A Summer in Sonoma (18 page)

What am I doing? she asked herself for the millionth time.

“Hey, Marty,” Ryan said, bouncing into the bar, grinning. “I wondered if you'd take a chance.”

“I shouldn't be here…”

“Then why are you here?” he asked.

Her eyes welled with tears. “I don't know. Because I'm nuts. Because I've been unhappy lately and I just—” She looked down into her glass of wine.

He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “Easy, baby. You're having a hard time
right now, that's all.” Then to the bartender he said, “Miller Draft.”

“I don't know why I called you,” she said. “I don't know why I'm here. You can't help me with this….”

“Never know,” he said. “You're pretty important to me, Marty. You have been since I was just a kid. If there's any way I can be there for you, I'd sure like the chance.”

“But I'm married! I shouldn't even be talking to you, much less meeting you for a drink!”

“Lighten up, sweetheart. It's just conversation! Now, tell me what's wrong…”

When it came down to it, she couldn't. She was unable to be as honest with Ryan as she'd been with the girls; she protected Joe in the clinches. She just couldn't sell him out. So she said they failed to communicate, they had trouble supporting each other, so much drivel. And she asked him a lot of questions about his relationships. He claimed to have had one serious girlfriend in the past three years that he thought would go the distance, but in the end it just didn't work out. That would be Jill. And no, he hadn't cheated on her—it was the other way around. She found someone else. “Just what I deserved, I guess,” he said with a short laugh. “But I've been a little reluctant to get back on the train since her. I guess I finally know how bad it feels.”

“I wish I could feel sorry for you,” Marty said.

“I don't expect sympathy,” he said. “But damn, all along, you were the one, Marty. Otherwise, why would I keep coming back, huh? Because me and you together,
that was perfect. I was the idiot who screwed it up, over and over again. I'd give anything to have another chance, knowing what I know now.”

“Now, it's too late….”

“Is it? Because you're not happy.”

“But I'm going to find a way to work this out,” she said. “He's a good man. He loves me. We have a son together.”

Ryan's arm was around her shoulders, his hand covering her hand. “Well, if it turns out it can't work out, you've got my number.”

She looked at his eyes. He seemed to be sincere, but she'd been fooled by that in the past. “I have to go. My mom's got Jason….”

He pulled some bills out of his pocket and laid them on the bar, paying for her wine and his beer. “I'll walk you out.”

“Maybe you shouldn't…”

He laughed. “You think he's got a detective on you? Relax, Marty. I'll walk you out.”

And then, at her car, he pulled her against him and covered her mouth in a consuming kiss that took her back in time, sending her reeling into a bliss so forbidden and welcome, she trembled. God, he tasted so good, smelled so good. He ran his hands up and down her ribs, getting close to her breasts but not touching. When he finally released her lips, the fear of having been seen was so far away, it never occurred to her.

“Call me, Marty,” he whispered, threading his fingers through her hair. “We can figure this out, make this work.”

“Make what work?” she asked breathlessly.

“Maybe we can get each other over the rough spot. I'm alone, you're not real happy. And we're friends. Very, very good friends….”

“You're talking about—”

“Shhh,” he said, cutting her off. “I don't want to complicate your life. I just want to be there for you. I can't stand to see you unhappy, that's all. I'll never stop loving you, you know that.” And before she could respond, he was on her lips again, parting them with his, kissing her deeply. Branding her, turning her into the kind of woman she never thought she'd be. When he let her go, she almost collapsed. “Call me when you're free.” Then he opened the door for her.

B
eth had had the lump removed in June. At least it hadn't been three, like the last time. And this time there hadn't been any spread to the lymph nodes, so there were things about this catastrophe that weren't so bad. But when the radiologist had refused to show her the MRI scan, she smelled a rat. So she kept her appointment with Dr. Paterson as scheduled in August.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Worn out, but it could be stress.”

“The radiation getting to you?”

“A little burn. All things considered, not too bad.”

He took a breath. “You're a gynecologist—you know about these things. It's not routine for women with malignant breast bumps to have a second primary occurrence. In fact, it's rare. Metastasis—spreading of the disease—we run into that, too often. This is different.
Every once in a while we see what appears to be vulnerable breast tissue. It's no indication the cancer is rampant around the rest of the body. It presents early—it repeats itself. The suspect spots on your MRI have almost disappeared with radiation, but it's my opinion they'll return. I think, Beth, you'll have a problem with this as long as you allow it to be a factor. My recommendation would be radical mastectomy. My further recommendation would be reconstruction. There's no reason a woman your age should have to live without breasts. The reconstruction can be excellent. Please, consider that along with the mastectomy.”

She thought she'd prepared herself for that. After all, she didn't want to increase her risk in any way and wasn't thinking of trying anything heroic to save one breast. What were boobs compared to life? Ridiculous even to think about! Besides, she was down to one, anyway. If the cancer had been ovarian, she'd have everything yanked as fast as possible, despite the fact she had once thought children would be in her future. Yet it stunned her for a second, left her frozen. And the most amazing vision came to mind—Mark on top of her, running his soft, surgeon's hands over her breasts when he made love to her. Two small but sensitive mounds. She remembered she would often orgasm when he was inside her, his wonderful mouth on her nipple. So long ago…

She became aware that her mouth hung open and closed it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It's very aggressive, but it could save a world of trouble down the road.”

“I understand,” she said softly. “Certainly, we'll just get it done.”

“Listen,” he said, coming around his desk and sitting on it, rather close to her. “You haven't given me any details, but I think a relationship problem with your last episode could be factoring into your uncanny acceptance of something so…”

“Radical?” she inserted for him.

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry. I only mean to help.”

“Then don't pry,” she said, standing. “I'd prefer to have the surgery in Sacramento or Davis, closer to home. If I remember, it's a tough recovery. Can you recommend a surgeon?”

“There's an excellent surgeon at your hospital,” he said. “And I have the names of some outstanding plastic surgeons all around the Bay Area, L.A., Davis…”

“One thing at a time,” she said. “How soon can you get me in?”

“I can make a phone call today. How about Roger Whitcomb in Sacramento? In a week? How's your schedule?”

“I can clear it. Remember, I work with women's doctors. They're a little soft on this malady—they'll give me whatever I need. Have your office manager call my cell with the details.” She turned to leave.

“Beth,” he said, causing her to turn back. “Really, I'm sorry. But I'd hate to take any chances. My objective is to get you past this. It doesn't have to be a lifetime problem. Your life is in here,” he said, putting a hand directly on his sternum.

“Yeah,” she said, and thought, For a guy who specializes in breast cancer, he doesn't know enough about what breasts can do. “Yeah, sure.”

 

Billy was on twenty-four-hour shift three times in a week, and went to the shop as often as he could muster the energy. Everywhere he went the bulging accordion folder went with him. He pored over months of statements from the mortgage company, credit-card companies, insurance company and utilities companies. He had his calculator out all the time, figuring. There was a year's worth of pay stubs from the fire department and the shop.

Guys would pass by the table where he was working and ask, “What's up, man?”

He replied, “Bills. Julie's been taking care of them and I'm trying to figure out her system before she has us living on the street.” He felt bad about the lie. It was a guy thing. He just had too much pride to admit the root of all their problems had come from the reality that he couldn't support his family.

The fact was, looking at the numbers, he couldn't figure out how she'd managed. He thought he better ask her about that “system” of hers, because when he looked at the due dates on the bills and the income, it seemed impossible. No wonder she was completely out of her mind—it just didn't work. If that wasn't bad enough, there were late fees all over the place—bills she just couldn't pay on time.

It was the right thing to do, getting this off her plate. But it didn't help his mood. When he took on the finances,
he took on her worry. It left him quiet and depressed. She kept asking him if everything was all right and he told her his brain was reeling with numbers. He wanted to tell her he finally understood why she wanted to smack him for being so goddamn happy all the time. The truth was, he felt the urge to break down in a bone-deep cry.

The captain of their unit, Eric Sorenson, kept passing by him at the firehouse, glancing at his paperwork, asking him how he was doing. Eric was a good guy, a real happy man with a strong, serious side. He was well respected even though he wasn't exactly like the rest of them. He was religious—Mormon fellow—maybe a little straightlaced. He didn't seem uptight and had an awesome sense of humor, though it never verged into the off-color like the rest of the crew. He rarely joined them for a beer, and if he did, he had a cola. But as leaders went, he was sharp and loyal; he really went to the wall for his men.

After a couple of weeks of keeping his polite distance, he pulled out a chair opposite Billy and said, “You got something serious going on there, bud. Any way I can help with that?”

Billy cracked a smile. “You could give me a raise.”

Eric just nodded at the stack of paperwork. It was common for the guys to bring their bills to work, use the computer to pay online. “Household expenses?” he asked.

“You're a genius,” Billy said, keeping his smile in place. “I always said that…”

“You been at it a long time now. Must not be making much sense if you're still adding and subtracting.”

“Well,” Billy said. “To tell you the truth, Captain, I just took it over from Jules. She had that miscarriage, you know. She's been all stressed out about the bills, so I took it on—and it's a wreck. I want to figure it out before I take it back to her and ask her a lot of questions about how she did things.” He took a breath. “I shouldn't have let her worry about this so long….”

“Yeah, I had almost the same thing happen,” Eric said. “I sure get that.”

“You did?” Billy asked.

“Oh, sure.” Then he grinned. “Five kids.”

“Well, I knew that, but…”

“But you thought it was only tough for you, coming on the department with a growing family in place?” He smiled. “Think you could use a hand there?” he asked, nodding at the paperwork.

“Ah, that's real nice, but…” He gathered up his papers and pulled them toward him, protectively. No way he wanted his captain to know how deep he was in, how much he owed, how desperate it was.

“But you're worried about me seeing the bills?” He laughed pleasantly. “Five kids,” he repeated. “I had three when I started at F.D. You think I don't know about this?” Then he leaned close. “You think I can't keep quiet about your personal business?”

“It's not that, it's just—”

“It's that,” Eric said. “Plus, you're afraid if I get a look at it, I'll fire you or put you on light duty till you dig out of your mess and are stress-free on the job? Gimme a break, huh? I actually know something about
this. It's a shot in the dark, but I might be able to help. I'm good with big families, big bills.” Then he sat back and put up his hands, palms toward Billy. “Hey, no pressure. I understand if you want to soldier on. I felt that way myself. I thought I'd offer….”

“You felt that way?”

“Let's see—I was behind in a half dozen mortgage payments, the lights were flickering and I was holding the car together with duct tape and bailing wire. Um, it was one car, not two,” he laughed. Then he sobered and said, “Plus, my wife was in tears half the time. That's the part that almost put me in the nuthouse.”

“What did you do?”

He chuckled. “Well, we were on our knees a lot—prayer is very big at our house. We tried to make it on faith. I figured if I was humble and earnest enough, I'd find a few grand lying on the sidewalk. Stranger things have happened, right? Then my bishop said, ‘Eric, I'm sure God will be more than happy to steer, if you'll pedal.' He told me I needed professional help, and I'd better not waste a lot of time. So I went to one of those free credit counselors, got a little advice. Then I checked in with a guy from my church who does taxes part-time, a CPA, just to see if he thought the advice was any good. I wasn't too big on trust back then.”

Almost lying across the paperwork to keep it secret, Billy asked, “What kind of advice?”

“It's pretty individual, but in my case, we had to renegotiate some loans, put together a payment schedule that fit the paycheck instead of trying to stretch the
paycheck over their schedule, and I had to start paying the family first. My greatest asset had to be protected before I could move on. Then I had to face a long-term plan that, in the beginning, looked to me like there was no end in sight. And I had to take some aggressive action—everything plastic that got near me or my wife had to be cut up.”

Billy sat back and put the end of the pen against his lips. “Too bad you couldn't come up with some new ideas, Captain. I already tried all that. There's no way I can get another debt consolidation note and I'd love to cut up the plastic, believe me, but sometimes that's all there is.”

“Oh, you just don't know how creative these credit counselors can get,” he laughed. “Come on, bring your stuff to my office.” He stood. “First, how about a wager? Ten bucks says I was in worse shape than you.”

Billy just sat there, reluctant to share this disaster with anyone. “You? Making a bet?”

“Nah. I figure it's a sure thing.” He turned and walked to his office.

Still, Billy sat. This was the only thing he'd really feared when he bundled up the bills and carried them out of the house—that someone would see. Judge him harder than he'd already judged himself. He felt a huff of laughter escape as he asked himself how that was possible. He felt as if he'd driven Jules to risk miscarriage because she was just so goddamn scared.

His palms actually sweating, he shoved everything in the folder and followed his boss. He stood in front of
his desk, the folder tucked protectively under his arm, and looked down at his captain. “You're gonna be sorry.”

“I love a challenge,” he said.

Billy pulled a yellow pad out of his file folder and presented it with no small amount of trepidation. “This should sum it up,” he said. “I got a family of five living on a net income of right around fifty-five hundred a month, working two jobs. The mortgage alone, without the second and equity line, is fifteen hundred.”

Eric put on his reading glasses and began to scan. Mortgage, second mortgage, equity line of credit, old college loans—two of them—utilities, insurance, two Visas and a MasterCard, then a long list of miscellaneous expenses ranging from Jeffy's soccer and baseball fees to doctor's co-pays. “These all the minimums?” the captain asked.

“Yup.”

“No car payments—good for you!”

“Right. And absolutely no ability to finance a car….”

“Okay, fish me out a couple of credit-card statements, one of each. Any month will do—it doesn't have to be the most recent.”

Billy sat down, the file on his lap, and produced three statements, handing them over. Billy expected the captain to gasp and grab his chest, but he just took a quick glance at each and scribbled something on the yellow pad.

“How about a mortgage statement?” he said. “And maybe that second and equity line….”

Again he complied, again the quick scribbles. Then
Eric did some fast calculating and looked up. “Well, holy smokes, we might be at a tie here,” he said with a short laugh. “Except I had you beat. At least I put food, clothing and tithing on my list. It made the bottom line look a whole lot worse.”

“Yeah, that's the problem. Looks to me like it's all eaten up before we even get to food and clothing, or gas for the cars. Tithing?” he asked.

“I give ten percent to the church. It's real important to me. I'm LDS, but you know that. I ran into more trouble with the college loans, though, because I got married the minute I got off my mission. The mission was another debt. I thought I had mine paid for, but by the end of it I'd run out of money.”

“Mission?”

“Oh, yeah, that mission is important to a young Mormon guy. And some girls go on missions, too. It was worth it. I learned more about my faith, my family and myself on that mission than I learned about Guam, which is where I went. I'll never regret it, never. Set me back though…”

“I guess that means you went to college after you were married?”

“Part-time—took me years to finish. That was worth it, too. Listen, you didn't get into this mess alone, you have to understand that.”