Читать книгу 16 Lighthouse Road - Debbie Macomber - Страница 8

Four

“I’ll drive this evening,” Olivia told her mother. The previous time she’d gotten into a car with Charlotte driving, Olivia had sworn it would be the last. Her mother out on the roads was a frightening thing to contemplate. She suspected Charlotte was the type of driver who never had an accident, but caused them.

“Well, it’s my turn, although I have to admit I don’t like driving at night.”

Olivia removed her black robe and hung it in the small closet inside her chambers. Court was over for the week and her hot Friday-night date was with her mother. In fact, she ate more meals out with Charlotte than anyone. “I don’t mind driving,” Olivia told her.

“All right, if you insist.”

Olivia did insist. The previous driving adventure with her mother had ended up being a narrow escape. Apparently Charlotte had lost the ability to turn her neck in order to look behind her. She adjusted the rearview mirrors left and right and honked before barreling willy-nilly out of her parking space. She’d also confessed that her eyes weren’t what they used to be. It was a quandary. Olivia didn’t want to limit her mother’s independence, but she couldn’t help worrying.

“It’ll be a girls’ night out,” Charlotte said, sounding excited at the prospect. “But I have to be home by eleven. Harry worries if I’m not there.”

Her mother doted on her cat. “Not a problem. The play starts at eight, so it should be over long before eleven.”

“Shall we have dinner first?” Charlotte suggested.

“Sure, why not?” Olivia was in the mood to live it up. Her best friend was about to become a grandmother. Her seventy-two-year-old mother had a beau of sorts. Charlotte talked incessantly about her friend Tom at the convalescent center. The only person without something significant happening in her life seemed to be Olivia. She was ready for a change, ready for a risk. She’d hoped to hear from Jack Griffin, but he hadn’t phoned nor had he shown up in court again. He obviously wasn’t interested. Well, she could deal with that.

They arrived at the Playhouse shortly after seven-thirty. Plays were staged upstairs at the Community Theater, located on Harbor Street, which was the main road through the center of what was commonly referred to as downtown. The old theater still ran movies, but generally second-run features that had appeared earlier at the six-plex on the hill. The Playhouse was above the movie theater in small but cozy quarters. Every time Olivia attended a local production, she was astonished at the talent in a town as small as Cedar Cove.

Without assigned seating, Charlotte chose the very front row. No sooner had they settled in than Jack Griffin approached.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, looking at the empty space next to Olivia.

“Jack!” She’d blurted his name before she had a chance to restrain her delight.

“Jack Griffin? Is this Jack Griffin?” Charlotte was immediately on her feet. Before Olivia could even guess what her mother intended, she’d wrapped both arms around Jack and given him one of her enthusiastic hugs.

He met Olivia’s gaze over Charlotte’s shoulder. She noted his surprise and amusement at such a vigorous greeting.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Charlotte said, sitting down again—one seat over—and patting the empty space beside her. “That was such a wonderful column you wrote about Olivia. I made sure all my friends read it.”

Jack arched his brows—as though to suggest her mother might have been impressed but that hadn’t been the case with Olivia.

“I was so pleased with what you had to say about my daughter. She is a gutsy judge and an innovative thinker, too,” Charlotte continued.

Olivia was mortified, but she knew better than to say anything, so she smiled blandly and felt the heat radiate from her cheeks.

Charlotte had arranged it so Jack was now sitting between the two of them. Olivia hadn’t been quick enough to realize what was happening in order to avoid it. She was interested in spending time with Jack, but she’d prefer to do so without her mother present.

Soon, Jack and her mother were deeply engrossed in conversation. At one point Jack let out a hoot of laughter and abruptly turned to look at Olivia, still smiling.

Olivia could only wonder what was so funny; she was fairly sure it had to do with her. What could her mother have told him? No doubt it was something embarrassing from her teen years.

“Your mother’s hilarious,” Jack said a moment later, leaning toward her.

That was true enough. Olivia merely nodded, and Jack soon turned back to Charlotte for entertainment. Meanwhile, Olivia studied the program. To Kill a Mockingbird was an ambitious project for so small a troupe, but those who’d seen it had raved about the performances. She assumed Jack had come to write a review.

Olivia happened to be looking idly around the theater when Justine strolled in. She wore black pants with a cropped cashmere sweater in a soft green, her long dark hair hanging loose to the middle of her back. Her arm was entwined with Warren Saget’s and she gazed up at the older man with wide, adoring eyes. Olivia immediately felt her hackles rise. She didn’t like Warren, never had, and hated the fact that her daughter was dating him.

Warren had moved to Cedar Cove twenty years ago. He’d bought up large parcels of land and built row upon row of tract houses. The homes had been constructed of the cheapest possible materials and had quickly developed a host of problems. First, the roofs leaked and then the siding developed mold. Basements flooded, walls shifted, ceilings cracked. Lawsuit followed lawsuit.

Olivia didn’t recall how it was all settled—her own life was undergoing a series of traumas at the time— but somehow Warren and his company had survived.

It wasn’t only his business practices that distressed Olivia. Everyone knew that Warren had cheated on his wife—correction, wives. He’d flaunted his affairs until both women had filed for divorce and left town. The most recent Mrs. Saget had left five or so years ago, leaving Warren free to go through young women like a kid through a candy store. It hurt Olivia to see her own daughter fall victim to such an unscrupulous man.

Warren apparently liked his women young. The younger the better. A woman like Justine—tall, classy and beautiful—enhanced his image. She looked good on his arm, and Warren knew it.

Olivia wondered whose idea it was to see the play. To Kill a Mockingbird wasn’t the sort of entertainment she suspected a man like Warren would choose. The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas seemed more his kind of show.

Apparently Justine hadn’t noticed Olivia. Or if she had, she’d chosen to ignore the fact that her mother and grandmother were seated in the front of the theater. Justine and Warren sat in the last row, where the shadows were darkest and they couldn’t easily be seen.

This relationship had worried Olivia from the start and not solely because of Warren’s age and reputation. Over the years, Olivia had observed a pattern. Justine preferred older men and there’d been several, all quite similar to each other in situation and personality. Warren had lasted the longest. Olivia cringed every time she thought of her daughter marrying the likes of Warren Saget. But at twenty-eight, Justine had revealed no desire to marry. Olivia prayed Warren wouldn’t be the one to change her mind.

Her heart told Olivia that her daughter’s dating habits were linked to that fateful August day in 1986. Justine refused to risk the pain that real closeness could bring. She’d been with her twin brother when he died, and the love she felt for him had turned into agony. Caught up in her own grief, Olivia had failed to recognize the devastating effect his death had had on her daughter.

Olivia suspected that, deep down, Justine blamed herself. She’d been at the lake with Jordan and a whole slew of friends, not paying any attention to her twin. He’d been diving off a floating dock, joking and splashing, all of them laughing at their own antics. It’d been a hot lazy afternoon, and the world had seemed a beautiful place. Then within a matter of seconds all their lives were changed. Their capacity for innocent, uncomplicated pleasure was gone forever. Jordan, clowning around with his buddies, dove into the lake and didn’t surface. By the time his friends figured out it wasn’t a joke, it’d been too late. Jordan had broken his neck and drowned.

Justine had swum out to the dock and sat with Jordan’s lifeless body until the paramedics arrived, but there was no hope. The poor girl hadn’t slept a full night for weeks afterward. She’d been lost and confused, believing she should’ve been able to do something.

Olivia had her own share of regrets. If she’d been more focused on Justine’s grief, gotten her into counseling, spent time helping her deal with the tragedy…

But it’d been all Olivia could manage to make it from one day to the next. For the sake of her husband and her two other children, she’d tried to be strong. Each day had been filled with busywork so she wouldn’t have time to think. Pretending had failed miserably. Her marriage had collapsed, and her beautiful daughter had never recovered from the tragedy.

“I’ve been meaning to phone you,” Jack said, breaking into Olivia’s thoughts.

That was encouraging news. Olivia had been brought up to believe that girls shouldn’t phone boys—a bit of social conditioning she’d never shaken off. She’d dated since the divorce, but not much. Friends had attempted to matchmake, without notable success.

Jack appeared to be waiting for a response from her, some indication that she would have welcomed his call.

“I wish you had.” There, she’d said it, and it was true. She liked Jack Griffin and had thoroughly enjoyed their impromptu meeting and the talk that followed.

Jack stared at her as though he wasn’t sure he should believe her. He seemed about to say something when Bob Beldon stepped onto the middle of the compact stage. Bob and his wife, Peggy, ran Thyme and Tide, a local bed-and-breakfast. Bob was actively involved in the theater group.

Once he had everyone’s attention, Bob made several safety announcements regarding the fire codes and pointed out the exits. When he’d finished, he introduced the play and the actors. Before he left the stage, he looked at Jack Griffin and Olivia—and then Bob did the oddest thing. He winked at Jack.

“What was that about?” Olivia asked him.

“Bob’s a friend.”

“You knew him before moving to Cedar Cove?”

He nodded absently as he watched the actors take their places on stage. “It was Bob’s way of encouraging me,” he muttered.

“To do what?” Olivia pressed.

Jack squared his shoulders. “To ask you to dinner.” He glanced in her direction. “Are you game?”

Are you game? was certainly an inventive invitation.

“Did you ask her yet?” Charlotte bent forward in order to get a better look at them both.

“I just did,” Jack answered.

“Ask her what?” Someone Olivia didn’t recognize called out from two rows back.

Mortified, Olivia slid down in her chair and hunched her shoulders.

Jack slid down, too. “Will you?”

She nodded. Well, why not? She’d already admitted that she was anxious to hear from Jack. Now he’d taken the next step. A dinner date.

She intended to have a very good time.

Cecilia woke Saturday morning feeling more than a little depressed. She hadn’t heard from Ian. She’d deluded herself, thinking he’d call. He might already be out to sea; she wasn’t sure whether the George Washington had left port, but then how would she know? She got her information from rumor and an occasional issue of The Chronicle. Nor had Ian mentioned being transferred from the submarine to the aircraft carrier. Apparently there was a lot he hadn’t told her.

Cecilia wished now that she’d made friends with other Navy wives. She’d tried early on, but had felt like an intruder. The women had already formed cliques and she was an outsider. Between her job and the pregnancy, she didn’t have the time or emotional reserves to socialize with them. She had declined the few invitations she’d received.

When Allison was born, no one had come to the hospital and after her daughter’s death, Cecilia had rejected all attempts—by the other wives, by Ian’s family in Georgia, by nurses and a Navy chaplain—to help her cope with the loss. As far as she was concerned, it was too little, too late. Her father hated anything to do with death and dying and avoided her entirely. Other than giving her the sympathy card, all he’d done was pat her on the back, mumbling a clichéd condolence or two.

And Ian…wasn’t there.

It did no good to brood about Ian, the pending divorce and past hurts, so Cecilia showered and changed into a clean pair of jeans and a worn, comfortable sweatshirt. As always, Saturday was reserved for errands, but today she lacked the energy for it. Once she got to the grocery, her sole purchase was a big bouquet of flowers.

The cemetery was on the outskirts of town. A dense fog had rolled in; it was impossible to see across the street, let alone to the other side of the cove and the naval shipyard. Cecilia had purposely chosen this burial site because it overlooked the naval base. Maybe that didn’t make sense, but she’d wanted their daughter to be close to her father, and this was the only way Cecilia knew to make that happen.

The lawn was spongy and damp, and her feet sank into the earth as she walked toward the grave. She squatted down and brushed a few dead leaves away from the small, flat headstone. The vase was too narrow to hold all the flowers, so she sorted through and removed the prettiest ones and arranged those inside. When she’d finished, she divided the remaining flowers among the other graves in the row.

Standing, she found Ian several feet back, watching her.

Neither spoke. He wore his thick Navy coat, with his white sailor’s cap. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, arms pressed against his sides.

“I saw you leave the grocery store,” he murmured.

“You followed me here?” She didn’t like the idea of that.

He nodded. “It isn’t a habit, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just happened to see you and wanted to talk.”

Cecilia thrust her own hands into her pockets, waiting, unsure what to say.

“I wondered if this was where you were heading,” Ian continued, “and I was right.” He paused, shrugging. “I thought we could talk.”

She stiffened. “What’s there to talk about?” The last time she’d seen him, he’d been drinking and argumentative.

Ian sighed, glancing past her, past the row of graves. “I want to apologize for showing up at the restaurant the other night.”

“Andrew told me you’re leaving on the George Washington.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate, or explain the transfer.

“When did you get assigned to the carrier?”

“You’d know the answer to that if you hadn’t been in such a hurry to file for divorce,” he said with unconcealed bitterness.

“We couldn’t—can’t—even talk without snarling at each other.” Then and now. It hurt so badly to be standing on one side of their daughter’s grave while he stood on the other.

“Does it matter?” he asked. “I’m in the Navy—that hasn’t changed.”

She shook her head. The reasons were unimportant; he didn’t owe her an explanation. Defensiveness had become an automatic response, a means of keeping people at a distance. Especially him…

“Damn,” he said impatiently. “Why is it so hard to talk to you?”

Didn’t he already know? What else could she say?

“Like I said, I’m sorry about the other night. It won’t happen again.” He turned away, his movement abrupt.

“You’re leaving soon?” she called after him, not wanting him to walk off just yet.

He turned back to face her and nodded.

“I’d like to know about the transfer.”

He stared down at their daughter’s grave. “I requested it. If I’d been assigned to the carrier when Allison was born, I could’ve been airlifted home. To be with you…. It’s a moot point now, but I didn’t want to risk anything like that ever again.”

She hadn’t known such a transfer was possible.

“I’ll be away for six months,” he told her.

It sounded longer than a lifetime. Her reaction must have shown on her face.

“I can’t help that,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered.

“I suppose you’re worried about your divorce.”

He always referred to it like that, emphasizing whose decision it had been. “The delay doesn’t matter,” she said. “I don’t have any money for attorney’s fees, anyway.”

“I thought you wanted to take it to the Dispute Resolution Center?”

“I did, but with you at sea, it’d be a waste of time, wouldn’t it?” She could talk to an impartial third party, but without Ian available, they wouldn’t be able to resolve anything.

“We’re still legally married then—right?”

Cecilia guessed this was his way of telling her he regretted last week’s suggestion about pretending they were divorced.

“Yes,” she said. “You don’t need to worry that I’ll be dating anyone else.”

He frowned.

Perhaps she’d read him wrong. “That’s what you were saying, wasn’t it?” She couldn’t help recalling his reaction to the man in the bar.

He looked at her blankly. “No, but I’m glad to hear it. No man likes to think of his wife with someone else, regardless of the situation.”

Now Cecilia was confused. “Exactly what are you saying? Do you want us to be married? Or do you just want me to remember that I’m still legally bound to you?”

“I want you to keep in mind that we’re stuck together—legally and financially—until we can sort this mess out, all right?”

Cecilia nodded, crossing her arms. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like his reasoning.

“The last time I was away…” He paused and glanced toward Allison’s gravestone. “You ran up the credit cards. While we’re still married, I’m legally responsible for those bills, so I’d appreciate it if you used some discretion.”

It would have hurt less if he’d punched her.

“You mean you’re worried about me spending money while you’re at sea?” She couldn’t believe he’d say such a thing. “Every penny I spent, every single penny that went on those charge cards, was so I could bury Allison.” Cecilia started to shake, first with anger, then with outrage. How dared he? How dared he! If she’d needed a reminder of why she could no longer stay in this marriage, he’d certainly given it to her.

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said.

“It won’t happen again,” she said in a deadened voice, consciously echoing his earlier words.

Ian shook his head. “I don’t even know why I mentioned that. I’m sorry.”

She ignored him. Her lack of response should be answer enough.

“You do this every time,” he said, sounding exasperated. “I try to talk to you, get things into the open and you clam up on me like I’m not even here.”

Her arms remained buried deep in her pockets, her head down. “Every penny I charged was so I could bury our daughter,” she repeated dully. “And the three-hundred-dollar phone bill… I know it upset you, but—”

Suddenly she could no longer control her voice—or her emotions.

“But that was for me!” she cried, shouting the words at him, hurling them in her anger and pain. “So there wouldn’t be two funerals that day instead of one. I’m sorry, Ian, for being so weak, but I’m not like you. I needed my mother…I needed to talk to someone. My dad couldn’t deal with it and you weren’t here. My mother…” Unwilling to have him witness her tears, she whirled around and started searching frantically through her purse.

“Cecilia?”

She found what she was looking for and tore open the small plastic holder. “Here,” she choked, taking out the VISA card and throwing it at him. The card landed on the wet green grass. “Take it! I don’t want it….”

He hesitated before picking it up. “You might need it for emergencies.”

As though the death of their daughter hadn’t been one.

She shook her head vehemently. She’d rot in hell before she’d use any credit card with his name on it again. She’d get one with her own name. Her maiden name.

Ian examined the card, and ran his thumb over the raised letters that spelled out Cecilia Randall.

“I didn’t come here to get your credit card.”

“Well, you have it now,” she returned flippantly, refusing to look at him.

Ian said nothing. A long moment passed. “I’m sorry, Cecilia,” he finally whispered.

“What for this time?”

There was another pause. “I’m going away for six months,” he murmured. “I wish we’d been able to settle this divorce business before I left, but…”

They’d been over this too many times already.

“I’d like to leave without bad feelings between us. I know you’d rather not be married to me anymore, but we can’t do anything about that right now.”

“And your point is?” she asked, deliberately sarcastic.

“Dammit, Cecilia, would you listen to us? Is this what you want? Is this how you want things to be? I don’t. I followed you here because I thought…I hoped there’d be a chance for us to end this on a friendly note.”

“Divorces aren’t friendly.”

“You’re right, but does that give you any pleasure?”

It didn’t. She knew why he’d come. Ian would leave for sea in a few days, and when he left he wanted to go without a huge knot in his gut over her.

“Goodbye, Ian,” she said softly. “Have a good tour.”

He frowned, as though he wasn’t sure he should trust her. “Do you mean it?”

She nodded. “I don’t want to fight, I never did. Go with a clear conscience. When you get back, we’ll settle all the legal stuff.”

“Thank you.” His relief was evident and his eyes softened as he turned away. Cecilia watched him disappear into the fog, watched until she could no longer see his dark shape.

She closed her eyes. She pictured how their parting might have been if Allison had lived. She’d be standing on the pier with all the other Navy wives and Ian would kiss her goodbye, kiss Allison and then her again, one last time. Then he’d run toward the aircraft carrier and she’d hold the baby in her arms, raise Allison’s tiny arm so she could send her daddy off with a wave. Instead, they bade each other farewell standing over their daughter’s grave.

Justine had avoided her mother all weekend, and with good reason. The minute they were together, Olivia would start to criticize Warren. Not openly, but she’d insinuate things. For instance, she’d mention some piece of gossip she’d supposedly heard about one of his ex-wives. Or she’d refer to problems with one or other of the homes his company constructed.

In Justine’s opinion, the fact that she was seeing Warren was none of her mother’s business. Okay, he was a few years older. And she’d concede that his reputation wasn’t the greatest. But there were things about Warren that her mother and most other people didn’t know and never would. Warren trusted her and his confidence meant a great deal to her.

The second reason Justine had been avoiding her mother had to do with her brother James. A year earlier, without warning, he’d joined the Navy and as a result, was away from home for the first time. He missed his family, and their mother fretted about him. Now her younger brother had made another life-altering decision and had left it to Justine to announce to their family.

“Tell her for me,” he’d pleaded, and because she loved him she’d foolishly agreed.

Now a confrontation was inevitable. Monday morning, she’d half decided to call her grandmother and let Charlotte deliver the news. She went as far as picking up the phone and actually dialing the number. At the first ring, she’d replaced the receiver, berating herself as a coward.

All afternoon, she’d had difficulty concentrating on loan applications and staff meetings—she was the manager of the Cedar Cove branch of First National Bank and had plenty of responsibilities to occupy her. Justine sighed; she knew she had to tell her mother in person and as soon as possible.

After work, she drove straight from the bank to the family home at 16 Lighthouse Road. She’d lived here until she left for college ten years ago; she’d returned for short periods in the intervening years. It was home in a way no other place had ever been. Every time she took the curve in the road and came upon it, Justine experienced a sensation that had been impossible to reproduce anywhere she’d lived since.

She parked out front. Her mother must have been looking out the window when she drove up, because she opened the door as Justine climbed the steps to the porch.

“Sweetheart,” Olivia said, holding out her arms for a hug. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

Justine forced a smile.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

Justine could never figure out why her mother insisted on feeding her. It was the same with her grandmother. A maternal need to nurture, she supposed. Not that she needed nurturing anymore. Well, not that kind. “Great,” she said, without enthusiasm. Her stomach was in knots already.

Olivia took a good look at her. “Something on your mind?”

Radar. Justine swore her mother had radar.

“Why don’t you make a pot of tea?” she suggested.

Her mother froze. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you? Dear God, don’t tell me you’re going to marry Warren!”

“Mother, just make the tea and no, I’m not pregnant.”

“Thank God.” Her relief couldn’t have been more evident. Did she even realize how insulting her reaction was?

Olivia moved into the kitchen and Justine followed.

“That was rude of me, honey. Forgive me,” her mother said, putting the kettle on the burner. She sighed. “You know the way I feel about Warren.”

Justine didn’t need to be reminded.

“But you seem to enjoy his company and that’s all that matters.”

Justine didn’t respond to her mother’s halfhearted apology. What was the point? Yes, she liked Warren, but she wasn’t blind to his faults, either. The most appealing thing about him was his age. Justine liked older men. They were settled, confident and, for the most part, secure. She didn’t intend on having children herself and was looking for a mature relationship. She found most men her own age childish and irresponsible.

Olivia poured the tea and carried two cups to the dining-room table. “All right,” she said when they’d both sat down. “If you’re not pregnant, then what’s wrong?”

Justine ignored the question and doctored her tea. “I heard from James last week.”

Her mother stared at her blankly. “What does James have to do with this?”

“He sounded good.”

“Good?”

“Happy,” she elaborated.

“Does he have a new girlfriend?”

She couldn’t believe her mother hadn’t made the connection. “Not…exactly.”

“He’s seeing the same girl as before? Selina? I can’t recall her surname at the moment.”

“Solis.”

“Hmm. Every time James mentions her, they’re fighting over one thing or another.”

“They’re getting along just fine at the moment,” Justine said, struggling not to laugh outright. Her mother appeared to be completely dense.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Are you, Mother?” Justine pressed.

“Of course I am.” Olivia hesitated. “Are you trying to tell me that James and Selina are engaged?”

“No, I’m here to tell you they’re married.”

“Married?” Olivia came out of her chair and just as quickly sat down again. “Married? Without letting me know? Without a word until the deed is done?”

“James was afraid of how you’d react.”