Читать книгу A Summer in Sonoma - Робин Карр, Robyn Carr - Страница 6

Even though Julie and Cassie were best friends, they belonged to a foursome of girlfriends who’d hung tight since junior high. Marty and Beth were their two other close girlfriends. They’d all been cheerleaders together in school and had been tight ever since. Beth was the only one who wasn’t socially available that often; she was a brand-new doctor and her schedule was horrible.

The rest of them had remained relative neighbors since high school graduation, getting together regularly. They also had larger gatherings including still more friends from the past. The tradition started when Julie and Billy, as newlyweds, threw a small party, and it grew from there. Some years after high school Billy introduced Marty to one of his firefighter pals and they ended up getting married. Now the friends’ parties—potlucks held four or five times a year—included some firemen and their wives or girlfriends, plus whatever old high school chums were around.

The Fourth of July party this year was at Marty and Joe’s house, in their rec room. It was a big room, complete with bar, pool table, a pinball machine, state-of-the-art stereo equipment, plenty of seating and standing room. They lived in a mansion by Julie’s standards, and she looked around the rec room jealously. They had lots of toys—quads, a boat, Jet Skis, an RV. Joe made a little more money than Billy, since he was a few years senior at F.D., but their lifestyle was probably even more affordable because they hadn’t married right out of high school, had only one child and Marty worked full-time. True, she was a hairdresser—not a high-ticket career field—but she had a full roster of regular clients and Julie certainly couldn’t afford her cuts and colors.

Julie had managed a part-time job after Jeffy was born, while Billy worked and finished college before getting a job with the fire department. They went through years of tough schedules, school loans and scrimping by. With Billy barely on the F.D. payroll, which was modest to start, they had a lot of debt to clear. But then Clint came along and, a year later, Stephie. It ate up the toy money pretty quick. Hell, it ate up the food money.

Joe was an established firefighter who had his own house when he met Marty. They didn’t get married right away; by the time they did, they were able to sell Joe’s house and buy a bigger one. Their little boy was now three and while Joe complained he wanted more kids, Marty said that was it for her. It seemed to Julie that when other people didn’t plan on kids, they didn’t have them. Julie and Billy didn’t plan on them and had them, anyway.

It felt as though everyone had come a long way in twelve years, except Julie and Billy—voted couple of the year in high school. They had a decent little home they couldn’t afford, drove somewhat reliable cars with tons of miles on them, had a house full of kids, big bills and no extras. No grown-up toys, no vacations. Also, no nice dinners out, weekend escapes for just the two of them, and they avoided hiring sitters—sitters were very expensive. If Julie’s mom or Cassie couldn’t watch the kids, they just didn’t go out. Julie cut out coupons constantly, haunted the sales and even thrift shops, paid the minimum balance, put a sheet over the couch to keep the worn fabric from showing. When she was crowned homecoming queen, this was not how she envisioned her life. She’d had her fifteen minutes of fame when she was seventeen.

Tonight, to add to her overwhelming feeling that she was in a steady decline, another one of the old cheerleaders had shown up—Chelsea. She made an appearance every year or two, just to establish she’d hung on to her tight body, perky tits and effervescent smile. In fact, quite a few of her physical traits had greatly improved since high school. Julie suspected Chelsea’s breasts were even perkier—high, full, prominent and aimed right at the eyeballs of men. Chelsea had been cute as a button before, and she was better put together every year, while Julie felt she was sliding too fast into old age. But, if you’d asked her at seventeen which way she’d like to go—blossoming in her late twenties or having it all at seventeen—Julie would still have taken seventeen. Stupidly.

So she watched Chelsea from across the rec room, doing what she did best—flirting with Billy. It was amazing how long your nemesis could follow you without ever losing interest in your man. Julie had threatened Billy with unspeakably painful things if he ever touched Chelsea, if he even accidentally brushed up against her. Thus, Billy’s arms were crossed protectively over his wide, hard chest, laughing at absolutely everything Chelsea said. Now and then she’d put a hand on his forearm and gaze up at him, chatting away, making him grin like a fool.

“Some things never change,” Cassie said, climbing up on the bar stool beside Julie.

They watched together as Joe joined Billy, passing him a beer. Then he leaned down a little and asked Chelsea something: Can I get you a drink? She just shook her head and laughed, drawing Joe into the conversation. Then a third man joined them. Hmm. Chelsea had three good-looking men cornered, holding them captive with her cleavage. Yet again she put her hand on Billy’s forearm.

“If he laughs at her once more, I’m going to throw a dart at him,” Julie said. “Then I’ll chop him up in little pieces.”

Cassie sipped her wine. “Maybe you should have a drink. Loosen up a little.”

“I’m the designated driver. And I’m going to designate him right out of here in about ten minutes.” Then she said to Cassie, “I’m just not fun anymore, am I?”

“Well, you’re not a lot of laughs right now. But there have been fun times…”

“Did I ever flirt like that?” Julie asked.

“I’ve known you to have a flirt or two, but usually with your own guy,” Cassie said. Then she glanced at Chelsea and said, “How does she make never getting married look so good and I just make it look so…fat?”

“Cassie, you’re not fat. You’re…”

Cassie gave her a second and then put a hand on her arm and said, “Don’t. When you have to search for the right word for longer than three seconds, you’re just going to come up with a synonym. And I’ll hate you.”

“We used to do some really fun things. We stole a port-a-potty and put it in the football coach’s front yard. That was fun. Wasn’t it fun?”

“I think it spilled and violated us…”

“We laughed till we peed,” Julie pointed out.

“Yeah. We were idiots.” Cassie sipped her drink. “We went on that all-girl camping trip once,” Cassie said. “But there was a leak and it didn’t stay all-girl too long. I lost my virginity for the third time that weekend.” She sipped some more. “Maybe we should do that again. An all-girl camping trip. And this time, keep it to ourselves.”

“Can’t. If Billy ever finds out I’m willing to camp, my life is over. Sleeping on the ground is about the only vacation we can afford.” She sighed. “I’m not fun anymore,” Julie said. “I’m a drudge.” Billy came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. Julie turned and looked up at him. “Did you touch her?”

“No, Jules. I’ve gotten really attached to my balls. But if she’s going to keep rubbing those tits on my arm, I’m going to need a lot more to drink.”

“Funny,” she said. “How much longer do we have to stay?”

“Joe has some fireworks,” he said.

“There could be fireworks right in this room if I have to watch Chelsea gaze at you like a lovesick puppy for one more second…”

“Everyone else is having fun watching her flag her butt and preen. What’s wrong with you?” he asked with a grin.

“I admit, it’s been entertaining as hell, but I was thinking maybe there’s a Law and Order rerun on TV. It’s a tough choice, but I might have to go with the rerun.”

“Isn’t this just a rerun?” Cassie asked, laughing.

Although it wasn’t late—eleven or so—Julie and Billy said their goodbyes and left the party. They drove by Julie’s mom’s house, scooped up three sleeping kids and went home. While Julie made sure everyone was tucked in for the night, Billy turned on the TV. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and crawled into bed. Before she could fall asleep, he was shedding his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor and getting in beside her. She could feel him naked and primed against her thigh.

“Oh, Jesus,” she muttered.

“What? You wanted to come home early. You didn’t turn on a rerun…”

“Billy…”

“Tell you what—just for fun, let’s not fight. Let’s just do it. That always puts you in a better mood.”

“Did Chelsea get you all spooled up?” she asked him.

“Chelsea?” he asked, laughing. “How many years are you going to ask me that, Jules? I don’t want Chelsea.”

“I can’t…Come on…”

“Why? You on the rag or something? Cramps?”

“Late,” she said.

He rose up on an elbow and looked down at her. “It’s not that late…”

“I’m late,” she said. “My period’s late.”

Shock was etched into his handsome features. Then dawning. “Oh, so that’s what’s got a bug up your ass lately. We’re caught again? We can’t be.”

“If we are, I’m going to kill myself. Then you.”

He grinned at her. “We could use another girl to even things out.”

“What we could use is a vasectomy!”

“Yeah. I guess. After this one…”

“Billy!”

“What?”

“We can’t have another baby!”

“Well, you act like this is my fault!”

“It wasn’t the UPS guy!”

He grinned into her eyes and brushed a little hair away from her brow. “I bet I know when it was,” he said, his voice thick and husky. “We had dinner with your folks and you liked me. I didn’t fuck up all night, which is a miracle, huh? Then after the kids were in bed, you liked me a lot. Kind of took me by surprise, but I think I stepped up to the plate pretty good there.” He gave her a kiss on the nose, on the lips, on the chin. “I did such a good job, maybe you popped about ten eggs and one of ‘em slipped right by that IUD…”

Her eyes welled with tears. “We can’t afford another baby. We can’t afford the ones we have.”

“We get by okay. It won’t be a struggle forever.”

“It will if you keep knocking me up!”

He chuckled. “You’re so damned knock-upable. I just can’t help myself. And it’s not like I planned it. I’m just so potent.”

“See, you think you’re so manly right now. They’ll swim through anything—through condoms, IUDs, diaphragms…And you’re goddamn proud of yourself!”

“Nah, that’s not it,” he said. “But I have to admit—I love you pregnant…”

“You’re just an idiot! I can’t pay the bills! Don’t you get that?”

“Except the part where you’re in a bad mood all the time and throw up. But you’re probably not crazy about that part, either.”

“Did you look around Marty and Joe’s tonight? The big house, the nice furniture, all the stuff they have? You know why? They didn’t get married when they were twelve, they have only one child and she works, that’s why! While we’re eating casserole made out of tuna or, on a big night, wings and thighs!”

“Yeah, it’s really tight, but I don’t think we should give any children away…”

“I’m not finding this funny at all! We’ll never get out of debt!”

“Listen, you can’t make assumptions about people, about their lives. Who knows what’s going on in their private lives? For all we know, Marty and Joe have fifty-thousand-dollar credit-card bills and a second, third and fourth mortgage. And besides, I wouldn’t trade one of our kids for a pinball machine or pool table.” Then he rolled his eyes upward. “Well, I’d probably trade Clint for a boat and an RV…”

“We haven’t planned one single baby,” she whimpered.

“Apparently we don’t have to.”

“Really, I’m very upset about this,” she said, pursing her lips, trying for control.

“Okay, I’m not going to let you get me all stirred up, because you’re…well, you know what you are,” he said. “We try our best to keep from getting pregnant, but we’ve had a surprise or two and we take what we get. Not because we wanted another one right now, but because it’s on the way, it’s ours and we can.”

“Well, don’t get all hooked on the idea. This would be an IUD pregnancy and there’s no telling…”

“You take the home-test thing?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Ah. You already threw up.”

She nodded pathetically. “You know, it might not make it…”

He leaned over her more closely, slipping his big hands under her short nightie. “Jules, this is you and me—the baby factory. It’ll make it. And we might not have a boat, but we’ve been so goddamn lucky. Look at those kids, huh? They’re smart! Healthy. And damn good-looking.”

“Clint’s hyperactive. I can’t keep up with him. I’m at the end of my rope…”

“He’ll settle down. Jeffy was kind of like that. Listen, I could get a few more hours a week…”

“You’re never here as it is.”

“I’ll work as hard as I have to, baby. I’ll do whatever it takes. And I swear, I’ll get that vasectomy before this one even gets here.”

“If one swims through that, I’ll kill you in your sleep!”

He laughed and put his hands over her breasts. He jostled her a little, rubbing against her thigh. “One good thing—you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant for a while.”

“That’s not exactly an incentive,” she told him, sniffing back a tear.

“You can eat like a pig. Everything you want,” he said.

“I get postpartum depression,” she said.

“No, you don’t. You get early pregnancy depression, but when you have a new baby in your arms, you’re alive like no other time. Just how late is this period?”

“A couple of weeks. But you know me…”

“So far you’ve been late exactly three times. But why didn’t you do the test right away?”

“It costs seven dollars! And besides, I don’t want to know for sure,” she said softly.

“After dinner with your folks,” he said dreamily. “I loved that—that was wonderful. I wish that would happen more often.”

“I wish you’d turn me off, not on.”

He grinned. “Well, that explains why you’ve been such a bear. Jesus, there was no making you happy. Except, what’s up with the wine? You’ve had wine.”

She shook her head. “Apple juice in a wineglass with Cassie, that’s all,” she said. Then she started to cry and he held her close. “Billy…” she cried. “Billy, I don’t want this to happen…not now. If we were on our feet…”

“Yeah, it’s okay, baby. You’re just feeling the pressure—I understand that. But we’ll be all right. In the end, things always work out for us. Listen to me—I want you to listen to me now. We have something special. We’ve had it since we were kids, and it’s never been about money. We’re not going to be broke forever, honey. But we’re going to have something special forever. I love you, Jules. Since I was just a boy, I’ve always loved you—only you.”

“This is the talk you give me when I’m upset about being pregnant…”

“Which is just about every time you’re pregnant,” he laughed. “I’m not a real religious guy, but these kids—they have to be meant to be. They just keep sneaking up on us. And they come out perfect.”

“You’re a Mormon, aren’t you? All along, keeping it from me…”

He covered her mouth in a kiss. “I must be,” he said. “Makes me so happy, watching you round out, get big and moody. Please, Jules. Don’t be unhappy right now, because it’s going to work out. Somehow, it always works out.”

“Oh, Billy,” she said, putting her hand against his cheek. “I just don’t know if I can do it again…”

“You’ll start to feel better pretty soon. It’s just the first couple of months that are hard on you, then you feel good. And you stop being so mean.”

She sniffed. “I think I’ve been a little cranky lately.”

He laughed. “Well, no shit, honey,” he said. “Now love on me. It doesn’t cost anything…”

Cassie had trouble sleeping soundly through the night for a few nights, and then it got worse before it got better. Billy told her he checked high and low, talked to a lot of people about the guy. There was a real Ken Baxter, but he was out in northwest Sacramento and he was fifty. Billy had looked as far as Folsom, a pretty long drive from the Sacramento bar where Cassie and Ken had met, and he hadn’t turned up another one. It gave Cassie the cold willies to think he had lied about everything; he made up a name, profession, tricked her into trusting him, all for the purpose of overpowering her.

“The way I see it,” Billy said, “the guy played off you and what you said and insinuated himself into your comfort zone. Have a couple of glasses of wine, tell him you’re a nurse and several of your friends are firefighters and paramedics, and bingo—he’s practically family. If he’d met an aerobics teacher, he’d have made himself the owner of a fitness center.”

“Scary,” she said. “I wonder how much success he’s had with that modus operandi.”

That’s when she called the police and asked to speak to a detective, preferably a woman who handled rapes.

“Have you been raped, ma’am?”

“No, but I had a close call, and one of the detectives might be interested in what information I have…”

“You can come in and make a report.”

“Can I just talk to someone?” she asked impatiently. Then she was connected to voice mail; the voice was male, and she left her name, cell phone number and said the very same thing—setup, close call, barely escaped, she had information. She didn’t get a call back. After a few days, she gave up on that. She hadn’t found the police real receptive; she wasn’t about to beg. She had absolutely no charge to file.

“Here’s how I see it,” Billy said. “They’re busy, you’re okay and, under the circumstances, that guy isn’t going to show his face around that bar or that part of town again. Since he doesn’t know whether you actually talked to the police, gave a description of him and the car and all that, and since he left you with some big bruiser who broke a car window with his fist, he’s probably going to make himself real invisible.” Then he shook his head and laughed. “With his fist. Holy shit, huh? I bet he’s just glad the guy didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

Her phone didn’t ring, no one bothered her—the police apparently weren’t interested in close calls—and she began to relax about that. I dodged a bullet, she said to herself. And I’m not going to be in that position again. Then she did settle down; she and Steve curled up and slept soundly.

All Cassie was left with was a need to get beyond it. Not just the assault, but the position she’d allowed herself to drift into, needing a partner so bad her judgment was impaired. She needed to clear her head. So she wasn’t going to date for a while. If anyone offered a fix-up, she’d politely decline. If she ever went to another happy hour—and definitely not at that bar—she’d buy her own drinks or leave. For the rest of the summer, at least, she’d enjoy walking Steve along the river, reading and watching movies and tending her little backyard vegetable garden, which produced tomatoes and lettuce, carrots and enough zucchini to sink a battleship. Julie lived for Cassie’s summer produce. She would work—she loved her work; it defined her. And she would think. Something was wrong with the way she’d been handling this part of her life.

So maybe her first choice was to be a wife and mother, but her second option was definitely all right—a career that felt completely right, a decent income, friends she trusted who felt like family even if they really weren’t and pastimes that relaxed and soothed her. She thought about getting a puppy in a year or two—a backup Weimaraner. She’d probably never get a dog as great as Steve, but she wasn’t going to have Steve forever. She shouldn’t be without a pet; there was no point in setting herself up to be so alone she could hear her nerves fray.

For now, she would swear off men. At least, she would give up on the notion that there was a special one out there, just waiting for her to find him.

After a couple of weeks, once she felt a little more secure, she went to that motorcycle dealership on her way home from work one day. It turned out to be a Harley Davidson franchise. There were shiny new bikes parked out front on either side of a sidewalk, twinkling in the summer sun. She walked into the pristine showroom. Behind the counter was a guy in a blue shirt, camel-colored sports coat and pink tie, looking for all the world like a used-car salesman. He grinned that carsalesman grin and said, “How can I help you?”

She stared down at the business card in her hand and said, “Um, I wonder if a man named Walt Arneson might be here?”

“Walt? Let me ask in the back.” And he turned and left her to browse among the bikes. She found herself running a hand along the chrome of a particularly big one.

“Classic Road King—touring bike,” a deep voice said behind her.

She turned and there he was. A great big guy in a T-shirt and denim vest, jeans and boots with chains around the heels. And, of course, all that hair and the naked lady on his arm. And a cast on his right hand, almost up to his elbow.

“Oh, God,” she said, her eyes fixed on the hand.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Just a little crack.” Then he grinned. “It was worth it.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Seriously. Besides, it comes off in a couple of weeks—it’s really nothing.”

“Oh, brother,” she said, shaking her head. “So. How are you? Besides, um…”

“Good. But how about you?”

“Fine. I’m doing fine. I thought I’d drop by to say thank-you. It occurred to me that after all that went on, I didn’t even thank you.” She laughed. “I thought about buying you a fruit basket or something, but what do you buy a biker?”

“I don’t have the first idea,” he said. “How about a cup of coffee? You didn’t finish the last one.”

“You have time for that?”

“I could sneak away. There’s a bookstore across the parking lot. They have a coffee shop. Good coffee.”

“You like your coffee.”

“I do.”

“Only if you let me buy,” she said.

“Why not?” He shrugged. “Been a while since a lady bought me a cup of coffee.”

He spoke to the salesman for just a second, then walked with her across a wide parking lot to a big bookstore. He let her buy them two coffees while he waited, then instead of sitting down at a small table in the coffee shop, he led her into the store. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. Tucked away in a corner were a couple of plush leather chairs with a small table separating them—a reading or study corner.

“Nice,” she said.

He cut right to the chase. “Everything going all right with you now?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yeah, I’m getting by. I’ll admit, I was a little tense for a while, but I’m better now. Very grateful you stepped in. I’m very lucky nothing worse happened.”

“I take that to mean you haven’t heard from him or seen him?”

She shook her head. “Thank God. I guess you were right—he’s going to pretend nothing happened. Everything he told me was just a line, a lie.”

Walt frowned. “Somehow that wouldn’t really surprise me. You know that for sure?”

“Yeah. My friend, the paramedic, checked to see if he was with the fire department and he didn’t turn up.”

“You really ought to tell the police,” Walt said, sitting forward in his chair.

“Well, funny you should say that. I called. I left a message on a detective’s voice mail saying it was a close call, I was rescued in time, but I was clearly set up and they might want to know about the situation, the guy. They never called back.”

Walt just frowned.

“At this point, I just want to forget about it. I guess it’s going to have to be someone else who goes up against him. Or maybe he learned his lesson.” She grinned. “You might’ve put the fear of God in him.”

“I hope so. The dirtbag.”

“I was putty in his hands—I probably fed him all the information he needed to make up his lines, make his move.”

“You mind if I ask, how’d you do that?” Walt said.

“Well, I told him I was a nurse,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Emergency room. We do a lot of business with police and paramedics. I don’t remember exactly, but I might’ve told him that before he said he was a paramedic.”

“Ah, so that’s how that went down,” he said. “Makes perfect sense. So, you’re an emergency roomnurse? That sounds exciting. What made you decide to be a nurse?”

“At first, nursing seemed practical. I had to make a living. I wasn’t very far into it when I discovered I really loved E.R. nursing. I found out I like to be where the action is. I’m not very patient.” She sipped her coffee. “What makes a person decide to be a biker?”

He grinned at her and she noticed that in the midst of that scruffy face was a very warm, inviting smile. “In my case, a scooter,” he said. “I was pretty little. Then a bigger bike, and bigger…”

“You look like a pretty hard-core biker…” She stopped herself and bit her lower lip.

“I do, huh?” he said patiently. “Well, I am, I guess. I’m not a Hells Angel or anything like that.”

“Do you belong to a—”

“A bike club?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “Haven’t had time for anything like that in a while. I might go on a group ride now and then, but mostly I’m on my own. I kind of like just taking off—that’s the beauty of the bike. When I was a lot younger, I took eighteen months to tour the U.S., with just a bedroll and backpack. I met a lot of riders out on the road. Sometimes we’d hook up and ride together, camp together, for a week or so, then I’d move on. I learned a lot about the machine that way. About the people who are drawn to the machine.”

“Eighteen months?” she asked, astonished.

“Yep. It was awesome. There’s a lot to check out in this country. You can see a lot more of it from a bike. You like to read?”

“Uh-huh. Girl stuff.”

“Well, there’s this book—not girl stuff, but it’s good—Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. It tries to explain the feelings bikers have toward their bikes, their freedom, the power of the open road, the whole experience.”

She laughed at him. “I know golfers who think it’s a spiritual experience to get the ball in the hole, but it’s still just a little white ball you hit around with a club.”

“Ever been on a bike?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“I hate them. The worst casualties in the E.R. are bikers.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Anyone on a bike who isn’t fully conscious, totally safe and has an accident, I don’t sympathize with as much as I should. But bikers who get hurt because they’re more vulnerable than the vehicle—that’s a calculated risk. We understand that. Being on a bike is so great, that’s why people take that risk. I mean, there’s no metal around us, no air bags. It’s not a tank. You have to be sharp, you have to be good. You should have a good machine.” He smiled at her. “If you’re riding, you better have a good driver.” He sipped his coffee. “Ever been on a bike?” he asked again.

She shook her head, her mouth open a little.

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll get you on one someday.”

“I…ah…doubt it.”

“Never say never.”

It was pretty unusual for Walt to take a coffee break that lasted an hour and a half. It was unheard of for him to take that kind of time away from the store with a pretty woman. They’d had such a nice time, talking about his rides, her nursing. Walt didn’t have hobbies outside of bikes and rides—his hours were long and he enjoyed his work so much he never considered cutting back—but they discovered they both liked to read. Walt was drawn to the guy stuff; she went for the girl stuff. Before leaving the bookstore, they did a little browsing—first in his section, then hers. They left with a couple of books apiece—Walt bought her a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. They both admitted they’d had a nice time when they said goodbye. He told her any time she’d like to get together for a coffee or whatever, she should give him a call at the store. He’d love to hear from her again. She didn’t offer her phone number and, knowing what she’d been through, he didn’t dare ask.

After she left, he called his brother Kevin, the youngest in the family. The cop. “You working this afternoon, bud?” he asked.

“Yep. Going in around two. Why?”

“Okay, here’s the thing. I had a little incident that I never mentioned…”

“Aw, Christ, you got cops after you for something?”

“No! Could you listen for once? Here’s what happened. I was leaving this bar a couple of weeks ago and there was a woman in trouble at the far end of the parking lot. She was yelling for help from the inside of a car that was rocking off the shocks. I could make out two people in the front passenger seat and she was putting up a fight, so I checked it out. I knocked on the window and the guy slid it down an inch and told me to go away, but I could see he had the seat reclined and his hand over her mouth. So I broke the window and got her out.”

“You broke the window?” Kevin asked. “Is that how you hurt the hand?”

“Yeah…I don’t think we need to tell Mom about that, huh?”

“He coming after you for that? For breaking the window?”

“Oh, I wish. Nah, he ran for his life. The woman—nice woman, by the way—was out on her first real date with him. She’d met him for coffee, talked on the phone, and she was meeting him at the bar rather than letting him come to her house. You know, trying to be careful, I guess. She was real shook up, so I got her a cup of coffee. I gave her my business card in case she needs me to back up her story. The guy was assaulting her. He was going to rape her, Kevin.”

“You sure about that?”

“Nah, maybe he just wanted to hold her down and kiss her a little while she was screaming her brains out and kicking hard enough to rock a big old Tahoe. You’re right—he probably just wanted to talk about Greek philosophers and she was just so fucking uncooperative—”

“Okay, okay. What’s this got to do with me?”

“I saw her today. She dropped by to say thanks. She’s holding up okay. She hasn’t heard a word from him or anything. She’s getting past it real good.”

“Yeah?”

“But I think we should know who he is.”

“We? Got a puppy in your pocket, brother?”

“You and me, big shot. I got the license plate number, make and model. See, she’s an emergency room nurse and he told her he was a paramedic. It makes sense she should figure him for part of the family, you know? But a friend of hers who really is a paramedic checked and couldn’t locate him. Maybe he’s just some sick jerk who knows what lines to use to get women to feel safe.”

“Oh, I get it. You’d like to have a discussion with him about that?”

“Oh, no, that’s not what this is about. I’d like to know who he is, though. For safety reasons. And you—as a cop—might want to check and see if he has a problem in this area. Maybe you look him up and it isn’t the first time, huh? Maybe you’ll want me to officially report what I saw? Because I saw something real bad. Or maybe you’ll want to talk with the woman I helped out, see if she can corroborate that he’s just a lying slimeball who…” Walt took a breath. “I know you’re not supposed to tell me about his record. But you could check.”

“Why didn’t your girl call the police that night?”

“Well, that night, she was all shook up and just said no, forget it. But today, when we had coffee, she explained. She did call the police and left a message that she’d had a real close call and had information they might like to have, but no one called her back. See, because she tried telling the police and they ignored her, I decided it’s time to get involved, call you.”

“Probably because there’s no crime, except maybe you breaking the guy’s window…”

“We wouldn’t have wanted to wait until there was a crime,” Walt said a little hotly. Then, more calmly, he added, “She’s done a lot of rape exams for police in the emergency room and it turns out that even when the victim is all beat up and hurt real bad, it’s still hard to pin it on the guy. This situation never got there. She had a real bad feeling about what he was going to do, but he never even popped a button. I told her about you. I offered to call you at home, man. Get your opinion.”

“Doesn’t sound like there was that much to it, when you get down to it.”

“It was an assault,” Walt said. “I gotta wonder if it’s ever happened to some woman who wasn’t lucky enough to have a big, ugly guy leaving the bar just when she was screaming and rocking the car. I just gotta wonder.”

Kevin was silent a moment. “I can check that. If so, your girl might come in handy. I can’t tell you that, you know. By the book, you know.”

“But you can tell me a name. Would you get in trouble for telling me a name?”

“I could, yeah.”

“Okay, then it’ll be in the vault. No one will ever know you gave me a name. I could find this stuff out some other way, but—”

“Then why not do that, Walt? Find it out some other way?”

“Because, Kevin—if he’s attacked women before, it’s not me who should know about it. It’s the police. Right?”

Kevin sighed. “Right. Yeah.”

“But if I want to keep my eyes open for this guy, be ready in case he gives her more trouble—ready to call you, of course—a name would help. I give you this story, you give me a name. That’s all.”

“And you swear to me, you never approach this guy? Never touch him?”

“Absolutely, I swear. No approaching, no touching.”

“All right, give me the data.”

Walt smiled into the phone. “So, I’m a confidential informant. A C.I. Cool.”

Walt recited the plate, make and model.

“You get a good look at him, Walt?”

“Oh, yeah. I saw him in the bar, saw him leave with her. I can identify him. Six feet, brown and brown, chiseled chin…His hair is long enough to comb. You know what I’m saying? Not a butch military cut, and not over the collar. Styled.”

“Okay, good. I think we don’t tell the woman,” Kevin said. “I might ask you for her name and phone number later, all right?”

“I don’t have that offhand. I don’t even know her last name. I know her first name and that she’s an emergency room nurse, so you could probably find her easy. I don’t know that I’ll ever see her again,” Walt said. “But I gave her my card, my office and home numbers in case she needs me for anything, and she’s nice. You can tell in one minute she’s kind. That she only wants to help people. And this asshole was going to hurt her. That’s not something you just let go.”

Kevin laughed into the phone. “Really, who would take you for a Good Samaritan.”

“That’s the thing. People never know who they’re dealing with, do they? This woman? She’d never go out with someone who looks like me, but the guy she thought was safe as a kitten, he turned out to be the bad guy.”

The fourth member of the tight group of girlfriends, and the least often available, was Dr. Beth Halsley. Beth started in premed at USC and stayed there for medical school, becoming a women’s doctor. She had always been one of those students who didn’t have to work for grades and excelled effortlessly on tests—until med school, at least. She had a nerdy brain inside a model’s body.

She had been more beautiful than any of the other high school girls, but not as popular—people thought of her as stuck-up. She wasn’t. She always had a lot on her mind and she was easily bored. True, she was a cheerleader like Julie, Cassie and Marty, but she was also a scholar, debater, gymnast, chess champion and president of the science club. She had almost never gone out on a date; it wasn’t long before boys avoided her like the plague. She was just too intimidating. And she’d never learned those wily, flirty games.

But the girls—Cassie, Julie and Marty—though nothing like her, loved her, understood her, envied her in so many ways. Beth was the one to unequivocally make good and when she graduated from premed and medical school in L.A., they were there, cheering the loudest of all. And now that she was newly transplanted back in the Sacramento Valley in a small women’s clinic, they were bringing their privates to her for their exams and other medical needs.

Beth called Julie in the morning. “Hey, don’t faint, but I can get out of the clinic for a couple of hours today. I got in touch with Cassie and Marty and they’re free for lunch. Noon at Ernesto’s. How about you?”

“Hmm. Lotta mommy stuff going on today, but I’ll see what I can do,” Julie said.

“Well, try,” Beth said. “I miss the heck out of you. I haven’t seen you in a couple of months!”

Julie couldn’t bear the thought of missing lunch with the girls. But she couldn’t afford it. And the morning had been stressful. Right after a bout of morning sickness, Julie spent a couple of hours going over the bills, trying to decide which one to pay, which one to let slide. She’d barely recovered from her early-morning nausea when the dog, Tess, threw up right on her shoes. In her shoes. Armed with paper towels she usually tried to ration, she began mopping. As she was on her hands and knees scooping and wiping, Tess licked her face, knocking her back on her butt, disgusted, with an “Ewwww.” She had to hose out her shoes on the back patio, which made her cry. If she’d had two nickels to rub together, she would have thrown the damn shoes in the trash.

When she had the kids all loaded in the car to take Jeffy to a Parks and Rec summer program, the engine wouldn’t start. It wouldn’t even turn over. She got her mom to drive over, give her a jump and, thank God, that did it. On to Jeffy’s program to drop him off, then to the auto supply to buy a new battery. She had to try three credit cards for one to be approved. It was looking like both those bills she was sitting on would have to slide. Then she dropped Clint and Stephie off at their grandma’s for a couple of hours so Julie could join her friends for lunch. She had already decided she would make an excuse, say she had already eaten, but wanted to meet them for at least a glass of iced tea. When she got back to the car, reaching into her purse for her keys, she noticed that her mom had tucked a twenty into her purse.

And she cried. Again.

“It’s just pregnancy,” she muttered to herself, wiping at her eyes. But it was also the anxiety of having no money, worrying about the shame of having the electricity shut off, having her mom always slip a twenty into her purse because she was so pitifully broke.

Julie had just one older brother—Brad. Brad went to college, met a girl and got engaged, married fourteen months later after he was settled in a nice, cushy CPA job. Then and only then he went to work on an MBA to make his job even cushier. After that he and his wife decided to start their family and, like many of their friends, they seemed to have a choice about that. When they used birth control they didn’t have children and they never had a slip; when they went off birth control, they reproduced. At thirty-two, Brad and his wife, Lisa, had a three-year-old boy, a one-year-old girl and a vasectomy.

Such was not the case with Julie and Billy. She’d been a few months pregnant already when they married at barely nineteen. Billy worked part-time and went to school part-time, earning his degree at twenty-four, when Jeffy was four years old. If they’d had it their way, Jeffy would be at least ten before they had another baby; they were still so young, completely strapped with school loans, credit-card bills and low-paying jobs. They were compulsive about protection, except one night when they didn’t use a condom and spermicide because they were so worked up, in a fever, wild. One time, just one time, and it hadn’t even been during a vulnerable time of the month. Hello, Clint! Clint arrived when Jeffy was barely in kindergarten, the first year Billy was with the fire department. The next year, Stephie—the result of a diaphragm that Beth said probably wasn’t a good fit.

Billy knew the value of an education and had pursued it while waiting for an opening in the fire department. He’d wanted to be a fireman since he was six; it was a childhood dream. It was also a good job with good benefits and a pension, but when you have three kids, lots of bills, a stay-at-home wife, the early years can be tight. If he had any real fascination with any other field, there were probably endless opportunities for a man with a degree, but in his job he had adventure and saved lives, and that meant more to him than anything.

Although Julie’s parents were both generous and patient, Julie felt she’d let them down by marrying so young, having three children before she was thirty. She could sense they were frustrated with Julie and Billy’s chronic trouble of keeping up with expenses. It was taking them a damn long time to get on their feet. Her parents slipped her money they didn’t have to give Brad, picked up the tab for things like Jeffy’s soccer or Parks and Rec programs, and Julie never told Billy about any of it. Any fancy toys the kids had, like the laptop or video games, came from Grandma and Grandpa or maybe Uncle Brad. The thought of telling her mother she was pregnant again chilled her. She would say, What about that vasectomy you’d planned on? What about it, indeed? Billy was supposed to take care of that and had simply put it off, a little nervous about having his testicles sliced into, as if oblivious to the complications of piling child upon child on a modest income. She had the IUD; they should have been safe for the time it took him to come to terms with it. But she was pregnant again, anyway.

Julie complained to Cassie about money, about stretching things so far month after month, but she could tell Cassie didn’t take it all that seriously. After all, they somehow always managed and Cassie would die to have her problems. To Cassie, who was getting by but alone, a tight budget seemed like less of a problem than not having a partner, a family. And Julie just couldn’t tell Marty, who seemed to have it made.

But Julie went to lunch even though she could’ve put that twenty in the gas tank, because sometimes she just needed to be with her friends. She was the last one to arrive and the girls greeted her as though they hadn’t seen her in a year, though she’d seen Cassie and Marty recently.

“Wine?” Cassie asked as Julie sat down.

“No, thanks,” Julie said. “Carpool.” Of course, there was no carpool. “Beth? You’re not having a glass of wine?”

“On call,” she said, smiling. “Again. But I’m covered for lunch.”

“Is that how you keep your figure? Being on call?” Julie asked.

And then all four of them ordered salads, even Julie.

“I weigh the same, but they’re working me to death,” Beth said. “I’m delivering all the middle-of-the-night babies. The joys of being the new guy.”

“Speaking of new guys…any in your life?” Cassie asked, because this was Cassie’s main interest. And one of the only things that perplexed her was how a woman as accomplished and beautiful as Beth remained completely unattached. True, Beth was hard to please, a perfectionist. But still, with that in mind, she figured Beth would have landed the perfect man by now.

“You’re kidding, right?” she said, sipping her tea. “I went out with an anal, boring internist a couple of times, but I’d rather have been reading a good novel. He almost put me to sleep.”

“I guess he’s not getting an encore,” Marty said.

“Absolutely not. Honestly, I work, then I go home and sleep until the phone rings…”

“How are you liking the new clinic?” Cassie asked.

“I’m going to like it a lot better when I’m not the new guy anymore, but it’s a great little shop. Good staff. A lot of fresh-faced young pregnant girls as well as some older pregnant women—one of our docs has a real nice fertility practice.” Then to Cassie she said, “How about you? Any new guys?”

Cassie and Julie exchanged quick glances. Cassie hadn’t mentioned her incident to the others and, really, she just didn’t want to go through all that again, even in the telling. “I’ve sworn off men,” she said. “I draw only jerks and assholes.”

Beth just laughed. “The right one will probably turn up when you least expect him.”

“So everyone says. I don’t think I care that much about the man, but it’s going to be damn hard to have children without one.”

“You don’t need a man to have a baby, Cassie,” Beth said.

“Gee, I know I didn’t get the best grades in school, but according to my biology teacher, that’s one of the things you absolutely do need,” Julie said.

“What you need is sperm,” Beth said. And with a dismissive wave of her hand, she said, “Easy.”

“Holy smokes,” Julie said.

“Good idea,” Marty said. “Marriage is way overrated.”

Julie’s gaze shot from Beth to Marty, but Cassie was focused on Beth. “Would you do something like that? Have a baby without a husband?”

“I’m not in the market for a baby,” Beth said. “I have a feeling I’ll be better at delivering them than having them. But really, half the female doctors I know are married to doctors. They’re both under pressure, working long hours, and they do fine. It kind of looks like a good nanny is more valuable than a good husband.”

“What do you mean, marriage is way overrated?” Julie asked Marty. And then she reached for Cassie’s glass of wine, but before taking a gulp, she slid it back.

With precision timing, the salads arrived, along with a basket of warm, fresh bread.

Julie wasn’t done with Marty. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I thought you and Joe invented marriage! You’re not having trouble or anything, are you?”

Marty tore off a piece of bread and with a shrug said, “We’re fine. I guess. But I ask myself—is this it? Forever? This guy who lives like a slob and doesn’t want to do any of the things he liked to do before we were married? He used to take me out, you know. Movies, dinner, nice things. Now it’s sports or boating or camping. On his days off, he doesn’t bother to shower till he has to go back to work. I come home from work and it looks like some homeless guy broke into the house and tore the place up. And once he slipped the ring on, that was it for romance. Now foreplay at our house is, ‘You awake?’”

Julie actually sprayed a mouthful of iced tea as she burst into laughter. When she came under control, fanning her face, grinning, she said, “I can answer that question. Is this all there is? Yeah—this is it, girlfriend. And I signed up.”

“See, there’s a reason some women decide to just have the family on their own,” Beth said, lifting a forkful of lettuce to her mouth.

But Julie was more fascinated by Marty than Beth. “Marty, I’ve never heard you talk like this. I thought you were crazy about Joe.”

“Sure,” she said, chewing a mouthful of salad. “I am. Joe’s a great guy, a good father, a dependable man in his own way—and God knows the women he’s carried down the ladder out of a burning building are in love with him forever—but around home he’s a bum. He’s got sweats and gym shorts he hides so they won’t get washed until they’re so ripe they could walk to the laundry room. His whole closet stinks.” They have two closets, Julie thought jealously. “He spit shines the boat, but he can’t shave the bristle off his chin before he rolls over onto me. The yard has to be perfect, which by the way is sweaty, smelly work, and that vagrant-esque odor sticks to him—at the dinner table and when we go to bed at night. And believe me, he is limited to the yard, garage and the sporting equipment in his ability to clean things.”

“I’ve never seen Joe looking like a vagrant,” Cassie said.

“You would if you were married to him. He cleans up for company,” Marty said. “Really, what he gives F.D. is perfect. If we’re having people over, he’s all spiffed up. But when it comes to his wife, his marriage—he takes it totally for granted. He doesn’t even try.”

“Marty, you should tell him,” Julie said.

“You think I haven’t told him? I’ve begged him!” Marty insisted. “He doesn’t care. He thinks it’s funny. He tells me to relax. Don’t you get sick of Billy sometimes?” Marty asked Julie.

“Uh, yeah. But not for the same reasons…”

“Well, what reasons?”

He’s too fertile. I’m too fertile with him. He’s too romantic, like we’re still in high school, doing it in the backseat of a car, like two kids who can’t help it, can’t stop it from happening. He’s disgustingly optimistic, like the world we live in doesn’t even exist—the world of too many bills, too little pay. She’d give anything if Billy worked only for F.D. and actually had days off to help around the house, help with the kids. But she said, “Well, some of the same reasons, but…”

“But?”

She shrugged. “That stuff doesn’t get to me so much.” Because I have real problems, she thought, feeling angry and envious. A house that’s too small with a mortgage too big, cars that are too old, out of control bills…“Okay, some of that stuff gets to me. But, Marty, it looks like you and Joe have a pretty good life.”

“Because we have a boat?” she asked. “Jules, I didn’t want a boat. And I’d rather die than spend another week in that RV! I’d give anything for a vacation somewhere cool, just me and Joe. Like Hawaii or the Bahamas or something. I’d like to watch a movie that doesn’t involve fifty-seven people getting shot or out-of-control farts. I’d like to go out to dinner. Or to Las Vegas—to spend the night in a classy hotel, have a day at the spa, then lie by the pool—but Joe says, ‘Why go to Vegas to get a tan when we have a boat?’ Could it be because it’s up to me to shop, prepare food, fix everyone’s meals and then clean up everything when we bring the boat in? That’s not fun—it’s just more work!” Marty lifted some of her salad to her mouth, chewed and said, “You’re lucky. Billy still treats you as if he’d like you to marry him.”

Hmm, Julie thought. Why don’t I feel so lucky? Could it be because you can’t live on just love?