Moonlight Road

“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.

Chapter Four

Aiden had a few commitments scheduled for the next couple of weeks. First of all, his sister-in-law Franci had sold the house she and Rosie had lived in while Sean was in Iraq. All their household goods would be shipped to Alabama, Sean’s next assignment. Franci and Rosie were going to take up residence in one of Luke’s cabins, where Sean would join them shortly, before they headed east. But there was a great deal to do around Franci’s house before the move—minor repairs, a garage sale, a little painting and yard work, and once the movers had departed, some serious cleaning before the new owners took possession. Aiden had signed on for all of it. He wanted to spend time with Franci and Rosie and they needed the help.

His mother and George would also be showing up sometime in the next week and he wanted to be close by when they arrived.

And of course he wanted to be available if Shelby needed him for anything; Luke didn’t like leaving her side unless Aiden was going to be nearby. And Luke was itching to figure out the situation with Art before his son was born.

Aiden’s mission for the summer was simple—be a helpful visitor; enjoy the family. His current plans didn’t leave a lot of extra time and there was still one other thing he wanted to do. He wanted to check on the woman with the head injury. Erin.

He dressed for hiking one morning, loaded his backpack and took off in his SUV. He drove toward her cabin, parked on a wide space in the road below the ridge and walked up that dirt road again. When he got to the top, he saw that her car was missing. He walked around the house, checking it out. Nothing much had changed, except it was all closed up. He checked out the garden, or the poor excuse for a garden. Dry, and no improvement. He assumed she’d gone home, but he watered the plants just in case. Maybe it was on her mind to spend the occasional weekend at the cabin.

Then, completely unplanned and for no good reason, he did a little digging in that big square plot behind the house that had proved to be too much for her. He cleared the weeds and sod, dug out the big rocks and heaved them into the woods. The he tilled the dirt until it was loose, soft and ready for planting. He drove into Fortuna and bought a few bags of topsoil, a couple bags of fertilizer, some man-size gardening tools and a hose. Then he went back, hoed in the soil and fertilizer and wet the ground.

Before he left he sat on the deck and looked out at the view while he drank some water. He didn’t sit on her nice clean chaise lounges, but on the step of the deck. He happened to glance through the French doors—neat as a pin in there. No sign of life. No books or papers strewn around, no dishes on the table or pans on the stove, no sweater draped over a chair.