growing up,” he said.

“Not nearly as interesting as yours,” she said.

“Let me be the judge,” he said, taking her elbow and walking her across the street toward a gift shop.

As he maneuvered her through shops, galleries, antique stores and bakeries, she told him about life with three much older sisters who babied her, and Jack who fussed over her till she was about six, then again when he was home on leave. Her household didn’t sound terribly different from his, except that her mother didn’t cook outside, use oversize cooking pots and implements, and her father was a whiz at numbers and investing, not building or landscaping. Otherwise, their childhoods were similar—large families filled with noise and laughter, loyalty and blistering sibling fights. “The girls fought like animals,” she said. “They never fought with me—I was the baby. And Jack was threatened with certain death if he ever struck a girl, so they went after him with a vengeance, knowing he was helpless.”