Читать книгу Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection - Debbie Macomber - Страница 19

Cecilia had never been prouder of anything. The test paper had a huge A scrawled on the front and Mr. Cavanaugh, her algebra professor, had written Well Done! in bright red pen across one corner. She’d aced the test. After class Mr. Cavanaugh, who had to be in his late fifties, asked if she’d talked to a counselor about her next quarter’s classes. She told him she hadn’t and he suggested she take more math courses, since she showed aptitude in that area.

Cecilia had been giddy with joy ever since. The first person she thought to tell was her father, who spent most of his time at The Captain’s Galley, on one side of the bar or the other. She’d see him soon enough, she decided. Cathy Lackey came to mind next, but it might sound as though she was bragging and Cecilia didn’t want that. Feeling slightly deflated, she headed home, picking up her mail in the lobby.

She automatically tossed the envelopes down on the kitchen table and shrugged off her backpack. That was when she saw Ian’s letter. Funny how a little thing like a letter could throw her for a loop. Cecilia stared at it a full thirty seconds before she reached for it and carefully tore it open.

April 12th

Dear Cecilia,

Andrew got a letter from Cathy this week and she wrote that the two of you recently got together. I assume you have the car by now and hope you aren’t too stubborn to drive it.

Ian Randall was a fine one to talk, Cecilia mused. Her husband was more stubborn than any man she’d ever met. But since she’d been driving his car for nearly a month, she couldn’t very well complain.

I realize you’re probably upset with me over the way I acted when you came to see me at the hospital. I don’t blame you. My only excuse is that I was in a lot of pain. I was mad as hell about being so stupid. It was my own carelessness that caused the accident. Andrew should never have told you; it wasn’t necessary for you to know.

Cecilia disagreed. She was his wife and he’d been hurt. She was grateful Andrew had called her.

We’ve had our differences the past few months, but after our “date,” I had real hope we might look beyond all that. Then I had to go and blow everything. I’m genuinely sorry, Cecilia.

It damn well took him long enough to apologize! Nor did it escape her notice that he hadn’t mentioned the lovemaking. If he was willing to ignore it, then so was she!

I know you don’t have a computer, but I’m including my e-mail address at the end of the letter in case you find a way of contacting me. Hearing from you would mean a great deal.

Andrew said you and Cathy have become friends and started connecting with some of the other Navy wives. I’m glad. The Navy isn’t so bad, you know. There are a lot of good people here.

Cecilia regretted rejecting those potential friends earlier.

Tell me about school—if you write me back that is. I’ll bet you’re at the top of the class.

Love,

Ian

Randall-Ian-M HT2 <iran-dall@bridge.navy.mil>

P.S. About that night…is everything all right? You know what I mean.

He was asking if she’d gotten pregnant. He should be concerned. They’d been stupid and this wasn’t the first time, but she swore it would be the last.

Cecilia read the letter through again. Her overwhelming reaction was pleasure. It wasn’t a long letter, but she knew Ian had agonized over every word. The apology had been hard for him. Well, she deserved one. She was gratified that he’d asked about school; it was almost as though he knew she’d gotten the A on her final.

Cecilia left for work a few minutes early that afternoon and drove to the library. Fortunately, one of the computers was free. Cecilia slipped into the seat and logged on to the Internet. Her message was brief and to the point, because she didn’t have a lot of time and because she wasn’t entirely sure it would go through, anyway.

April 16th

Dear Ian,

Your letter arrived this afternoon. Apology accepted. I miss you.

Cecilia

P.S. Rest assured all is well.

Curiosity got the better of her the following day, and she returned to the library and was thrilled to find an e-mail waiting for her from Ian.

April 17th

Dearest Cecilia,

I was really happy to hear from you. What did you mean, you miss me? Is it true? I don’t care if it is or isn’t, I’m taking it at face value. Andrew and Cathy e-mail each other nearly every day and she wrote about inviting you to the “girls’ night out.” I’m glad you’re making friends.

Life on an aircraft carrier is a whole lot different than a submarine. I didn’t know if I was going to like it, but it’s all right, I guess.

Love,

Ian

P.S. Is all really well?

April 18th

Dear Ian,

My final grades are posted for the Algebra and English classes and I got a 4.0 in both. I’m so THRILLED! Mr. Cavanaugh suggested I take an advanced Algebra class, and I am. I’m still working weekends, filling in as a cocktail waitress and am putting aside my tip money for school.

I know you got the transfer to the John F. Reynolds because of Allison, and because of me. I appreciate what you did, but, Ian, it was too late. If you want to transfer back to the submarine, then that’s what you should do.

I have to hurry to work. Sorry, I wish this could be longer. I will write you a real letter soon, I promise. School starts up again in two weeks.

Think of me.

Cecilia

April 19th

Dear Cecilia,

You asked me to think of you—that was a joke, right? I think of you all the time. You’re my wife, no matter what the attorney tries to tell me. Are we still getting the divorce? God, I hope not. I never wanted it. You know how I feel about that whole issue. Sorry, I didn’t mean to harp at you about that. I’ll live with whatever you decide.

You said something about me transferring from the Atlantis, and why I did it. This might come as a shock, but I didn’t do it for you. Not entirely. I did it for me, too. When we were deployed that last time before Allison was born, you and I never suspected you’d have the baby while I was away. Neither of us had the slightest warning of what would happen. When I returned, our daughter had already been buried. You were hurting so badly, and I realize now that I wasn’t much help to you, mainly because I was dealing with my own pain. I guess I really didn’t know how to help. You hated the Navy, and I felt as though you hated me, too. It wasn’t a good time for either of us. I never told you—perhaps if I had, we might not have gone down the path we did—but after my last tour on the Atlantis, I tried to get out of the Navy. My baby was dead and my marriage was falling apart and I was about as low as I’ve ever been in my life. I’m not blaming you, I swear it. My CO talked to me and arranged a transfer to the John F. Reynolds. The paperwork said it was for psychological reasons.

Congratulations on your classes! I’m proud of you. We’ll celebrate when I’m back home. It’s less than five months now. That seems like a lifetime, but the weeks will go fast. I love you and that’s not going to change.

Ian

P.S. Don’t freak out over me telling you how I feel. I haven’t mentioned my feelings for you in a long time, because it didn’t seem you wanted to hear. You still might not, but I’m hoping you do.

April 22nd

Dear Ian,

I had to wait until the library opened to e-mail you back—that’s why the long delay. Cathy told me there are places I can go other than the library and after having to wait all weekend to contact you, I’m going to do it. I was so frustrated! Other than that, I had a good weekend.

I had my best tip night ever on Saturday. I know you don’t like me working the bar. I don’t much care for it myself, but it’s the only way I have of getting ahead financially. The tips are decent and Bobby’s around, so I don’t have to put up with harrassment from customers. Believe it or not, he’s keeping an eye on me. He even threatened to throw a guy out last week! Hardly seemed like my peace-loving father.

That’s my little confession—I wanted to tell you about staying on at the bar after you explained about the transfer from the Atlantis to the John F. Reynolds. You’re right. It would have helped if we’d communicated.

I know you love me, Ian. Through everything, I’ve always known how you felt, but sometimes loving someone just isn’t enough. You asked about the divorce. I don’t know how I feel about it anymore, but at the same time I don’t know if I want to stay married, either. One thing I’m sure of—I don’t ever want another child. This latest scare made that very clear to me. I can’t believe we took such a risk again. The most profound lesson I came away with, after Allison, is that I was never meant to be a mother.

You deserve to be a father.

Considering that, you might not want to talk to me again. The choice is yours.

Always,

Cecilia

Charlotte Jefferson waited patiently until her daughter was finished with court for the day. Twenty minutes after the last case was heard, she knocked on her chambers door.

“Come in.” Olivia sounded distracted, which meant she was probably reading briefs and preparing for her next session.

Charlotte turned the knob and peeked inside. Coming to her daughter with her own needs was not an easy thing to do. Olivia was a busy professional, and Charlotte tried very hard not to be a hindrance to her children.

“Mom.” Frowning, Olivia stood up behind her desk. “What’s wrong?”

Charlotte had hoped to disguise her tears. She’d been feeling depressed—that was the only word for it—ever since she’d heard about Tom Harding’s death. He’d been gone for more than a month now, and it hadn’t gotten any better and she didn’t feel she could delay this task any longer. Janet had already asked about the key; Charlotte knew she’d have to return it soon. But she’d already let Tom down once and she couldn’t do it again.

Dabbing at her eyes, Charlotte came into the room. Olivia walked from her desk and placed her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “Sit down, Mom,” she advised gently.

Charlotte complied.

“What is it?”

Blowing her nose, Charlotte took a moment to compose herself. “I need your help.” She sniffled, hating the tears that streaked her face, yet unable to keep them at bay. This emotion was difficult to explain, considering how many of her friends she’d buried.

“Does this have to do with Tom Harding?” Olivia asked, taking her own seat.

Charlotte nodded and wiped her eyes again.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“I do, but, Olivia, it’s more than just missing him. I feel I was a sorry disappointment to Tom. We’d gotten to be such good friends. I know you probably don’t think that’s possible, with him not being able to speak….”

“I don’t have a single doubt that you meant a great deal to one another.”

“There was nothing romantic between us.” Charlotte wanted that understood. The one and only love of her life was Clyde Jefferson, the dear man who’d been her husband.

“You were friends,” Olivia said. “Good friends.”

“I’m sure that’s what Tom believed, but I fear I failed him. I got so involved with my work on the newspaper that I let myself get distracted.” What distressed her most was thinking of Tom waiting to see her, waiting and waiting, and her being so caught up with her fifteen seconds of fame that she hadn’t bothered to visit him at their usual time…or any other. She’d been too full of her own importance to spare him a couple of hours. And now it was too late.

“Mom, I’m sure Tom understood,” Olivia said with such compassion, Charlotte had to resist the urge to openly weep.

“I hope he did.” She wadded the linen handkerchief in her hand. “There wasn’t even a burial service. I never had a chance to say goodbye….”

“You said you needed my help?” Olivia reminded her.

For a moment, Charlotte had almost forgotten. “Oh, yes, the key.”

“That’s right,” Olivia said, sitting straighter in her chair. “Tom gave you a key, didn’t he?”

“It’s to a storage unit. I want you to go there with me, if you would.”

Olivia hesitated. She took her role as a duly elected judge far too seriously, in Charlotte’s opinion. She could see that her daughter was weighing the possibility of any conflict of interest. “Is it nearby?”

“Yes, right here in Cedar Cove. Apparently he’s had it for some time.” This had surprised her, since he was transferred to the convalescent center from Seattle. The poor man must’ve had some connection with the area, some reason for choosing Cedar Cove.

“When would you like to go?”

“Can you do it now?”

Olivia closed the files on her desk. “That should work out fine. Do you want me to drive or should we meet there?”

Charlotte wanted Olivia to drive. As emotional as she was about Tom, she wanted the company. Besides, she was finding it difficult to turn and look behind her when using Reverse. Lately she’d been parking in spaces that didn’t require backing up. Looking over her shoulder caused cramping in her neck. If she mentioned it to Olivia again, however, her daughter might suggest it was time to stop driving and Charlotte couldn’t give up her independence.

Olivia drove out on the highway, along the waterfront. The storage unit was off Butterfield Road on the way into Belfair, across from the drive-in theater.

“Do we need to check in?” Olivia asked, stopping in front of the office.

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said. It didn’t look as though anyone was there. “I have the key and the receipt.”

“Then we’ll go directly to the unit.” Olivia pulled forward until they located the number written on the receipt.

“This must be it.” Charlotte climbed out of the car, taking her time. She didn’t move as quickly as she once did, nor did she move as gracefully as she would have liked. It was especially difficult getting in and out of cars.

Olivia was waiting for her. The unit looked much bigger than Charlotte had anticipated. Olivia took the key from her and inserted it in the lock. The door swung upward. Inside the darkened space was one large trunk surrounded by assorted furniture. A sofa and chair, a saddle and what seemed to be a painting of some sort, covered by a blanket.

The painting interested Olivia and she lifted the blanket. Charlotte glanced at it; when she saw that it was a movie poster of a 1940s cowboy film, she quickly dismissed it.

Then, almost against her will, her gaze swung back to the poster. The man, on a rearing stallion with lightning flashing in the background, looked vaguely familiar. He should, she realized when she read the name. Tom Houston was “The Yodeling Cowboy,” one of the most popular of the trick riders and cowboy film stars of the era. Many a schoolgirl afternoon had been spent in the theater, watching the wild horseman dash across the screen.

“Tom Houston.” Olivia read the name aloud. “Have you ever heard of him?”

“Of course. You mean to say you haven’t?”

“Sorry, Mom,” Olivia said and released the blanket. It floated down over the poster.

That old movie poster must be worth something these days. It was a collector’s item, no doubt.

“Shall we open the trunk?” Olivia asked.

“Just a minute.” A thought struck Charlotte and she returned her attention to the poster. Throwing back the blanket, she took a second look. When she did, her knees started to shake.

“Mom!” Olivia was at her side instantly. “What is it?”

Sitting on the edge of the old trunk, Charlotte pointed with one hand at the poster while the other covered her mouth. “This can’t be.”

“What?”

“That’s Tom Harding!”

“Who? The man in the poster?”

Was her daughter dense? “Tom Harding is…was Tom Houston.”

“Really?”

Olivia clearly didn’t appreciate the significance of her discovery. Charlotte took a deep breath. “Tom Houston was as popular as Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. He was as well-known as Gene Autry in his time. Oh, my, I can’t believe my own eyes.”

“He could be a relative of your Tom,” Olivia suggested.

“No, it’s him… Oh, my, he really was Tom Houston! You used to watch his television show when you were a little girl,” Charlotte informed her. “Don’t you remember? On Saturday mornings…Tom had his own television series for a couple of years in the nineteen-fifties, and then he faded from the scene.”

“Tom Houston,” Olivia repeated softly as though tugging at childhood memories. She shook her head and then it seemed to come to her all at once. “Tom Houston,” she cried. “That Tom Houston?”

Charlotte saw that Olivia was truly excited now. A moment later, though, she frowned. “Oh, Mom, this has to be some kind of joke.”

“No, that’s Tom. Oh, he was decades older when I met him, but it’s the same man, I’m convinced of that.”

“Should we open the trunk?” Olivia asked obviously a little hesitant.

“Yes.” Charlotte was adamant about that now. “I’m hoping we’ll find some evidence of family.”

“I thought you said Tom didn’t have any family.”

“That the state knows of,” Charlotte corrected. “Which doesn’t mean there isn’t any.” Everyone had family.

Olivia had a bit of trouble undoing the lock, but the struggle was worth it once they were able to pry open the trunk. Inside was a virtual treasure trove of memorabilia.

“Oh, my,” Charlotte whispered, staring at the contents. The first thing she noticed was Tom Houston’s signature white outfit. The good guys always wore white, and Tom was very definitely a good guy. His guns were there, too, along with a number of old television scripts that appeared to be originals. She also saw World War II medals, and remembered that he’d served in the military.

“This stuff must be worth a fortune,” Olivia said in awe.

Filled with purpose, Charlotte straightened. “This is why he wanted me to have the key.”

Olivia glanced at her as if she didn’t know what to say. “He never gave you a hint about who he was, did he?”

“Not even one. He obviously didn’t want me to know while he was alive.” Charlotte was beginning to understand. Tom must have sensed that he could trust her. He must have realized she would do whatever was necessary to get these things—this legacy—to the people who were entitled to it. She might have let him down earlier, but by heaven, she wouldn’t again.

“Mom.” Olivia apparently recognized this look.

“He’s entrusted me with his most precious items for a reason.”

Olivia frowned. “And what’s that?”

Charlotte frowned back. “I’m going to track down his people and—”

“What people? Even if he’s got family, where are they? Why was he a ward of the state?”

“I don’t know. But Janet told me Tom was transferred to Cedar Cove at his own request—it was his original choice. My guess is he’s got family in the area.”

“If that’s the case, then why didn’t Tom contact them himself?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said again.

“My point exactly.”

Charlotte didn’t see it that way. “He trusted me,” she said stubbornly. “Tom wanted me to make sure all of this is properly distributed.”

“Mother—”

“Furthermore,” she continued, cutting Olivia off, “he knew he could count on me.” That, as far as she was concerned, said it all.

From this point forward, Charlotte was a woman on a mission. She’d figured out how to make up to Tom for neglecting him the last few weeks of his life. As a woman of honor, she swore she’d do everything within her power to find Tom Houston’s family. She wouldn’t give up, nor would she rest until his legacy was passed to those who had the right to own it.

On her way home from the library, Grace collected the day’s mail. That used to be Dan’s task because he generally arrived at the house before she did.

It was three weeks to the day since his disappearance. Three hellish weeks, in which she’d been confronted by all the unanswered questions, by doubts and guilt and mounting frustration.

The little everyday things distressed her. Taking out the garbage, bringing in the mail, fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom. All the things Dan used to do. Her fear and resentment intensified with each task.

At first Dan’s employer refused to believe he’d simply walked away from his life. Grace could hardly believe it herself, but all the evidence pointed toward the likelihood of exactly that. Dan was gone. No one had come up with any reason for it, any hows or whys. Grace had questioned Bob Bilderback, Dan’s boss at the tree service, at least five times, certain that he had some clue—even if he didn’t immediately recognize its significance. Bob was as bewildered as Grace.

Walking into the house, Grace quickly dispensed with the mail. Two bills went into a pile to join the others on Dan’s old desk. Money was tight. Bob had mailed her Dan’s last check made out to her. Frankly she was surprised Dan hadn’t collected that when he left, but then he had his credit cards.

Credit cards.

Grace hadn’t even thought to look at the VISA bill until now. She raced into Maryellen’s old bedroom, which had been turned into a den, and shuffled through the stack of unpaid bills on the desk until she reached the VISA statement still tucked inside the envelope.

Her hand shook as she tore it open and quickly scanned the list of charges. They all seemed to be in order with the exception of one. When she saw where the card had been used, her legs gave out. Bracing her back against the wall, she sank to the floor.

How long she sat there, staring at nothing, Grace couldn’t guess. She finally gathered the courage to call Olivia.

“Can you come over?” she asked. Her voice, which sounded scratchy, must have conveyed her urgency.

“I’m on my way.”

Less than ten minutes later, her friend was at the front door. “What is it?”

“The son of a bitch,” Grace cried, so furious she could barely contain herself. “Look at this!” She thrust the VISA statement at Olivia.

Olivia glanced at it and raised questioning eyes to Grace. “What?”

“Berghoff Jewelers in Bremerton. I didn’t buy myself any jewelry.”

“Dan?”

“Who else?” Grace raged.

“What would Dan buy there for two hundred and fifty dollars?”

“A little trinket for his girlfriend, no doubt,” she snapped.

“Well, let’s find out.”

Olivia was always sensible. It hadn’t even occurred to Grace to contact the store. She hadn’t cancelled the credit card, either, which was a mistake she planned to rectify first thing in the morning.

While Grace paced the living room, Olivia found the phone number and dialed. When she’d finished, she handed the receiver to Grace.

Anger shot through her. “Hello,” she said, doing her best to sound calm and reasonable. “My name is Grace Sherman and I have my credit card statement here in front of me.” She went on to explain the charge. “They’re looking up the receipt now,” Grace said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

In thirty-five years of marriage Dan hadn’t once bought her a piece of jewelry. He considered it frivolous. She wore a plain gold band—the same ring he’d placed on her finger the day of their wedding. Over the years, the band had worn thin and should have been replaced, but never was. Her husband didn’t wear a wedding band at all, not after he got out of the military. Working with heavy equipment made it dangerous for a man to wear any sort of ring.

The woman from Berghoff’s returned with the requested information. “Mrs. Sherman,” she said.

“Yes.” Grace was instantly alert.

“The VISA charge is for a ring.”

“I beg your pardon?” This was as strange as everything else about her husband’s disappearance.

“A ring. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t say what type.”

Grace felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “That’s all right. Thank you for your trouble.” Quickly she replaced the receiver, then collapsed into a chair.

“What?” Olivia was at her side.

Grace stared down at the thin gold band on her left hand. She’d suspected for a long time that there was another woman; now she had proof. “He bought a ring.”

“A ring?” Olivia said. “But why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Grace cried. “That’s why he left me his last paycheck,” she added.

“It was supposed to pay for the ring?” Olivia asked.

“Apparently so.” This was just like Dan and his twisted sense of honor. He thought nothing of walking out on her, without a word of explanation, turning her life into a living hell. Yet he made sure the last charge on their VISA account, one that had apparently paid for another woman’s ring, had been covered.

“The other day,” Grace whispered, struggling to hold on to her inner strength, “I came home from work and had the oddest sense that Dan had been in the house.”

“You changed the locks, didn’t you?”

“No.” Maryellen and Kelly had talked her out of that. Both of them were convinced their father would return soon and explain everything. In the beginning Grace had thought so, too, but no longer. She didn’t want him back. But if Dan ever did return, she wanted the distinct pleasure of telling him to his face that she was divorcing him.

“You think Dan was in the house?” Olivia asked.

“I’m almost positive….”

“Something was missing?”

If so, Grace couldn’t detect what it was, although she’d torn through every room, searching. She shook her head.

“Then how did you know?” Olivia persisted.

“I could smell him.”

“Smell him?”

“Working with trees all day, he often came home smelling like a freshly cut Christmas tree. The scent was there, I swear it, Olivia.”

“I don’t doubt you.”

“I didn’t tell the girls. They’re upset enough as it is.”

Olivia sat across from her. “Have you thought about talking to Roy McAfee? He has an excellent reputation.”

“A private detective?” That sounded outrageously expensive, and living on one income was already stretching her budget.

“It won’t hurt to consult with him and find out what he’d charge to find Dan.”

Grace nodded. Olivia was right.

The following day, Grace scheduled an afternoon appointment with the investigator. She’d met Roy a couple of times, and Corrie was a regular library patron.

Corrie was polite and friendly when Grace arrived, immediately putting her at ease. She led her into Roy’s office and brought each of them a cup of coffee before gently closing the door.

“I understand Dan is missing,” Roy said, getting directly to the point.

Grace could be equally blunt. Her patience with the situation was gone, especially since she’d learned about the ring. “How much would it cost to find him?”

“That depends on how long it takes.”

Grace glanced down at her folded hands. “I don’t think it’ll be that difficult.”

“Do you have any idea where he might be?” Roy asked.

“No. But I suspect he’s with another woman.”

Roy nodded. “Okay,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. “How badly do you want to find him?”

“I don’t. I mean, I don’t want him back.” Sadness settled over her. “I’d just like to see him long enough to slap the divorce papers in his hand.”