Читать книгу Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection - Debbie Macomber - Страница 14

Cecilia arrived for work at four, an hour earlier than she was scheduled to start. The bar at The Captain’s Galley was already getting crowded. She slipped onto a padded stool, hoping for an opportunity to speak to her father.

“How you doin’, kiddo?” Bobby Merrick asked from the other side of the counter. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Cecilia hated it when he treated her like a customer. “Okay, how about a cup of coffee?”

“You sure you don’t want anything stronger?”

“Positive.” In some respects, her father had never grown up, still dressing and acting like he had as a young man. He had shoulder-length graying hair, and his wardrobe consisted of wildly printed shirts that he wore with jeans. While that didn’t bother Cecilia, there were times she wanted and needed him to be a father. This afternoon was one of those times.

He brought her a mug of stale black coffee, waited on someone else, then drifted back to visit with her. “Heard from your mother lately?” he asked.

After her parents’ divorce, Bobby—which he insisted Cecilia call him—had left New Hampshire and moved first to New Mexico, then Arizona and had gradually drifted north to Washington State.

“She phoned this weekend.”

“She’s well?” To the best of her knowledge, her parents hadn’t spoken to or seen each other in years, until last May, when her mother flew out for Cecilia’s wedding. Now all of a sudden Bobby was asking about her.

“Mom’s doing fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, leaning against the bar. “She’s one hell of a woman.”

That being the case, Cecilia wondered why he’d abandoned them both, but she didn’t want to bring up any unpleasantness. She understood her father. He couldn’t tolerate conflict of any kind. He wanted people to love each other and get along, as he’d frequently explained to Cecilia. He couldn’t function if anyone was upset with him; he even disliked being around other people’s arguments. When a situation became too intense for him, he simply moved on.

He’d asked about her mother, but he hadn’t sought her out, hadn’t called or written her in years. That made sense. He didn’t want to hear about difficulties or disappointments—especially if he’d caused them. When Allison Marie died, he’d stayed away, emotionally and physically. He was incapable of giving Cecilia the support she’d needed so badly; he didn’t have it in him. It’d taken her time to reach this conclusion. She could be angry with him, perhaps should have been, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Bobby was Bobby, and she either had to accept him or do without a father, lame as he was in that role.

“I was out at Olympic College this afternoon.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, I signed up for an algebra class and for English.” It was the 101-level, basic stuff, but she had to start somewhere. For the first time in a very long while, she was looking toward the future instead of dwelling on the past.

“Algebra?”

“I was always good with numbers.” Math was something she enjoyed and she’d done well at it in high school. She liked the sense of order mathematics offered her. Everything fell neatly into place, and problems all had solutions. Perhaps that was what appealed to her most.

“How are you going to use algebra?”

Cecilia didn’t know that yet, but this was more a refresher course than anything that would lead to a career. “It’s important that I know how to solve for x,” she said, just for fun. “That’s how I can unlock the secrets of the universe. Like Einstein, you know. It all starts with x.”

Bobby’s eyes widened. “Really?”

It was a joke, and he’d taken her seriously. “Sure. Well, sort of.” Clearly he wouldn’t have been any help with high-school math if he’d been around. “What do you think about me taking these classes?” she asked, seeking his encouragement.

His returning look was blank. “Hey, that’s cool.”

Cool?

She’d done it again. Once more she’d set herself up for disappointment. She should’ve known Bobby’s response would be inadequate at best.

He waited on a customer, and Cecilia slipped off the stool, ready to start her shift at the restaurant.

“We’ll talk later,” Bobby called after her.

She nodded. This was about as deep as any conversation went with him. The man just didn’t get it, and nothing she said or did was going to change that.

Before long, the restaurant started to fill up. Escorting customers to their tables, answering the phone and manning the cash register kept her busy. She preferred it that way. It was when she had time on her hands that her thoughts automatically drifted to Ian. The John F. Reynolds had pulled out of Cedar Cove two days earlier. She’d watched it on the evening news, which had shown the massive aircraft carrier gliding through the protected waters of the cove.

Cecilia had sat intently in front of the television. She couldn’t have stayed away even if she’d wanted to. Ian was gone. Deployed for six months. She wondered if he’d write. She could go to the library and e-mail him herself, but she wasn’t convinced she should. And yet, that was exactly what she longed to do.

Dammit, everything was so complicated! She didn’t understand her own feelings, and certainly not his. All these contradictory emotions—anger and yearning and regret. Well, she had six months to think about the divorce and how she should proceed. Ian had time to think, too. His leaving was good for them both, she told herself. Still, she had to admit she hated the idea of not seeing or talking to him for half a year.

Ever since the news broadcast, Cecilia had thought about what she should’ve said the day they met at the cemetery. She was sorry she’d been so quick to take offense and realized Ian hadn’t been trying to upset her when he asked about the credit card. He’d been clumsy. It occurred to her later that he was no more skilled at expressing his real feelings than she was. She wished she’d hugged him before they parted. It would have felt good to have his arms around her again.

Cecilia was getting ready to leave for the night when her father came looking for her.

“Did you hear about Ian?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“He might be back.”

“Ian?”

“You said he was on the John F. Reynolds, didn’t you?”

Cecilia frowned in confusion. “You mean the carrier’s returning to Bremerton?”

“That’s the way it sounds. I heard two sailors talking, and they said there’s something wrong with the navigational gear.”

Cecilia knew she shouldn’t be pleased, shouldn’t listen to gossip, either. She’d heard rumors such as this before, and they hadn’t been true.

“You can ask them yourself,” Bobby said with a shrug.

“I think I will.” She entered the bar, which by this time was thick with cigarette smoke. Two sailors sat at the counter, nursing mugs of beer.

Cecilia walked over to them. Both men turned to her, smiling in welcome.

“Bobby here just told me you have some information about the John F. Reynolds,” she said.

The heavier of the two nodded. “Join us?”

“No, thanks, I’m on my way home. Can you tell me what you know?”

The two shared a look of disappointment. “I got a buddy on the John F. Reynolds,” the first one said, “and he e-mailed me that they’re having some technical problems.”

“Then it’s coming back?” Eagerness crept into her voice.

“Maybe. He thinks so, but—”

“For how long?”

“He isn’t sure it’s returning to port. Won’t know for a day or two. Why do you ask?”

“My husband’s on board,” she said quickly.

Both men looked at her left hand, where she continued to wear the plain gold ring.

“You’ll probably hear from him soon,” the first sailor said.

“But don’t get your hopes up,” the second added.

Even though Cecilia knew he was right, she couldn’t help feeling hopeful. Ian might be back—but only God and the Navy knew for how long.

The phone rang just as Olivia was putting the finishing touches on her makeup for her dinner date with Jack Griffin. She glanced at her watch; she still had fifteen minutes before he was due to pick her up.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully, half expecting it to be her mother. Charlotte had fallen completely under Jack’s spell and had been singing his praises ever since they’d met last Friday night.

“It’s Stan.”

Her ex-husband always did have a no-nonsense way about him. He got directly to the point. “You’ve heard from James?”

Olivia had spoken to her son and his wife the afternoon Justine had delivered their news. It had been an emotional conversation, filled with congratulations and with tears, on her part and Selina’s. She’d called again after her head had cleared, asking all the questions she’d forgotten the first time. “I spoke to him twice last week,” she responded.

“Then you know.”

“That he’s married and about to be a father? Yes.”

“What’s all this about James converting to Catholicism?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself.” She paused, wondering why he’d brought up that particular aspect of their son’s news. “You’re not upset about it, are you?” Olivia would be astonished if he was. Stan had never been too concerned with religion; he didn’t object when she attended worship services or brought the children, but it wasn’t something that interested him. Sunday mornings were for golf games, in his view.

“I couldn’t care less,” he said. “I’m just surprised.”

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured. “He sounds happy, don’t you think? When did you speak to him?”

Stan hesitated. “Just a few minutes ago. He seemed to be in a rush so I figured I’d get the story from you.”

Her ex-husband apparently believed she knew more than she did. “I’m not sure what to tell you. Our son is married and we’re both about to become grandparents for the first time.”

Stan chuckled, sounding slightly chagrined. “I was beginning to doubt that was ever going to happen.”

The tension left her and she smiled. The circumstances weren’t what she would have preferred, but she was absolutely delighted at the prospect of a grandchild.

“I suppose you’re going to spoil that baby rotten.”

“I certainly plan to,” she said. But Stan was the indulgent one, and they both knew it.

“I wish James had been a bit more forthcoming with the details,” he muttered.

Olivia concurred. “I’ve decided to fly down once the baby’s born and meet Selina and her family and welcome her to ours.”

“Good idea. I cut a five-hundred-dollar check as a wedding gift.”

Stan had always been excessively generous and she said so. “I sent flowers,” she added ruefully. “I’ll bring a real wedding gift when I visit.”

“He’s the first one of the kids to marry—and he’s expecting a baby. It was the least I could do.”

The doorbell chimed and Olivia was surprised to realize they’d been talking for fifteen minutes. “That’s my dinner date,” she said.

“You’re dating?” There was no jealousy in the question, just curiosity.

Olivia laughed softly. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

“I’m not. Who’s the lucky fellow?”

“Jack Griffin. He’s new in town.”

“Don’t keep him waiting, then.”

“Goodbye, Stan. It was good to talk to you.”

“You, too, Olivia, and listen…”

“Yes?” she said, eager to get off the phone.

“Have a good time. You deserve a decent man in your life.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and replaced the receiver. She glanced down at the phone, overwhelmed by an unexpected rush of regret. They’d had a good marriage once…. The divorce had been final years ago, but she’d never stopped loving Stan. They’d had their problems—every marriage did—only she’d believed that the bond between them was strong enough to survive a crisis. Unfortunately she’d been wrong. Still, she’d always feel connected to him; they shared children and a history, and nothing could change that.

She hurried to answer the door. Jack stood there, looking the same way he did every time she saw him. He wore a raincoat, black slacks and a blue shirt with the top two buttons left unfastened. She was beginning to wonder if he owned more than one set of clothes.

“Ah,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her. “You look fabulous. Wow.”

Assuming something formal, Olivia had gone to a lot of trouble. The navy blue wool dress was new; the straight skirt was a flattering mid-calf length, and the bodice, decorated with a row of gold buttons, was formfitting. She purposely wore heels and dark hosiery, contrasting the outfit with the pearls her father had bought in Japan fifty years ago.

“Am I overdressed?” She asked the obvious. They hadn’t discussed where they’d be dining.

“No,” he said. “I’m underdressed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Where are we going for dinner?” She should have asked much sooner.

Looking embarassed, he told her, “I was thinking about the Taco Shack.”

The restaurant, on the highway outside town, was a roadhouse of sorts, where patrons ordered at the counter and served themselves. The food was some of the best in the area; it was also fast and cheap. The salsa was freshly made every day and known all over the county.

“I’ll change,” Olivia offered quickly, and left the room before Jack could protest. So much for a hot date. She’d been thinking they’d linger over wine and candlelight, and he’d envisioned tacos and margaritas. Fortunately she was a flexible person.

When she returned, Olivia had changed into blue-green plaid wool slacks and a matching green turtleneck sweater. “That’s better,” she said, hoping to put him at ease.

“You don’t mind?”

“I love the Taco Shack,” she assured him, and it was the truth. She should’ve known better than to expect fine French dining. Jack was a taco kind of guy.

He looked vastly relieved as he led the way to his vehicle. She could tell he’d made an effort to clean off the front seat of his car; he’d tossed everything in the back, which was littered with wadded-up bags from fast-food establishments, old newspapers, books and a variety of other junk she didn’t get a chance to see.

Jack seemed oblivious to it all. By nature, Olivia was neat and orderly. One look at his Ford Taurus told her Jack Griffin was her exact opposite.

Olivia had to fumble with her seat belt before she managed to secure it. It was obvious he didn’t often have anyone riding with him.

“Have you ever had the stir-fried jalapeños at the Shack?” he asked as they headed out of town.

“You can stir-fry them?” Olivia asked, thinking that sounded more like Chinese cooking than Mexican.

“Sure. Just until the skins start to blister. Then they squeeze lime juice over top, sprinkle on seasoned salt—and serve them with plenty of water.”

“You eat whole jalapeños?”

“You don’t?”

Olivia enjoyed a bit of spice now and then, but she wasn’t interested in experiencing pain as part of her meal. “Food isn’t supposed to hurt.”

Jack laughed. “You have a sense of humor. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Olivia liked him, too.

He pulled into the gravel parking lot outside the Taco Shack and hurried around to help her out. Not until he slammed the car door did she notice that it was dented and didn’t close properly.

Ever the gentleman, he held the door to the roadhouse for her. They walked up to the counter, and stood in line; the place was deservedly popular. Olivia studied the menu, hand-printed on a large board suspended from the ceiling. She ordered the combination plate, which included a cheese enchilada and a bean burrito, and iced tea. Jack ordered something she’d never heard of, plus a side of the stir-fried jalapeños. That suggested he wasn’t planning to kiss her—definitely a disappointment.

She found them a seat by the window, vacated by another couple barely a minute before. When she climbed over the bench of the red-painted picnic table, Olivia was grateful she’d changed out of her dress. She hadn’t been here in ages and had forgotten just how rustic it was. The window was decorated with what resembled red Christmas lights, but on closer examination, she saw they were shiny plastic peppers. She found that an amusing detail.

Jack brought napkins and plastic forks to the table and a large container of fresh salsa. When their order was ready, he collected both plates, then went back for their drinks. The food smelled delicious and she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of Jack’s peppers and the mixture of salsa and coriander.

They talked comfortably about a variety of topics: town politics, the paper, the play they’d both seen. She felt as though she’d known him for years. She wouldn’t have said he was her type, but she was beginning to believe she didn’t have one. Stan was an engineer, and like her, a highly organized person.

“Did I mention my son recently got married?” she said casually.

“No.” Jack grinned widely. “That’s great!”

“He’s about to make me a grandmother.”

He gave her an engaging grin. “You’re the most beautiful grandmother I’ve ever seen.”

Her ego thanked him. “Both the marriage and the pregnancy came as a surprise, but I don’t mind.” Well, she did…a little. “James sounded happy and although I haven’t met his wife, she seems very nice.” Olivia had her fears, but she wouldn’t second-guess her son and his decisions. This was his life, not hers.

“Stan and I were on the phone, discussing the prospect of becoming grandparents when you arrived. That’s why it took me so long to answer the door.”

“You must have a good relationship with your ex.”

“I wish we’d gotten along this well while we were married,” she joked. “Now his second wife’s getting the benefit of all my training.”

“Stan’s remarried?”

Olivia nodded.

Jack studied his dinner for a moment, then said, “Because of the treatments Eric underwent for the cancer, he’ll never father children.”

Which meant there was no possibility of Jack’s ever being a grandfather, Olivia realized. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.” It seemed he wanted to change the subject. “Do you speak to Stan often?” he asked.

“Only in matters having to do with the children,” she told him. “They’re both adults now, so there isn’t much reason for phone calls and so forth. I suppose we’ll be in touch a little more often once James’s baby is born. What about you and your ex?”

Jack tore his paper napkin in half, then looked horrified by what he’d done. “I haven’t spoken to Vicki in years. Unfortunately, our divorce was bitter.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again because she could see that talking about his ex-wife distressed him.

“What’s the matter with couples these days?” he asked. “Doesn’t anyone stay together anymore?”

“The Beldons have been married since shortly after high school,” Olivia said, leading into the subject of how he knew Bob.

“Ah, yes, Bob and Peggy.”

“I went to high school with both of them,” Olivia explained.

“They were boyfriend and girlfriend back then?” Jack asked.

“From tenth grade on.” Those two had been together practically as long as she could remember.

“Bob was in Vietnam,” Jack said.

“Is that how you know him?” Olivia asked.

Jack shook his head. “I met him later. About ten years ago.”

Olivia waited, wondering if he’d tell her how they’d come to meet. He didn’t.

“Bob’s the one who suggested I apply for the job here in Cedar Cove. I was looking for a slower pace and decided to take him up on his offer to visit the bed-and-breakfast. I immediately fell in love with the area.”

“And so you uprooted your whole life.”

She met his gaze and they shared a smile.

“I’m glad I did,” he said, offering her a jalapeño.

She shook her head vigorously. “I’m glad you made the move, too.”

Very glad!

In the wee hours of Sunday morning, Cecilia poured herself a soothing glass of milk and sat at the small table in her tiny kitchen. She rested her bare legs on the second chair and leaned back, closing her eyes.

After a night on her feet, her toes throbbed. It’d been much worse when she was pregnant. She remembered how badly her ankles had swollen nearly every night. From the first, the pregnancy had been hard on her. She hoped subsequent pregnancies wouldn’t be as difficult, then realized there wouldn’t be any more. Never again did she plan to risk that kind of emotional pain.

She sipped the milk, hoping it would help her sleep. The John F. Reynolds had pulled back into the naval shipyard earlier in the day, just as predicted, leaving Cecilia to wonder if she’d hear from Ian.

Probably not. She was mentally reviewing the reasons they should stay away from each other when the phone rang.

Startled by the unexpectedness of it, Cecilia grabbed the receiver.

“Hello.”

Silence.

Great, a prank call. If she could afford caller ID, she would’ve phoned right back and given the pervert a piece of her mind.

“Hi.”

Ian.

She was too breathless to respond.

“I tried calling you earlier, but you weren’t home,” he said.

“I was at work.”

“I know. I thought of stopping by The Captain’s Galley, but I promised you I wouldn’t.”

She supposed he was letting her know he’d kept his word. “I just got home a little while ago.”

“That’s what I figured. I didn’t wake you or anything, did I?”

“No.”

“How are you?” he asked.

Cecilia could hear background traffic and supposed he was calling from a pay phone. “I’m okay.” Nothing had changed in the week since she’d seen him.

“You heard the John F. Reynolds had to turn back, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t mention that news had drifted into town on Wednesday—four days ago.

“I don’t know how long we’re going to be in port, but probably not long.” He paused, then added, “I’d like to see you. Would you be willing to meet?”

Cecilia squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t thinking clearly enough to answer him. Her heart leapt at the offer, but her head told her it would be a big mistake.

“I was at the college this week,” she told him, avoiding his question for the moment.

“Olympic College?”

“I signed up for two classes.”

“Cecilia, that’s great!” At least Ian was willing to encourage her, even if her father wasn’t. “What else is new?”

“I’ve been working in the bar on weekends, to help pay off the credit card bills.” And all the attorney-related expenses, too. “I got paid on Friday and since I’m current with everything, I thought I’d put the extra money in the bank.”

“Good idea.”

“That’s what I thought, until I went window shopping.” It’d been almost a year since she’d gotten anything new—a few maternity outfits she’d recently given to charity. Last week, the temptation to spend her extra cash had been overwhelming. The spring clothes looked so appealing. There were new books she wanted. Cosmetics. A gorgeous pair of shoes. She sighed. “Everything started calling my name.”

“So you decided if you were going to spend it, you’d make sure it was on something productive.”

Ian did know her. “Yes.”

“Good for you. When are your classes?”

“Early mornings, three days a week.” She was lucky to get in, since school had already started. The early classes meant she wasn’t going to have a lot of time for sleeping in. That was all right, though. The months after she’d buried Allison, all she’d done was sleep. She’d welcomed the oblivion it offered, the release from pain.

“Are you driving to school?”

Cecilia laughed. “Of course I am.”

“You don’t have the most reliable car.”

Her 1993 Ford Tempo had almost a hundred-and-fifty-thousand miles on it. “I’ll be fine,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive. “If I run into problems, I can always take the bus.” It wouldn’t be a short trip nor would it be convenient, but it was manageable.

Ian paused, as if silently debating with himself. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You want to see me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason? You’re my wife.”

“We’re separated.”

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

Cecilia’s hand tightened around the receiver. “We didn’t speak for months. Remember? Why is it so important that we see each other now?”

“I have something I want to ask you,” he said.

“Ask me now.”

“No.” He was adamant about that. “I’d rather do it in person.”

“When?” She knew all these questions of hers were nothing more than a delaying tactic.

“Soon. Listen, Cecilia, I don’t know how long I’ll have before I’m deployed. I’ve got a proposition for you.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Okay, okay, you’re right, we are separated, but you’re the one who wanted that.”

By the time he’d moved out of the apartment, Ian had been in full agreement. Now he’d decided to heap all the blame for the separation on her shoulders.

“Fine, you don’t want to see me,” he said shortly.

Cecilia sighed. “It isn’t that.” The truth of it was she did want to see him. More than anything.

“Then set the day and time.”

Cecilia closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her brow as she tried to think.

“Do you want my attorney to contact your attorney?” he asked.

“No!” she flared, angry he’d even suggest such a thing.

“Then tell me when I should come over.”

“You want to come here?” That put a whole new slant on the invitation.

“Fine, we can go somewhere else,” he said. “Anytime, anyplace. You just tell me. I’m not asking again, Cecilia.” His voice held an edge that hadn’t been there earlier.

“All right,” she whispered. “How about next week? Someplace in Bremerton? You choose.”

His relief was palpable, even over the phone. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

But it was, damn hard, and Ian knew it.

“When are you free to meet?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.

“I’ll let you know. All right? It depends on what’s happening with the John F. Reynolds, but it’ll be soon.”

This wasn’t exactly anytime or anyplace, but then he was in the Navy, and the military ruled his life—and consequently hers.