Читать книгу Moonlight Road - Робин Карр, Robyn Carr - Страница 7

After a long day of hiking along the ocean, Aiden went home, showered and walked down the path to Luke and Shelby’s house at around dinnertime. He found Shelby in the kitchen, getting some dinner ready. He ponied right up. “Can I help?”

“You can set the table,” she said. “But first, there is a call for you on the machine from a guy named Jeff. I wrote the number down, but go ahead and listen to the message if you want.”

“Nah, I’ll just call him.” He went to the cupboard to pull out the dishes.

“Ah, Aiden, you might want to call him now. Set the table after.”

“Why?” he asked. He’d kept in touch with Jeff since undergrad days; they’d both been in ROTC and on navy scholarships for med school. Jeff was one of the few people besides his brothers he was in constant touch with.

“It’s something urgent,” she said, her back to him, stirring a pan on the stove. “Something to do with an Annalee Riordan.” She turned toward him. “I know you don’t have any sisters.”

He was stunned speechless for a second. Then he recovered and smiled. “The ex,” he said. “You’re right, I’ll call.”

When he got Jeff on the phone, he was informed that Annalee had been looking for him unsuccessfully. His mother’s Phoenix phone was disconnected, all the brothers had moved, Aiden had separated from the navy and was now a civilian. The only one she could round up was Aiden’s former frat brother/best friend/best man and currently lieutenant commander in the navy. “She says it’s urgent that she speak to you,” Jeff said.

“We’ve been divorced for eight years after a three-month marriage,” Aiden said. “We don’t have urgent issues.”

“Maybe you should respond,” Jeff said. “You can hang up on her after you decide she’s making excuses.”

Aiden looked over his shoulder at Shelby. “I’m telling you, we don’t have business. We don’t have mutual friends or family, we don’t have property, support payments or children. It was a quick, clean break after a short, nasty marriage. But give me the number. If she calls you again, you tell her you gave me the number and you’re out of it. How’s that?”

Aiden scribbled down a phone number, “Sorry for the trouble, man. You doing okay? Carol and the kids okay? Good, good. Yeah, I’m great—I’m kicking back, looking for the next opportunity, and you know what? This was a good idea, taking a little time off. Hey, Jeff, I’m sorry you had to put up with this. Annalee should be long gone. I haven’t heard a word from her since the day the divorce was final, and there is no reason to be hearing from her now unless she’s up to no good. You have my blessing to blow her off.”

Aiden hung up the phone, crumpled the paper with the phone number on it, pitched it in the trash and continued to set the table.

Maureen Riordan had several big boxes sitting in the middle of her small living room. They were packed with precious family heirlooms—her mother’s antique china for Shelby and a box of Great-grandma Riordan’s silver flatware that would go to Franci. She had also packed some crystal and silver pieces in Bubble Wrap and a couple of boxes of antique quilts and linens that she’d take as far as Virgin River, hoping to leave those boxes with Luke; the contents were too valuable to put in a storage facility and she intended to save them for future new daughters-in-law. A couple of years ago she wouldn’t have been so optimistic, but Luke had finally settled down at the age of thirty-eight, Sean right behind him, so it was still possible for Colin, Aiden and Patrick.

Life was so funny, she found herself thinking. She’d spent a lifetime protecting some of these material things—china and crystal, old quilts lovingly fashioned by her ancestors’ hands, linens brought all the way from Ireland—and now the pleasure it gave her to be passing them on to the next generation was immeasurable.

Another bunch of boxes held everyday items she planned to add to what George already had in the RV. They’d gone over the inventory on the phone and in e-mails so many times, she knew almost everything on the list by heart. Clothing, linens, kitchen items and bric-a-brac that she could live without she had already given away.

She and George had seen each other exactly four times since Christmas. Once she flew to Seattle to visit him over a long weekend and three times he flew to Phoenix, also for long weekends, visits that went spectacularly well. Maureen wasn’t naive. She knew that when people lived in close quarters for more than a few days or weeks, adjustments were necessary. She might even realize she’d made a mistake, but she didn’t expect to. As inflexible as she could be, George was three times as flexible as any man she’d ever known. His good nature had taken an entire layer off her previous narrow-mindedness.

George was now en route and she had talked to him several times a day since he left Seattle. He flew to Nevada, where he picked up the RV; it was only a year old, but had cost more than her condo. At long last her cell phone rang and he was an hour away; finally he was minutes away. “And promise me you’re not going to be standing in the parking lot!” he said emphatically. “I want to set her up for your first real viewing.” That meant he wanted to pop out the sides, extend the patio cover, turn on the lights and music. He wanted her to see her new home at its absolute finest.

Finally she received a text message; George was fond of texting. Rather than answering, she bolted across her patio, the pool area and to the parking lot in front of the complex. There he stood in front of the most beautiful masterpiece of an RV she had ever seen.

She stopped short and just forced herself to breathe deeply. This would be her home for at least six months and if the experiment was successful, for a few years. Her hand covered her mouth as she slowly stepped toward the luxury motor coach.

George laughed, drawing her attention to him. He leaned against the front of the vehicle, one leg crossed lazily in front of the other, arms crossed over his chest. He had the most engaging, lovely smile. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously; he had such pretty silver hair. A fine figure of a gentleman.

“You should give me a kiss before the tour so I at least get the impression I’m as important as the coach,” he teased.

“Of course,” she said, going to him. She put her hands on his cheeks, gave him a good enthusiastic peck and said, “Now can I see it inside? I’m dying to see it!”

“I sent you plenty of pictures,” he said. “And I invited you to come up to Nevada to see it in person, but I remind you, you wanted me to make the decision on my own and you did approve the pictures.”

It had seemed only fair. George was going to own it and she didn’t want him buying it for her. Nice of him to ask her opinion if she was to live in it for months, possibly years, but still…Of course, she’d offered to pay for half, but George was adamant—he’d be glad to put her name on the title, but he wouldn’t take her money. “Call me old-fashioned,” he had said, “but a man still likes to think he can take care of his woman.” In the end it was probably less complicated this way, since they’d both been married previously and had grown children.

They had it all planned out—he bought the RV in his name from the proceeds of his house sale. They both put their furniture in separate storage facilities—just till they were absolutely sure they were together for the long haul. It was a struggle, but George finally agreed to take five hundred dollars a month in rent from her; her savings and eventually the money from her condo sale was to stay in her possession. If they married—or when, as George preferred to think of it—they would work out some sort of prenuptial thing so that George could leave his RV and savings to his stepgrandchildren and to Noah Kincaid and she could leave hers to her sons. For right now both had pensions that would allow them to pay for gas, insurance, incidentals, hookup space, food, et cetera.

She stepped inside, up the steps. She ran a hand over the smooth white leather of the copilot’s seat—lush and rich. And then she stood looking into the interior. On either side were matching white leather couches and between them, what looked like dark, hardwood floors but was actually scuff-free laminate. Just beyond, a spacious kitchen on the left with all the necessary appliances and even an oak cupboard at a right angle to the kitchen that had decorative leaded glass on each side—the china cabinet. Opposite the kitchen, a dark marblish table stood with matching white leather sofa seats that could accommodate four for dinner. There were plenty of kitchen cabinets and storage above the sofas. Mounted above the driver’s seat, facing into the living room, was a fifty-eight-inch flat-screen TV.

“My God,” she whispered. “It’s larger than my condo and more beautiful than any house I’ve ever lived in.”

“You like it?” George asked from right behind her.

“It’s amazing.” She turned around to face him. “Is it hard to drive?”

“It’s easy. Those classes I took really paid off, even though I’d driven Noah’s RV in the past. I think you should take them, too. We’ll stop somewhere they have the classes and sign you up.”

“Can we? That would be so much fun.”

“You’d like that?”

“Oh, I’d love that! But of course, it’s your—”

He put a finger on her lips. “Let’s not do a lot of that, Maureen—all that yours-and-mine stuff. I understand we have an agreement, but we’re in this together.” He smiled. “And I love you.”

She leaned toward him. “That’s so nice to hear, George.”

“I suppose it is,” he said with a smile. “I imagine one of these days I might hear it, too.”

She grinned at him. “I was saving it for a special moment—like when we drink champagne tonight at dinner in the RV, but—”

“Perfect!” he said, interrupting her. “I’ll be ready!”

“Can we sleep in it tonight?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to see the rest of it first?”

“I’d like to see it, but can we?”

“Of course, if you feel like it.”

“My house is upside down with boxes. I tore the sheets off the bed and washed them. I put them in the charity box since the bed in here is a king and I’ve only had a double all these years. I think we’d probably be more comfortable in here, actually.”

“Then here’s what we do—load it up with the boxes for Virgin River and the household items you plan to add to our inventory. I made a reservation at a park so we can have a hookup. You’ll have to learn the difference quick—when we’re hooked up, the water, sewage and electricity belong to someone else and we don’t drain our supply or have the task of taking care of the lavatory. There will be times we dry-camp, when there’s no hookup, but when possible we’ll find a park with facilities. So—we have chores, don’t we?”

“There isn’t that much. Tomorrow when the movers come to crate the furnishings for storage, we’ll finish and you can help me tidy up. I hired a cleaning service—the condo management will let them in once we’re on the road. I used packing boxes by the measurements you gave me for the storage under the coach—I hope the boxes fit.”

“Very well organized,” he said. “I’m not surprised at all.” He touched her nose. “Did you tell them?”

“More or less. I told Aiden on the phone while Luke was sitting across the room from him. That should catch them all up. I mean, I had told them I was thinking about it, but no one took me seriously.”

“How’d Aiden take it?”

“Very well, as a matter of fact. But then Aiden was the one to lecture me when he heard I’d brushed you off last fall. He said I shouldn’t assume my life couldn’t ever again include a man. In a romantic way.”

“Ah,” George said, rolling his eyes skyward. “God bless him. I’ll leave him my entire fortune.”

“There are five of them, George, and they’re as different from each other as day is from night. I know you’ve met them, but you haven’t spent any real time with them. There’s no way I can adequately prepare you.”

“I understand completely. Let’s start carting boxes and pack up. The sooner we can get to that champagne dinner, the better I like it.”

“I’d like to see the bedroom now,” she said. “Have you chosen your drawers and closet space? Your side of the bed?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m waiting for you to decide.”

She put her arms around his waist. “I’m so lucky to have found you.”

Mel, local nurse-practitioner and midwife, had an appointment with a friend of hers she didn’t often see professionally. Darla Prentiss had been in the care of a fertility specialist in Santa Rosa for the past several years, so her women’s health needs were handled by him. But Phil Prentiss had called Mel and said that he was bringing his wife in because she complained of a cold and sore throat. “That’s not what it is, though,” Phil had said. “She waits for me to leave the house or fall asleep, then cries her heart out for hours. She needs someone to talk to. We just suffered our seventh miscarriage.”

“Oh, good heavens, bring her. But wait—isn’t her doctor supporting you through this?”

“Aw, he’s all about the big score,” Phil said. “He might have the best track record for getting people pregnant in three counties, but his bedside manner sucks. Darla’s crushed.”

“Bring her to me,” Mel said. “But don’t lie to her—tell her you know she doesn’t have a cold. I’ll do what I can. Phil—I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“This one,” he said, “was eighteen weeks. We named him and buried him.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” he said.

Mel’s heart was in tatters. Instead of seven miscarriages, this wonderful couple should have had seven children. Phil owned and operated the family farm, a vast acreage committed to dairy, pork and silage. It was a wonderful, fun, healthy place and the Prentisses were a positive, beautiful, loving couple. They’d been married quite a while—ten or twelve years—trying most of that time to grow a family. It was so wrong, when the people who could do the best by children had such trouble getting them. It was a miracle the pain of their loss time after time hadn’t ripped their marriage apart, yet Phil and Darla were devoted to each other, as in love as the day they met.

When Darla arrived with her husband, Mel just hugged her long and hard. “I’m sorry,” she said. “God, I’m so sorry. You’ve been through so much.”

That’s all it took for Darla to let the tears loose. Mel took her by the hand and they went into the office to talk for a while. Mel had told Darla a long time ago that in her first marriage, she and her husband had struggled with infertility issues, but for some unknown reason when she got together with Jack—instant pregnancy. Could be coincidence, could be some medical reason she didn’t quite understand.

“I can’t do it anymore, Mel,” Darla said tearfully. “I’m sorry to be such a crybaby, but I think that last one did me in. A little boy…”

“Seven miscarriages is too much for anyone, Darla. Remember when we talked about a surrogate? Someone with a sturdier, proven uterus?”

“I know it’s a good option for people like me and Phil, since I have trouble conceiving and carrying. My younger sister, who’s a mother of three, even offered. But, Mel—oh, God, I know this makes me sound so shallow and self-absorbed—but I don’t think I can watch her carry our baby and stay out of her business. I’d be examining everything she puts in her mouth. I’d burn with jealousy that I couldn’t carry the baby and feel it move inside me. We talked about hiring a stranger. I know it works a lot, but I don’t think we can…”

“Keep an open mind. It’s a good solution for couples who have everything they need but a womb,” Mel said.

Darla was shaking her head. “There’s a message in here somewhere. I’m not sure what it is, but one thing I know for sure—I’m not meant to have a baby of my own. That was the first one we actually buried. Mel,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I really can’t do that again.”

“I understand,” Mel said softly. “Tell me how I can help you now. Do you think a good antidepressant might help?”

“With losing your child? No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to cry about it awhile, feel my husband’s arms around me and ask God what his plan is for me. It’s not like I’m the first woman who couldn’t have her own children. After all, how many women have as much as I have? The most handsome, wonderful, loving man in the world? Poor Phil, his heart must be breaking, too, and I’m only thinking of myself.”

“Just reach out for him while he reaches out for you, sweetheart. Then call your doctor’s office and tell them you could probably use a little counseling to get you through this last miscarriage.”

“But I don’t think I want to keep going with this…this crazy desperation to get pregnant and carry a child to term…”

“That’s not the point,” Mel said, shaking her head. “Whether you keep trying or not, you need a little help getting through the loss. This was a big, hard one for you two. You’ve paid that doctor tens of thousands of dollars not covered by insurance—he must have counseling staff or at least people he can recommend. You don’t have to promise to risk more heartache to get yourself a good counselor. Get some help.”

“Maybe we’ll see our pastor.

“See someone, Darla. Please? I just don’t want you to hurt. I never had a miscarriage—but I failed to get pregnant every time and I remember the pain and disappointment of that alone. I just can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

Darla was quiet a moment. Then she wiped off her cheeks and said, “I think seven is enough.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mel said.

Every couple of weeks Luke had to drive over to Eureka to shop at the Costco warehouse for stock for his house and cabins. He bought large amounts of toilet paper, bar soap, paper towels, cleaning supplies and sometimes had to replace things like bath towels, washcloths, bath mats, and so on. While he was there, he shopped for some groceries for his own home; there was plenty of frozen fish in the freezer out in the shed next to the house, but they could always use chicken and red meat. Shelby kept a running list of items she was willing to keep in bulk, from ketchup to canned tuna. Now that her nursing-school program was on hiatus for the summer and she was hugely pregnant, her stop-offs at the grocery store on the way home were few. That made Luke’s trips to town more frequent.

He didn’t have to tell Art when they were going. Art started asking at least a couple days ahead of time. “We going to Costco yet, Luke?”

“Two days,” Luke would answer. Art, an adult with Down syndrome, whom Luke had taken on as a helper around the cabins, was Luke’s fairly constant shadow and had his own little cabin next to Luke and Shelby’s house.

“What time, Luke?” he asked.

“Let’s say two o’clock.”

Then: “Tomorrow we’re going to Costco, Luke.” And then: “Today we’re going to Costco, Luke.” And then: “Is it time to go to Costco, Luke?”

Going to Costco was Art’s absolute favorite chore in the entire world. He didn’t mind the hardware store but he loved Costco. Luke never made him stick close or help with the shopping and he took his sweet old time because Art wanted to look at everything, especially things he would never buy. Art loved the jewelry counter, and he was fascinated by the computers. When Luke had the satellite dish installed, he bought Art an inexpensive laptop and a couple of learning programs to help Art with his spelling and addition and subtraction. Once Art learned something, he was very capable, though it didn’t seem he was getting better at spelling or math. It was as though he’d reached his limit—but he loved the computer. Art was also extremely literal, not creative. Art did not think outside the box. If you said, “Take out the trash,” he might ask, “Out where?” Instead, you said, “Collect the trash in this bag and then tie the bag closed and put it in the Dumpster.”

It took Luke about fifteen minutes to gather up his paper products and cleaning supplies. Then he dawdled around the meat, cheese and vegetables, mentally choosing what perishables he’d select after Art had had plenty of time to enjoy his shopping trip. He bought a few more nonperishables on Shelby’s list—olive oil, crackers, rice, pasta, cereal. He grabbed some beer and whiskey. He looked through books, DVDs and music—grabbed a couple of each. Then he went looking for Art.

When he didn’t find Art by the jewelry, computer games or computers, he widened his search. He looked in the tools, cosmetics, frozen foods. It baffled him that Art wasn’t in any of his usual haunts.

Finally, he found him in a far corner of the store by the dog food, standing very close to and towering above a short, round woman with curly brown hair. They were holding hands and gazing at each other intently. What an odd-looking pair, Luke found himself thinking with a smile. Yet how strangely perfect—great big lumbering Art and this little, chunky woman. “Art?” he asked.

Art turned sharply as if startled. He was smiling and his small eyes were so large it made Luke chuckle. He’d never seen a smile that big on Art. “Luke! It’s Netta! From my group home! She was my girlfriend.”

“No kidding?” Luke put out a hand. “How do you do, Netta. Hey,” he said. “I think I met you once before. Did you work at that grocery store with Art?”

“They took her out of that store, Luke!” Art said excitedly. “They took everybody out of that store! Stan who owns the store? He got a big punishment for doing things wrong! Netta said he had to pay money and he was mad!”

“Very…mmm…mad,” Netta said quietly.

“How sad for old Stan,” Luke said with a wide smile. “I wish I could feel sorry for him. So, Netta, where are you living now?”

“In a…mmm…house,” she said. “With Ellen and Bo. In Fortuna. I help in the bakery.”

“And why are you at Costco today?” Luke asked.

“We get our…mmm…stuff at Costco. And Ellen lets me…mmm…shop.”

“Art,” Luke said, “why don’t you buy Netta a hot dog or pizza slice and a cola or something. Sit down. Catch up on the news. I’ll get the rest of my stuff very slowly. Take your time.”

Art just stared at him.

Netta took his hand. “Let’s get…mmm…hot dog, Art.”

“Go on, Art. Get a hot dog. Talk with Netta awhile.”

Art seemed a little frozen, so Luke turned his laden cart away and walked off quickly, getting out of his space.

Of course, Art had money, and he managed it very well. Luke would never reach into his pocket and give the man money, especially in front of a woman. Art got a disability check from Social Security, some state aid, and Luke paid him for his work. Art paid Luke a bit for the cabin he used as his home, but no money ever changed hands for things like groceries. Sometimes when Art had a little money left over, he wanted to buy something for Luke or Shelby, and that was all right, but Luke kept it within limits. Art was building a savings account, and when he showed Luke the growing balance, he beamed with pride.

Luke wasn’t sure about what Netta’s issues were. She didn’t have Down’s; she had a slight hesitation in her speech, not quite a stutter but more an “mmm” while looking for the right word. He thought maybe she was a little slow, but wasn’t entirely sure about how disabled. Yet she must have some disability if she’d been in a group home with Art.

But how unexpected—Art had had a girlfriend. Luke thought he might’ve mentioned someone named Netta, but surely no more than once. He hadn’t been pining or anything.

There was a fast-food area in the front of the store, on the other side of the checkout lanes, so Luke steered clear of it. He wasted a good half hour looking at cameras. What the hell—the baby was coming soon and he needed a better camera. By the time he was done, he had a video camera, a digital still camera, a large-screen laptop and a color printer to go with it. He probably should have talked to Shelby about that first, but he was still being trained as a husband. Fortunately, Shelby was very patient with him.

He went to the back of the store and quickly grabbed the meat, produce and veggies he had mentally planned to buy. Time to check out.

Once again, he didn’t see Art anywhere.

Lord, this was getting ridiculous. He’d never had this problem with Art before. Luke looked all around the fast-food area and Art was definitely not there. He’d have to look around the whole warehouse again. First, he decided, he’d put his groceries in the truck, then go back inside in search of Art.

But when he got outside, Art was standing there, staring into the massive parking lot. “Well, hey, I was wondering where you were. Did you have a nice visit with Netta?”

Art turned abruptly. He looked a little shell-shocked. “She was my girlfriend.”

“So you said,” Luke observed. “Come on, let’s put this stuff in the truck. Did you have a nice visit?”

“She left. She had to go with that person, Ellen. Where she lives now.”

“But did you have a nice visit?”

“She was my girlfriend,” Art said again. “I didn’t see her in a long time.”

“Right,” Luke said. Apparently he wasn’t going to get an answer to the question about whether they’d had a nice visit. “Help load up, will you, buddy?”

Art did as he’d been asked, but the whole while he mumbled and fidgeted. He was extremely upset, that much was obvious, and Luke quickly learned why. They had barely left the parking lot when Art said, “I have to go to Costco. Back to Costco.”

“In a couple of weeks, Art.”

“Now! I have to go now!”

“Forget something?” Luke asked.

“She could come to Costco. Netta could come and I could be there, too—I didn’t see her in a long time! I can be there if she comes back. She shops there!”

Since they hadn’t driven far, Luke turned into a parking lot and stopped the truck. “She left, Art. Did you get her phone number or address or anything?”

“No,” he said, his voice thick. “All of a sudden the woman Ellen came and said time to go. And all of a sudden Netta said goodbye. I have to go back.”

“No going back today, buddy. Just like us, she’s not going to be shopping for a couple of weeks, I bet. You know her last name at least?”

“Blue,” he said. “Netta Blue.” Then, with watery eyes, he stared at Luke and in a plaintive voice he just said, “Luke!”

Luke felt his heart drop. The poor guy. Art might not know much, but he sure knew when his heart hurt. Netta Blue, his onetime girlfriend, gone. He’d barely seen her after a separation and whoosh, she was gone again. He was desperate to see more of her, but did she want to see more of him? And how would her caretaker, Ellen, feel about a Down syndrome man hanging around Netta? This was going to instantly get bigger than Luke was. Lately he felt like everything was bigger than he was.

“Now, calm down, Art,” he said. “I’ll help you find her. We have to go home first. Netta has gone home, too. We’ll go home, and then we’ll see if we can find her later.”

“Okay, Luke,” Art said thickly.

Luke stroked his arm. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s going to be all right. How many bakeries can there be in Fortuna?”

“I don’t know that answer,” Art said miserably.

“I didn’t need an answer, buddy. I just meant, we’ll find her, so don’t worry.”

He sniffed. “Okay, Luke.”

By the time Luke and Art got home, Art seemed much calmer. He had stopped mumbling and talking to himself and he was back to responding in his easygoing, good-natured way. But Luke was a little shook up, maybe a little afraid Art would take off for Costco. After all, that’s how Art came to be living with Luke—his caretaker had hit him and Art had run away, preferring homelessness to abuse. For someone who couldn’t always think for himself, Art had certainly made a decision there.

Luke said, “I’m going to put the groceries away, Art. Go fish for one hour, then come to the house.”

“Okay,” Art agreed.

“Look at your watch and remember, one hour. Shelby will be looking for you.”

“One hour,” he agreed.

Luke stored all the extra paper and cleaning products for the cabins in the shed, then took the groceries into the house very quietly. Just as he expected, the bedroom door was pulled almost closed. Shelby could be lying down with her feet up for a little while or she could be asleep. When she didn’t emerge from their bedroom after all the groceries had been stored, he crept out of the house. It was in his mind to make sure Art was fishing, but the door to Aiden’s room stood open to catch the June breeze and he saw Aiden sitting inside, his laptop open on the table in front of him.

He gave a couple of taps. “Hey. You back from today’s trek?”

“I just went over to the coast to walk along the beach for a few hours,” Aiden answered without looking up.

“Got a minute?” Luke asked. “Because I have a situation…”

Aiden sat back with an impatient sigh. “Look, Mom’s going to be just fine—”

“Not Mom,” he said, walking into the cabin. He sat down at the table opposite Aiden, and his brother slowly closed the laptop between them. “It’s Art. I have something going on with Art. And I need someone smarter than I am to talk this out with me.”

One corner of Aiden’s mouth lifted. “Wanna run this by me?”

Luke leaned forward and told Aiden about what had happened at the store in hushed tones lest Art walk past the open cabin door and overhear. When he was done, Aiden said, “Whoo. Sounds like our man Art met up with an old flame and had a rush of testosterone or something.”

“Testosterone?” Luke repeated in a panic.

Aiden smiled lazily. “That’s not the chromosome he’s missing, Luke. He’s a man. What is he—thirty-one? He’s going to have a lot of typical male responses. Then again, some responses that are just pure Art…”

“Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Luke said, running a hand over his short-cropped hair.

Aiden laughed at him. “Relax—he’s completely calm…He’s not going to go berserk or anything. But for God’s sake, he has feelings! Have you talked to him about this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

“Girlfriends. Sex. Desire. Caution.”

“Well, of course not! Why would I even think of that? And what would I say?”

“I’m not entirely sure what you should say—I don’t deal with male patients, and certainly not those with Down syndrome. Does he have a caseworker or a social worker? Because if he has a girlfriend, especially a girlfriend with a similar disability, someone should address it before they’re both in over their heads.”

“Oh God,” Luke moaned.

“You need to find an expert—maybe someone with a degree in special ed. Call social services and explain what you’re up against, your lack of experience in this area. Get some help.”

“What about the girl? I promised him I’d try to find the girl!”

“Then try to find the girl! They lived in the same house together, Luke, they mean something to each other. Well…” He hesitated. “She means something to Art. You probably should try to find out if the feeling is mutual before you turn him loose.” Aiden grinned. “I know what you’re thinking—there’s a little piece of you that’s afraid Art will go nuts. No, Luke,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s mentally challenged but his personality is characterized by extremely cooperative behavior. He’s sweet and gentle. He just needs some guidance. Get someone with experience to tell you the best way to handle that.”

“You’re just faking it,” Luke accused. “Are you just faking it to look smart? Because we all get that you’re smart—don’t show off.”

Aiden laughed. “It’ll be all right. You’re great with Art. Talk to Shelby about it—you two work well together.”

Luke grumbled a little bit, then got up and ambled off in the direction of the river.

Aiden shook his head. Luke reminded him a lot of their father—a real tough exterior, but plenty of that old Irish angst inside. Complete vulnerability. All soft and gooey. No one had forced Art on Luke—it was all Luke’s idea to take him on. Just like the situation with their mother—Luke was probably the one who was the most concerned about it, and the least likely to talk it over with her.

Luke needed to handle this thing with Art, Aiden thought. It would give him confidence, make him more sure of himself in an emotional situation where he didn’t have a lot of experience. It would be good for all of them and good training for being a parent.