Second Chance Pass

This time he happened to see a vehicle departing, and he recognized it—a Ford truck, dark, tinted windows. The driver was known around these parts as an illegal grower.

This guy had been seen around here a few times in the past couple of years. The bills in his pocket were large and carried the stink of freshly cut marijuana. When Mel had barely arrived in Virgin River, he had hijacked her out to a trailer, to an illegal grow like this one, to deliver a woman in childbirth, in trouble. Not so long after, Jack’s cook Preacher’s wife, Paige, had been abducted by her abusive ex-husband, and this guy had stepped in, whopped him over the head and facilitated Paige’s rescue. But most significant, Mike had seen him just a few months ago meeting a Sheriff’s Department detective in an isolated location. It had been a sheer accident that Mike had seen them. But the two men had probably handpicked the place—Virgin River had a reputation as dope free—there weren’t any illegal growers nearby that Mike or anyone else knew about. It was a good place for a secret meeting.

Mike decided to check out the trailer. The guy had a relationship of some kind with a cop and Mike wanted to see what he had going on in there. From twenty feet away he could see that the padlock on the semi’s door was left unhitched. Sloppy, was his very first thought. He stepped slowly, carefully, listening for a click, a trip wire. One rule of thumb—growers want to protect their crop from other growers, but really do not want to hurt or kill anyone from law enforcement, not even lowly, nonofficially recognized town constables like Mike. It brings a barrage of cops down on the area, busting up everything that might have otherwise been missed or ignored.

But Mike saw nothing; no trip wires, so he slipped off the padlock and slowly opened the door. The place was almost empty. There were a few medium-size plants right inside the door, so few he could grow that number legally with a prescription and permit. But, all the equipment was there for a large grow—pots, irrigation tubing, lights, fertilizer. The guy obviously bought what a grower would need for a large operation, but there was no real crop. So, he looked like a grower, but he wasn’t growing.

Jesus, Mike thought. The guy was a narc. He was either undercover police or a confidential informant. He’d set up something to look like an illegal grow, but it was a ruse. There was only one reason to establish oneself as a grower when you weren’t—to search for other growers.

It took a long time to form even a nodding acquaintance with other growers, and even when they got friendly, they kept a safe distance unless they were doing business together, and they never showed each other their hidden grows. They spotted each other at the hardware store, the nursery, buying supplies, carrying around bags of chicken shit in the back of pickups. But they didn’t have dinner parties with each other at their grow-sites.

The other reality was that local law enforcement couldn’t keep up with the illegal crops; their resources and manpower were limited. They let a lot of cases slide when they were too small to make an impact, or to get a conviction. When a call came in about a hairdresser who was driving a Hummer and had a generator behind the house and a couple of windows blacked out, it was pretty obvious what she was doing, but the cops had bigger fish to fry—they were looking for over a thousand plants to press for a conviction or ten thousand plants to drive it into a federal crime, otherwise it was a waste of their precious time.

So—this guy, planting himself in the area, making himself known as an illegal grower…He must be looking for something. Mike slowly exited the trailer and once outside, looked around cautiously. Then he looked at the padlock. It had obviously been an oversight on the part of his buddy, the guy in the truck. If he didn’t think it would compromise his operation, he’d find him, tell him he understood what was going on and to be more careful. Instead he removed the lock and pocketed it. He’d think about all this for a while before taking any action.

Paul sat in a small Italian restaurant in Grants Pass, staring into a cup of coffee, waiting. He looked up to see Terri enter the restaurant and he frowned slightly; there was no reason not to be attracted to her. She was a beautiful, tenderhearted girl. She had a very attractive figure that would soon blossom with motherhood.

When they connected eyes, he smiled and began to rise. Yes, she was a lovely girl, but she just didn’t do to his blood pressure what Vanni did to him. The chemistry between them was nice, but it wasn’t explosive.

He held a chair out for her to sit down. “Everything all right, Paul?” she asked a bit nervously.

“Sure,” he said. “Fine. We haven’t talked since last week. I apologize for that—I meant to get in touch sooner.”

“That’s all right. What’s up?”

“I thought we should have a conversation. I think the shock and tears kept us from getting anything resolved the last time we saw each other.” He reached across the table and gave her hand a pat. “I don’t know how we could have avoided that.”

“Resolved?” she echoed.

“You haven’t really explained what you think I can do for you right now.”

“Well,” she said, “I just found out myself, so I haven’t given it much thought, either. I mean, the best-case scenario didn’t work out for me.”

He held his tongue, not willing to go there again, but he looked down uncomfortably. Even if things never worked out with Vanni, which was what he feared, he didn’t have the kind of passion for Terri that was required to take on marriage—it would rob them both. Yet, he was going to end up committing most of a lifetime to her because of the child. “How about insurance benefits? Financial obligations?”

“I have a good job, Paul. My benefits will see me through the pregnancy, though I haven’t told my boss yet. I don’t think that’s the kind of help I’m going to need.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good,” she said. “Excellent.”

A waiter came to their table, offered menus, took drink orders, disappeared again.

“Go ahead,” Paul said. “Take a look, see what you feel like for lunch.”

“I’m, ah, not real hungry right now,” she said.

“Well, you have to eat, Terri. You’re supporting more than one body. One of them’s growing.” And then he smiled kindly. “I know—I’m a little nervous, too. I think we’re going to have to try to get past the jitters if we’re going to make this work.”

“Sure,” she said, looking into her menu. She lifted it up so he couldn’t see her face and he noticed a movement behind the menu that suggested she wiped her eyes before lowering it again. “I’ll just have a salad,” she said. And then the waiter was beside them with water and iced tea.

“I’ll have lasagna,” Paul said. “And bread. And bring the lady a minestrone soup with her salad.” When the waiter had gone he said, “Don’t worry, Terri. This will get easier.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Have you told your parents yet?”

She looked down. “I told my mom. She and my dad are divorced and I haven’t had that much contact with him.” She looked up shyly. “She’d like to meet you sometime.”

“Sure,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “When we’ve had some time to sort things out a little, huh?” And she nodded. This woman was a far cry from the little pistol he’d met a year ago. She was subdued, self-conscious and submissive today. He didn’t know her well but, at the moment, it was as if he didn’t know her at all. As much as he wished this wasn’t happening, he couldn’t help but see it was harder for her than him. She’d been so good to him; he hated that he’d hurt her.

“Have you told your parents?”

He laughed a little. “No,” he said. “I think I might hold off on that a while.”

“Will they freak out?”

He chuckled again. “Oh, I think it’ll surprise them. In fact, maybe I should brush up on my CPR.”

“Ew,” she said, a hand going to her tummy.

Paul immediately reached for her other hand and held it supportively. “Terri, you don’t have to worry that they’d be a problem for you. My parents are real decent people. Even if they were thoroughly disappointed in me, they’d treat you and your child with kindness. Respect.”

“Our child,” she said softly after a moment of silence.

He was quiet, not responding to that. He might get there eventually, but he wasn’t there yet. He kept thinking of this as her baby or his baby but not their baby. “You’ve seen the doctor?”

“Just once, to confirm what I already knew. I’m not very far along, you know.”

He knew exactly how far along. Almost to the minute. “And you’re due…?”

“November. The twentieth.”

“Are you happy with the doctor?”

“She’s nice.” Terri shrugged. “She was recommended…”

To Paul’s great relief, the food arrived. He waited for Terri to take a couple of bites before he started on his; he found himself watching her to be sure she was eating. They sat in uncomfortable silence. After a few minutes, he pulled a card out of his shirt pocket, turned it over to be sure it was the right one and slid it across the table. “My home, work and cell phone numbers,” he said. “I have your home phone, but I don’t know where you work. Secretary, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Legal secretary. I’m thinking about applying for a paralegal course.”

“Hey, that’s great,” he said.

“Well, I was thinking about that, before…”

He liked that she had goals for herself, something to look forward to, since he wasn’t giving her much in that department. And she would improve her earning potential, he thought. Because she was going to be a working mother. Or…Maybe she shouldn’t have to work. His head started to spin. “Listen, it’s hard to make long-term plans when you have a short-term complications, but if that’s something you really want to do, don’t give up on the idea. Not yet. Things always seem to work out the way they’re supposed to. You’d be surprised.”

“Right now it’s a little hard to figure things out. Things like that…”