“But I don’t think I want to keep going with this…this crazy desperation to get pregnant and carry a child to term…”

“That’s not the point,” Mel said, shaking her head. “Whether you keep trying or not, you need a little help getting through the loss. This was a big, hard one for you two. You’ve paid that doctor tens of thousands of dollars not covered by insurance—he must have counseling staff or at least people he can recommend. You don’t have to promise to risk more heartache to get yourself a good counselor. Get some help.”

“Maybe we’ll see our pastor…”

“See someone, Darla. Please? I just don’t want you to hurt. I never had a miscarriage—but I failed to get pregnant every time and I remember the pain and disappointment of that alone. I just can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”

Darla was quiet a moment. Then she wiped off her cheeks and said, “I think seven is enough.”

“I don’t blame you,” Mel said.

Every couple of weeks Luke had to drive over to Eureka to shop at the Costco warehouse for stock for his house and cabins. He bought large amounts of toilet paper, bar soap, paper towels, cleaning supplies and sometimes had to replace things like bath towels, washcloths, bath mats, and so on. While he was there, he shopped for some groceries for his own home; there was plenty of frozen fish in the freezer out in the shed next to the house, but they could always use chicken and red meat. Shelby kept a running list of items she was willing to keep in bulk, from ketchup to canned tuna. Now that her nursing-school program was on hiatus for the summer and she was hugely pregnant, her stop-offs at the grocery store on the way home were few. That made Luke’s trips to town more frequent.

He didn’t have to tell Art when they were going. Art started asking at least a couple days ahead of time. “We going to Costco yet, Luke?”

“Two days,” Luke would answer. Art, an adult with Down syndrome, whom Luke had taken on as a helper around the cabins, was Luke’s fairly constant shadow and had his own little cabin next to Luke and Shelby’s house.

“What time, Luke?” he asked.

“Let’s say two o’clock.”

Then: “Tomorrow we’re going to Costco, Luke.” And then: “Today we’re going to Costco, Luke.” And then: “Is it time to go to Costco, Luke?”

Going to Costco was Art’s absolute favorite chore in the entire world. He didn’t mind the hardware store but he loved Costco. Luke never made him stick close or help with the shopping and he took his sweet old time because Art wanted to look at everything, especially things he would never buy. Art loved the jewelry counter, and he was fascinated by the computers. When Luke had the satellite dish installed, he bought Art an inexpensive laptop and a couple of learning programs to help Art with his spelling and addition and subtraction. Once Art learned something, he was very capable, though it didn’t seem he was getting better at spelling or math. It was as though he’d reached his limit—but he loved the computer. Art was also extremely literal, not creative. Art did not think outside the box. If you said, “Take out the trash,” he might ask, “Out where?” Instead, you said, “Collect the trash in this bag and then tie the bag closed and put it in the Dumpster.”

It took Luke about fifteen minutes to gather up his paper products and cleaning supplies. Then he dawdled around the meat, cheese and vegetables, mentally choosing what perishables he’d select after Art had had plenty of time to enjoy his shopping trip. He bought a few more nonperishables on Shelby’s list—olive oil, crackers, rice, pasta, cereal. He grabbed some beer and whiskey. He looked through books, DVDs and music—grabbed a couple of each. Then he went looking for Art.

When he didn’t find Art by the jewelry, computer games or computers, he widened his search. He looked in the tools, cosmetics, frozen foods. It baffled him that Art wasn’t in any of his usual haunts.

Finally, he found him in a far corner of the store by the dog food, standing very close to and towering above a short, round woman with curly brown hair. They were holding hands and gazing at each other intently. What an odd-looking pair, Luke found himself thinking with a smile. Yet how strangely perfect—great big lumbering Art and this little, chunky woman. “Art?” he asked.

Art turned sharply as if startled. He was smiling and his small eyes were so large it made Luke chuckle. He’d never seen a smile that big on Art. “Luke! It’s Netta! From my group home! She was my girlfriend.”

“No kidding?” Luke put out a hand. “How do you do, Netta. Hey,” he said. “I think I met you once before. Did you work at that grocery store with Art?”

“They took her out of that store, Luke!” Art said excitedly. “They took everybody out of that store! Stan who owns the store? He got a big punishment for doing things wrong! Netta said he had to pay money and he was mad!”

“Very…mmm…mad,” Netta said quietly.

“How sad for old Stan,” Luke said with a wide smile. “I wish I could feel sorry for him. So, Netta, where are you living now?”

“In a…mmm…house,” she said. “With Ellen and Bo. In Fortuna. I help in the bakery.”

“And why are you at Costco today?” Luke asked.

“We get our…mmm…stuff at Costco. And Ellen lets me…mmm…shop.”

“Art,” Luke said, “why don’t you buy Netta a hot dog or pizza slice and a cola or something. Sit down. Catch up on the news. I’ll get the rest of my stuff very slowly. Take your time.”

Art just stared at him.

Netta took his hand. “Let’s get…mmm…hot dog, Art.”

“Go on, Art. Get a hot dog. Talk with Netta awhile.”

Art seemed a little frozen, so Luke turned his laden cart away and walked off quickly, getting out of his space.

Of course, Art had money, and he managed it very well. Luke would never reach into his pocket and give the man money, especially in front of a woman. Art got a disability check from Social Security, some state aid, and Luke paid him for his work. Art paid Luke a bit for the cabin he used as his home, but no money ever changed hands for things like groceries. Sometimes when Art had a little money left over, he wanted to buy something for Luke or Shelby, and that was all right, but Luke kept it within limits. Art was building a savings account, and when he showed Luke the growing balance, he beamed with pride.

Luke wasn’t sure about what Netta’s issues were. She didn’t have Down’s; she had a slight hesitation in her speech, not quite a stutter but more an “mmm” while looking for the right word. He thought maybe she was a little slow, but wasn’t entirely sure about how disabled. Yet she must have some disability if she’d been in a group home with Art.

But how unexpected—Art had had a girlfriend. Luke thought he might’ve mentioned someone named Netta, but surely no more than once. He hadn’t been pining or anything.

There was a fast-food area in the front of the store, on the other side of the checkout lanes, so Luke steered clear of it. He wasted a good half hour looking at cameras. What the hell—the baby was coming soon and he needed a better camera. By the time he was done, he had a video camera, a digital still camera, a large-screen laptop and a color printer to go with it. He probably should have talked to Shelby about that first, but he was still being trained as a husband. Fortunately, Shelby was very patient with him.

He went to the back of the store and quickly grabbed the meat, produce and veggies he had mentally planned to buy. Time to check out.

Once again, he didn’t see Art anywhere.

Lord, this was getting ridiculous. He’d never had this problem with Art before. Luke looked all around the fast-food area and Art was definitely not there. He’d have to look around the whole warehouse again. First, he decided, he’d put his groceries in the truck, then go back inside in search of Art.

But when he got outside, Art was standing there, staring into the massive parking lot. “Well, hey, I was wondering where you were. Did you have a nice visit with Netta?”

Art turned abruptly. He looked a little shell-shocked. “She was my girlfriend.”

“So you said,” Luke observed. “Come on, let’s put this stuff in the truck. Did you have a nice visit?”

“She left. She had to go with that person, Ellen. Where she lives now.”

“But did you have a nice visit?”

“She was my girlfriend,” Art said again. “I didn’t see her in a long time.”

“Right,” Luke said. Apparently he wasn’t going to get an answer to the question about whether they’d had a nice visit. “Help load up, will you, buddy?”

Art did as he’d been asked, but the whole while he mumbled and fidgeted. He was extremely upset, that much was obvious, and Luke quickly learned why. They had barely left the parking lot when Art said, “I have to go to Costco. Back to Costco.”

“In a couple of weeks, Art.”

“Now! I have to go now!”

“Forget something?” Luke asked.

“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.