Angel's Peak (26 page)

Viv had turned out to be more than just a port in a storm—she was becoming a good friend. Maureen got a kick out of her, though they didn’t have much in common. While Maureen had kept busy with things like golf and bridge and her church, Vivian had been working full-time, helping out with her daughter and granddaughter and seeing a man. Maureen was so much more old-fashioned than Vivian—she’d never have done such a great job of helping and supporting a daughter who had chosen to be a single mother. But then Maureen was about ten years older and Vivian had herself been a single mother, widowed as a young woman.

When Maureen got back to Viv’s house, she found her roommate was just tucking Rosie into bed.

“Well, hello,” Viv said. “I thought you’d be out a bit later. I hope you had a good time.”

“Of course. I didn’t know we were babysitting tonight,” Maureen said. “I’d have stayed home.”

“It was last minute. Sean and Franci decided on a nice dinner out and I didn’t have plans, so I said I’d keep Rosie here. If they decide to let her stay the night, she can snuggle in with me. But I’m pretty sure they’ll come for her.”

“Gramma Mo-ween, you do me a story?” Rosie asked.

“You’ve had a story already,” Vivian reminded her granddaughter.

“But another won’t hurt,” Maureen said. “Just a short one, then get some sleep. Okay?”

Fifteen minutes later Maureen was back in Viv’s tidy, comfy little living room. Vivian had a fire going and the TV off; she was curled into the corner of the sofa that had her imprint in it, her book in her lap. “It’s getting so cold,” Maureen said. “The fire is nice.”

“How are Shelby and Luke?”

Maureen smiled. “They still haven’t unleashed their news. To me, anyway.”

“Sometimes the mothers are the last to know. Sometimes they tell us things we wish they’d keep to themselves.”

“Hm,” Maureen agreed. She picked up a magazine from Viv’s coffee table.

“Turn on the TV if you like,” Vivian said. “It won’t bother my reading.”

“I’m fine. The quiet is nice,” she said.

Another ten minutes passed when Vivian put aside her book and said, “What’s wrong, Maureen?”

“Huh? Nothing! Nothing at all. Why would you think that?”

“You’re not doing your needlepoint. You’re not looking at that magazine, which is a medicine monthly and probably of no interest to you, anyway. And you’re no magpie, but you’re usually lots more talkative than this.” She smiled. “Even when I’m reading.”

Maureen tossed the magazine back on the coffee table. She smiled and asked, “Have I been rude?”

“There’s not an unappreciative bone in your body, rude or otherwise. So, what’s wrong? Are you upset with your boys?”

Maureen sighed. “Not any more than usual. I did do a rude thing tonight, Viv. I told a lie and I think I got away with it, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I just didn’t like the spot I thought I was in.”

Vivian sat forward a little bit, crossing her legs under her on the sofa. “I can’t imagine—I thought a lie would turn to acid in your mouth!” She grinned almost happily. “Do tell!”

“It’s pretty silly. A gentleman I met while I was here for Luke’s wedding happens to be visiting again and we ran into each other at that little Virgin River bar. I pretended I couldn’t remember meeting him. I don’t know why I did that. Probably because he was coming on a little strong.”

“Strong?” Viv asked. “Did he make a pass?”

“God, no, I’d have had a coronary! He hadn’t even started flirting, thank goodness. But I could tell he was happy to run into me again and I thought it best to just discourage him right away rather than have to reject him later. Turned out he wasn’t nearly discouraged enough and asked me out to dinner.”

Viv was silent for a long moment. Her brows drew together and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And the problem is?” she finally asked.

“I don’t want to go out to dinner with him.”

“Ah,” she said, sitting back on the couch. “He’s not your type?”

“Vivian,” Maureen said with surprise. “I don’t have a type!”

Again Viv was silent. “I don’t think I understand, Maureen. We all have pretty basic likes and dislikes. Are you put off by his looks?”

“That’s not it—he’s actually handsome. Probably a little older than me, but still handsome.”

“Bad manners?” Viv asked. “Bad breath? Slippery dentures? What puts you off?”

“Nothing, he’s nice. Attractive and charming. But I don’t go out to dinner with men.”

“Why ever not?” she asked, completely baffled.

“I’m a single woman. A widow of a certain age. An older woman!”

“Maureen, you must draw the interest of men regularly. You’re a very attractive woman!”

“No, never,” she said. “Not at all. But then, I’m never in places where something like that might happen. I pretty much keep to church things or pastimes with women who live in the condos. Golf, tennis, bridge, the occasional potluck. If I do run into men, they’re with their wives.”

“But don’t you have friends your age who date? Friends who are divorced or widowed who have men friends or boyfriends?”

Maureen made a sound of annoyance. “Yes, and some of them act downright ridiculous! I’ve seen some of these women I play golf and tennis with, chasing men as if they’re…they’re…”

“Horny?” Viv asked with a smile.

Maureen was shocked. “Really, that’s an awful word!”

“Oh, brother,” Viv said with a laugh. “Be right back.”

Maureen was left to wonder what Vivian was doing in the kitchen until she returned and handed Maureen a glass of wine. “I’ve already had a glass of wine. Earlier. Before dinner.”

“You have some special medical condition I should know about?” Vivian asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, it’s just that I—”

“Two glasses of wine in one day won’t kill you. In fact, if you decide on a third, I won’t tell a soul. You and I need to have a talk.”

“A talk?” Maureen asked.

Vivian went back to the couch with her own glass and nodded. “Since your mother is no longer available, God rest her soul. You know, when you told me your sons considered you a prude, that you considered yourself a prude, I didn’t take you that seriously. I should have. Maureen,” she said gravely. “It’s one thing to be strait-laced, but another entirely to stop living!”

“You can’t say that of me, that I’ve stopped living! I’m very active! True, I’m a little…Well, my son Aiden calls me ‘starched.’ But I like to think of it as moral fiber.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe we should put it all out on the table here, girlfriend. Let’s talk about the difference between moral fiber and uptight fears. Because—”

Maureen got a little red in the face. “Is it an uptight fear to wish your son would marry the woman before he has a child with her?”

“Oh, I wish that, too. Or rather, I wish my daughter had told Sean about Rosie before bolting like she did. I do understand—she was terrified and her heart was breaking. Still…But that’s beside the point. What we wish other people would do has nothing to do with us. That’s not moral fiber, that’s being judgmental and unforgiving.”

“I’ve never been judgmental or unforgiving a day in my life,” Maureen protested.

“Know what? I absolutely believe you. You couldn’t embrace my daughter and granddaughter if you were. So, it must be that what you call moral fiber for yourself is closer to heavy starch or moral constipation! Otherwise you’d have dinner with that nice, handsome, charming man and see if you could become friends. And leave it open to the possibility you could become better friends. And even better friends.”

Maureen shook her head dismally. “You and I come from such completely different backgrounds, Viv. I was planning to be a nun!”

Viv’s eyes widened in shock, but very briefly. “Well, you’d have been some kick-ass nun, that’s for sure. I’ve seen you with your boys—they don’t even sass. But something obviously changed your mind about the convent…”

“Patrick Riordan, Sr., my husband. He hounded me until I gave in and dated him, then married him. And he’s been the only man in my life. The only one. I can’t imagine another man…”

“You must have loved him very much.”

“Well, of course I did, but that’s got nothing to do with it. I’m just far too mature to be thinking about a relationship with a man. Those days are gone. It was hard enough for me when I was young and my body was—” She stopped, unable to finish.

“What? Maureen, you’re beautiful! Your figure is amazing! You play sports and your mind is quick and you seem so confident.”

Maureen snorted. “Of course I’m confident. With my clothes on!” She took a drink of her wine. “Patrick was and will be the only husband of my lifetime.”

Vivian laughed softly, respectfully. “Maureen, I wouldn’t even suggest you should marry again. My interfering does have some limits.” She scooted forward on the sofa, closer to her friend. “I guess your dating girlfriends aren’t keeping you in the loop, giving you the inside skinny—”

“They know I don’t want to hear about their love lives,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “I’m from the old school, Vivian. The one where we don’t talk about personal things.”

“We’re going to do that now, Maureen,” she said. “I want to tell you some things about grown-up love. It’s easier, Maureen. And better. There’s more time, more tenderness, more patience. Our bodies aren’t what they were and things don’t always perform on schedule like they did when we were mere kids in our twenties. Sometimes a little help is called for—some-thing to help with the erection, or maybe with the lubrication—but it’s all part of intimacy that can be wonderfully fulfilling. Maureen, no one’s body is what it was forty years ago—but I’m here to tell you, it’s probably in perfect working order.”

Maureen seemed to think about this for a moment, and it did bring a flush to her cheeks. “You must have a very nice gentleman friend,” was all she said.

“Carl is a lovely man and I’ll save you the trouble of asking, because you won’t be able to work up the courage—we’re intimate. He’s actually a bit younger than I am—I’m fifty-five and he’s fifty. Fifty-year-old men without medical problems are usually still quite virile. For we ladies, the symptoms of menopause hound our sex lives—we get so dry. But that’s completely normal and easily remedied. Carl and I don’t manage a lot of alone time with our work and family obligations, but the nice thing about being this age…there’s no pressure. Simple unhurried affection is so rewarding. And I wonder, do you know what the hottest erogenous area of a man’s body is?”

Maureen fanned her face with her hand. “I imagine it’s his, you know, penis…”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head. “Just like with women—it’s the mind. When people like each other, Maureen, the rest follows as naturally for a woman in her fifties and sixties as for a woman in her twenties.”

“You’re lucky with Carl.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Vivian said. “But, Maureen, I wasn’t in the market for a man—I had my hands full with Franci and Rosie. Besides, I was working for him during his wife’s final days, God bless her. I was supporting him through his grief along with the rest of the office. It surprised me completely when he asked me out on a date a year or so after his wife died.”

“But you knew him—you must have been comfortable with him.”

“When a good man comes along, you owe it to yourself to at least have a look.”

But Maureen just shook her head. “I have to admit, only to you, this is the only area of life in which I feel completely vulnerable. Thankfully it hardly ever happens. But I wouldn’t know where to begin…”

“Then let me tell you,” Vivian said. “When you go out to dinner, if he has good manners, is pleasant to both you and the waitstaff, is enjoyable company, you’ve begun. That’s all it is. Friendship, companionship, affection—one day at a time. Women our age with our life experience don’t have time for nonsense—we need substance and sincerity. The minute the relationship isn’t one hundred percent positive, we can always find a good book.” She smiled and glanced at Maureen’s needlework on the accent table beside the chair. “Or sewing.”

Maureen sipped her wine and saw that it was nearly gone. “I think maybe you know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m a physician’s assistant. I see patients our age in all manner of menopausal dilemma. Some have come into a sexual rebirth and are wearing their husbands out, others miss their former libido and want help to find it again. Still others wish their husbands would just leave them alone. Because I’m a female PA, they talk to me more often than the male PAs or doctors, and I’ve made a lot of referrals to female gynecologists who can relate to these patients. I’m not speaking from just my own dating experience, which has been relatively slim over the years.” Vivian glanced at Maureen’s glass. “Let me give you just a half glass more since we’re in for the night.”

“Good idea,” Maureen said, extending the glass. “Because I have a few questions. And some of my good friends from way back call me Mo.”

“Really? You don’t look like a Mo at all. I can’t wait to hear the questions.”

“Why don’t we start with, how can a man of any age be attracted to a woman whose naked breasts hang down to her lap? Good God, that’s a reasonable question!”

“He’s probably wondering how a woman of any age can overlook that flat butt or potbelly. But do you know what men are most self-conscious about? Their hair! They get all freaked out by thinning hair!”

By the time Sean and Franci dropped by to pick up their sleeping daughter, Vivian and Maureen were sitting on the floor in front of the fire with steaming cups of hot chocolate, whipped cream piled high on top, laughing like a couple of high-school girls, looking guilty as hell.

Thirteen

Sean had been spending every night at Franci’s house and Franci was comfortable with it, having been convinced Rosie wasn’t going to be traumatized by the two of them sleeping in the same bed. In fact, Rosie seemed to like sleeping between the two of them.

While Franci and Rosie were at their respective schools, Sean usually spent some time helping Luke out at the cabins, or he ran errands, or he did chores around Franci’s little house. It was his mission to make sure her house was in complete repair before he went back to Beale right after Thanksgiving. If he ended up going remote, Luke would look after her.