c7

"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."
"Captain, Julie scrimps on everything. It's harder to pry a nickel out of her fingers than—"
"I didn't mean the wife, Bill. They're killing you with these interest rates, for one thing." He flipped through his Rolodex until he came to a name. He wrote it down on a piece of paper along with a phone number. "When I said renegotiate loans, I didn't mean you take out another one to cover the existing ones. I meant, you have to call these lenders from the banks to the credit-card companies and get yourself fixed up with some more reasonable terms. They can make adjustments…."
"I have called a couple of them. They—"
He was shaking his head. "I know, that usually doesn't work so well for the individual debtor. They're gonna go after the maximum they can squeeze out of you. Everyone wants to be first on your pay roster." He handed him the paper. "This guy—he's a licensed and bonded credit counselor. When he calls, they listen. They know you're down to the bottom of the barrel when you meet with him. He's the last barrier between your bills and giving up. I know him. I never used him, but I go to church with him and I've sent people his way before."
"F.D. people?" Billy asked.
"More often young men from the church, struggling with the same stuff as you and me. You know, just starting out, kids coming fast, big bills…" Eric paused a second. "Listen, I've known you quite a while now. I know you don't take expensive vacations and Julie isn't carrying a Gucci purse. I know you're not irresponsible, Bill. This happens to people like us who start out broke, do the best we can…"
Billy looked down at the name Eric had written down. Without lifting his eyes, he said, "Julie—the miscarriage." Then he looked up. "When she found out that one was coming, she asked me if I was a secret Mormon. That would've been number four."
Eric laughed. "Secret Mormon. Yeah, we like our kids…."
"Five, huh?"
"I'd have five more if I could. But I'm not the one pushing them out, so my vote counts a little less than half. Billy, I'm awful sorry about the baby. My condolences," he said, folding his hands on top of the yellow pad and bills. "Your marriage and family is the most important thing. It's worth way more than the credit-card balances. More than the mortgage, for that matter. And these bills are getting in the way of that. That bank has you strapped with PMI—four hundred a month you shouldn't have to pay."
"They won't take it off. I got a ninety percent debt to equity on that house."
"They can take it off," he said. "Plus, they can fix the rate for you so it's not adjustable. Oh, they don't love doing that, they'd rather have your last dime, but if you file bankruptcy, they're not getting anything. The mortgage company won't even get a repo—your house is protected under the law. And these credit cards? Eighteen to twenty-two percent. Robbery. If you had a lower rate, these payments, small though they are, would at least chisel away at the balance. Call John. I'll give you personal time to sit down with him. You might want to take your wife with you."
"You think there's anything he can do with this mess?"
"Oh, yes. He's handled way worse, believe me."
"Actually, it's hard to believe that," he laughed, shaking his head. "So what does this guy charge?"
"I don't know. He'll go over fees with you—they'll be reasonable. And he'll collect the greater portion of it after you've had some results with the other stuff here." He handed back the yellow pad, the statements resting on top.
"He doesn't get screwed that way? Waiting for his payment?" Billy asked, taking his albatross back.
"I don't know that he does that for everyone. But if I send him a friend, he'll do everything he can to keep costs down. This will take some time, Bill. But I don't think you'll feel any more strapped while you're solving the problem than you do while you're living with it every day. And at least there will be a light at the end of the tunnel. Good luck with this."
"I have a college degree," Billy said, standing. "I should be smarter than this. I should've figured out how to manage this myself. I should know all these things you're telling me, and how to make it work."
He just laughed. "My guy—the credit counselor—he got out the Monopoly money to teach me. Based on that alone, I think you owe me ten."
"Get in line," Billy said, smiling lamely.
  Cassie wasn't the least worried about safety going on the road with Walt for the weekend. She was a little concerned about her comfort; she thought her butt might go numb for life. And she kind of dreaded admitting to spending a whole weekend with Walt. Still, she did the smart thing. When she asked Julie if she'd babysit Steve Saturday and most of Sunday, she told her exactly what her plans were.
"Are you getting serious about this guy?" Julie asked right away, lifting a brow.
"No," Cassie laughed. "Really, he's a big, friendly lug, sweet as a kitten, nice as anyone I've ever met—and it turns out I like the riding. We go amazing places, see some awesome views. You can tell by one look at him that he knows the best places to eat all over the state. We're just a couple of people with no one in the picture and a shared interest. I'll have my cell phone with me, but who knows where it'll work—we get off the roads or up in the hills. I'm leaving you his name, where he works, that stuff, just so you'll know."
"Just a shared interest, huh?"
"That's it, girlfriend. He's a huge, hairy, tattooed guy who turns a wrench on motorcycles for a job. Really, not boyfriend material. I like him, though," she said with a shrug. "It's kind of amazing how much we find to talk about, for complete opposites."
"Where are you going to stay?"
"We're going to try camping on the beach, but he promises if I get uncomfortable or anything, he'll find a motel—my own room, of course."
"You sure it's safe? Going off with him?"
"Oh, it's safe. I'm telling you, he's my bodyguard."
"Are we going to meet him?"
"Jules, he'll be out of the picture before you know it. It's kind of nice to have someone to do things with sometimes, that's all."
Just a pal to do things with, and amazing how much she looked forward to it.
They left early on Saturday and drove all the back roads into Sonoma, where they'd spent so much of their riding time over the summer. He headed for the beach around Bodega Bay, then north for a couple of hours until they stopped and had a fantastic lunch at a truck stop Walt liked to frequent. They took a detour from the coast to drive through the Armstrong Redwoods, then back to the coast, past some marinas where they could watch the fishing boats come in. At sunset they stopped at a fish shack where they could watch the sunset while they ate a delicious fresh catch. Then on to a piece of beach protected by huge boulders that Walt thought would be the perfect spot to spend the night.
Cassie brought marshmallows, Hershey bars and graham crackers—it made Walt beam with pleasure. Once they were done riding for the night, Cassie opened a bottle of merlot and had a couple of glasses; Walt had a few sips of hers after building the fire. It wasn't a fancy fire made from driftwood—he'd packed several Duraflames in the small trailer. It was a nice, high, hot fire. Then Cassie made s'mores—she put her chocolate bars carefully on the graham cracker, toasted her marshmallow and pressed them together to melt the chocolate. Walt ate a chunk of chocolate, threw a handful of marshmallows in his mouth, wolfed down some graham crackers and took a slug of Cassie's wine. "You'd make a terrible Girl Scout," she told him.
Then he put an arm around her while they sat by the fire, pulled her against his big, hard body and licked the sticky marshmallow off her fingers.
"If you'd told me a year ago that I'd be sitting on the beach by a campfire after a day of riding a Harley, I would have said you were nuts. But, Walt, this is beautiful. Why are we all alone out here? Don't people know about this place?"
"We might see some people come around," he said. "That's another reason for the fire. You don't want to be invisible out here—they could ride a dune buggy over you or something."
"But it'll go out eventually," she said.
"I'll keep it going. For one thing, it gets pretty cold on the ocean at night, and that'll wake me up. I usually get up a couple of times to throw on another log."
"You don't worry about anyone giving you trouble out here, all alone?"
"Come on," he laughed. "I guess it's possible, but I kind of look like my gang's just up the road, ready to back me up."
"I guess that's true. You ever carry a gun?"
"Nah. I suppose I could, but remember, I have a record. I'm the kind of guy who gets pulled over a lot—cops really frown on things like concealed weapons in the hands of big, ugly bikers."
"You're not ugly," she said. "In fact, sometimes, when you spruce up a little—like dinner at my house—you're downright handsome."
"Seriously?" He grinned, pulling her closer. "I love hearing you say that."
"And it's not such a bad record," she said. "You were awful young."
"And awful stupid," he said. "I don't even want to undo it, you know? It all adds up to who you are, what you learned."
"I want to be like you," she said.
"Like me?" he asked, pulling back to look in her eyes.
"Uh-huh. I'd been feeling real sorry for myself after that incident—the phony paramedic. Not because of him so much, but because it seemed to put a spotlight on my aloneness—my mom and stepdad left me behind, then my mom died, then I absolutely never had a guy who could become the special one… I never looked at what that taught me. I never let it make me stronger, smarter. I just whimpered about it all the time."
"Aw, Cassie, you don't give yourself enough credit, honey," he said, squeezing her shoulders. "Look at what you do every day. Jumping on chests to get hearts started up again, holding cracked skulls together to keep the brains from falling out, catching babies who are coming too fast…. Jesus, you're the most amazing woman in the world. You're like a soldier! And then when we get together and just talk, you're soft and sweet and so kind. Just the nicest person. If you didn't tell me about your days at work, I'd never take you for a tough emergency room nurse who could do all those things…."
"I'm good in the E.R.," she said. "It's made my life. I do things I didn't know I could do. I take chances all day long. Risks. I save lives once in a while, or at least help save them. I'd be lost without that job. No," she said. "It's a lot more than a job. It's a way of life. And you know what else? I'm not a typical E.R. nurse, either—I'm not hooked on crisis."
"Hooked on crisis?"
"Adrenaline. A lot of E.R. nurses aren't happy unless they've always got some high drama going on in their personal lives as well as at work—and I'm not like that. I do it during the day, but when I leave, I have an opposite life. I mean, look at Steve. Isn't he the sweetest thing? We have a quiet life, me and Steve."
Walt laughed. "He's a very silly dog," he said. "He's always got some stuffed thing in his mouth. He'd breast-feed 'em if he could."
"He would," she agreed. "I could see you with a big rottweiler. Or German shepherd. A very manly dog."
"I grew up with a cocker spaniel," he said. "Small and pretty stupid. Then a collie named Sheba—she used to try to herd us all into the kitchen…."