Читать книгу Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection - Debbie Macomber - Страница 49

Eighteen

Daniel Sherman was buried three days later in a private service with only family and a few friends in attendance. Bob Beldon, a childhood friend of Dan’s, gave the eulogy. The two men had been on the high-school football team together and then following graduation they’d enlisted in the Army on the buddy program. Maryellen hadn’t realized how close Dan and Bob had once been. After Vietnam her father had let that friendship and all the others slide as he became immersed in his own hell.

Maryellen returned from the memorial, physically and emotionally exhausted. Needing time to think through the events of the past year, she parked near the gallery, then walked down to the waterfront.

The gazebo area, where the Concerts on the Cove were held each Thursday night during summer, was deserted. Sitting halfway up in the stands, Maryellen stared straight ahead as she considered the complex relationship she’d had with her father. He’d loved her, she knew now, as much as he was capable of loving anyone. Kelly, too—perhaps more. And he’d loved their mother.

Grace had taken his death hard. Maryellen attributed her mother’s intense grief to the fact that she hadn’t been prepared for the shock of it. For her, it’d been easier to believe that Dan was with another woman—easier to accept, in some ways, than the knowledge that he’d taken his own life.

As to her own feelings, Maryellen was confused. This was her father, and she loved him, but she’d learned early in life to avoid Dan whenever the darkness came over him. As a five-year-old, she’d come up with that term. “The darkness.” It all made sense now. Her father had been haunted by guilt since the war, guilt he couldn’t drive off and couldn’t share.

Maryellen understood that, since she, too, lived with regret and pain. She, too, struggled with the past. All this time, she’d believed she had nothing in common with her father and without knowing it, they’d been more alike than she could possibly have guessed.

A tear fell onto her cheek, and then another, catching her unawares. Maryellen wasn’t emotional; she refused to be. Couldn’t afford to be. She’d locked away her emotions when she walked away from her marriage. Emotions were too costly.

The sound of someone approaching made her straighten and wipe the tears from her face. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to see that the intruder was Jon.

“I read about your father. I’m sorry.” He stood some distance from her, down by the gazebo, and looked out over the water. The sky was an azure cloudless blue, and the wind was still.

“Thank you.” The foot ferry that traveled between Bremerton and Cedar Cove lumbered toward the pier. Maryellen concentrated on that instead of Jon. He didn’t leave and she wanted to be alone. If she didn’t pick up the conversation, maybe he’d get the hint and go away.

“I’m sorry to talk to you about this now—”

“Then don’t,” she pleaded.

“You’ve taken that choice away from me.” To his credit, he did sound apologetic. “If you’d told me about the baby we could’ve—”

“We could’ve what?” she shouted. “Gotten rid of it?”

Her anger appeared to shock him. He stiffened and then dashed up the aisle so that he stood directly in front of her. “No, Maryellen, we could’ve talked this out like civilized human beings. Instead, you deceived me. You let me think everything was perfectly fine and it wasn’t.”

She lowered her head and stared at her feet. “You’re wrong. Everything is fine. I’m going to have my baby.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This isn’t your baby, it’s our baby.”

“No.” A chill ran down her spine, a niggling fear.

“A father has rights, too.”

Maryellen went cold inside. “How much is this going to cost me?”

“What?” He frowned, obviously confused.

“How much money will it take for you to leave me and my—me and the baby alone?” she demanded.

He stared at her for a long, heart-stopping moment. “You want to pay me to stay out of my child’s life? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

She nodded.

“No way!” He sounded angry and disgusted. Then he completely bewildered her by asking, “Who told you?”

“Told me what?” There seemed to be something she could use against him.

“If you don’t know, then I’ll be damned before I hand you another weapon.”

Her mind raced with what she knew about him, which was little. He worked as a chef, was a talented photographer and had inherited an incredible piece of land from his grandfather. That was the sum total of everything she’d learned about him—with one small sidebar. He was a fabulous lover. This last thought made her stomach tense.

“When did you take the photo of me?”

He didn’t answer, but stood his ground.

“I saw it in Seattle. That is me, Jon. Did you think I wouldn’t recognize myself?” She wasn’t the only one who’d been deceptive.

When she glanced up, she saw that he looked chagrined, as though embarrassed that she’d seen something he’d never intended her to know about. Well, she did know and she didn’t like it.

“I didn’t think you’d ever see that,” he admitted, his hands in his pockets.

“Of course you didn’t. Did you follow me around, Jon? When did you take that photograph?”

He lowered himself onto the bench several feet away from her. He kept his eyes focused on the waterfront and the jagged peaks of Olympic Mountains in the background. “We’re both adults. We should be able to come to an agreement regarding the baby.”

“If you don’t want money, what do you want?”

“My son,” he told her. “Or my daughter.”

“Why? Why does my baby matter to you? Is it some sort of male pride? Or vengeance? Or what?”

He shook his head. “A child is a child, and that’s a hell of a lot more than I ever expected out of life.” His voice was rigid with anger. “I’ve given up a lot over the years, but I’m not walking away from my own flesh and blood.”

Maryellen was beginning to feel truly frightened. His interest in the child wasn’t something she’d anticipated. She’d completely misread him that time before Christmas. Based on his reaction and on her own past experience, she’d believed he wouldn’t want anything to do with their child.

“All right,” she said reluctantly, “let’s talk about this. How involved do you expect to be?”

“I want joint custody.”

“Not on your life!” Her reaction was strong and immediate. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“What do you know about taking care of an infant?”

He shrugged. “About as much as you.”

“You work nights,” she argued.

“You work days. It’s a perfect set-up. Our child will be with one of his or her parents at all times.”

By now Maryellen’s stomach was twisted in tight knots. “That’s too difficult—we’d constantly be shuffling the baby from one house to the other.”

“You asked what I want, so I’ll tell you,” Jon continued. “Joint custody is number one on the list, but I also want to be at the hospital when the baby’s born.”

“You want to be there? For what possible reason?”

He ignored her question. “Have you chosen a birthing partner yet?”

“My mother.”

“Fine, have your mother go in with you. But after the baby’s born, I want to be the first one to hold him or her.”

“No.” This was getting far too complicated, far too unreasonable. She longed for him to simply leave her alone. She’d already been through one traumatic experience today and she wasn’t prepared to deal with another. “Anything else you want?” she asked with weary sarcasm.

“Oh, yes, there are several more items on my list.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“And your response is likely to be the same, isn’t it?”

In retrospect she’d been naive to think he’d be like Clint and demand she get rid of the baby. She’d been even more naive not to consider that Jon might actually wish to be involved in the baby’s life.

“Why can’t you be like other men?” she muttered irritably. Like Clint, for example.

“Me?” he challenged. “Why can’t you be like other women who use a child as a meal ticket and a way to manipulate men?”

“You have a rather jaded view of the female population.”

“No more jaded than your view of men.”

He had her there. “Touché.”

He let the conversation drop a moment, and then turned to her. “Can we compromise, Maryellen? Will you voluntarily allow me to be a part of my baby’s life? To be a father to my child?”

That he would ask her this on the very day she’d buried her own father was an irony she’d never forget. “Do I have to make that decision right now?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been to see an attorney. If we can’t work this out between the two of us, then I’m going to take you to court.”

The day Grace laid her husband to rest, she’d stood with her daughters at the gravesite and gathered them close so the three of them could bid Dan farewell. The nightmare was over. She had the answers she needed. What she hadn’t anticipated was the aching regret that accompanied them. For three days, she’d suffered from nightmares. The questions and doubts that had plagued her constantly since his disappearance had been dispelled by his letter; she knew now that she wasn’t to blame for his misery or for his final choice. But she’d discovered that the answers were as haunting as the questions.

Dan had chosen to take his own life. He’d chosen to die rather than confront the past, rather than deal with the future, rather than seek professional help. What Dan wrote in his letter explained his dark moods, but it didn’t offer the expiation she sought. It didn’t explain why her husband hadn’t been able to turn to her. She’d failed him, failed their marriage. Dan was never the same person after Vietnam; she’d known that and she should’ve gotten him help.

With friends and family at her side these last few days, it had been easy to push the nagging questions out of her mind, but she was alone now. The girls were both in their own homes. They had made peace with their father and gone back to their lives. But Grace wasn’t sure she could ever do that. Dan’s last act had changed the way she saw her whole marriage—her whole life.

She boiled water and then left a pot of tea to steep while she changed out of her suit and into slacks and a sleeveless top. Her eyes stung from the tears she’d shed, but they were dry now. No sooner had she poured her tea than the doorbell rang. Grace half expected Olivia and would have welcomed her dearest friend. Her feelings were contradictory; she didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t want company, either. Olivia would understand that.

But it was Cliff Harding who stood at her door, a bouquet of perfect yellow rosebuds in his hand.

She blinked, stunned to see him, and instantly, to her utter embarrassment, dissolved into tears. Covering her face with both hands, she wept aloud. Cliff opened the screen door and stepped inside, and immediately took her into his arms.

Grace clung to him. She felt the roses press against her back, the tiny thorns tearing the material of her blouse, and still she clung to him weeping and sobbing, her cries echoing in the empty house.

Cliff led her to the sofa. His arms encompassed her as her body shook with sobs.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when the tears were spent, she lifted her head and between deep breaths apologized. “I didn’t…mean to… do that.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said quietly.

Not understanding the comment, she raised questioning eyes to him.

“It feels good to be needed. No one’s needed me in a very long time.”

Grace pressed her head to Cliff’s shoulder and exhaled a wobbly breath. She gloried in his warmth, his solid strength. “I never expected it to end like this,” she whispered.

“I know you didn’t.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Grace, sorrier than you’ll ever know.”

“He wrote me a letter…. It helped explain. All the years I believed… I thought there was someone else, some other woman who could make him happy.”

His hand stroked her hair. “What about the friend who spotted him in town?”

“According to the sheriff, it couldn’t have been Dan.”

“A case of mistaken identity?”

Grace nodded. “It must be.” She blew her nose in a tissue, thinking she must look dreadful. “It explains the mangled Christmas gifts I found, too.” That was a sign of the depths his depression had reached. He felt unworthy of anything good in his life, to the point that he’d destroyed anything he loved, including the gifts his family gave him. His world was a bleak, black void. He felt trapped in the darkness and couldn’t find his way out.

“Did you learn where he got the cash to buy the trailer?”

“That I don’t know. We never had thirteen thousand dollars in all the time we were married. With Dan only working part of the year, we often went for months living on one paycheck, scrimping, going from payday to payday. We had to take out loans to pay for the girls’ schooling. I don’t understand how he managed to put that kind of money aside.”

“He must have planned this for years.”

Grace had thought that, too. “I don’t know if he intended to kill himself right away…. I think he just wanted to escape. Dan loved the forest. He felt more at peace there than anywhere else. His moods got much worse after he lost his job as a logger. I just assumed…”

“You assumed the depression was caused by the loss of his job, which is only natural.”

“I did,” she said. “I realize now that he lost whatever sense of peace he had when he left the forest. That’s why he bought the trailer. He intended to live there for a while, I think, mull over his life…” She sighed. “I’d like to think that, but how true it is I have no way of knowing. He returned to the house once. I’m positive of that.” Still, Grace didn’t understand why he’d come home so briefly. She felt a wave of pity for him and wished again that she’d been more perceptive.

“Can I do anything for you?” Cliff asked.

Grace shook her head. “I’m so tired. I haven’t slept more than two or three hours at a stretch since Dan was found.”

He grazed her temple with his lips. “Sleep now,” he urged.

She reached for his hand and held it. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I won’t. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise.” That was important to her for reasons she didn’t want to analyze.

“I promise.” He led her into the bedroom, and when she lay down on the bed, he covered her with a blanket, leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then he crept from the bedroom and turned off the light.

Grace closed her eyes and heard the door to her room close with a soft click. While sleep was tempting, all she really needed was to rest her eyes for a moment. But she instantly drifted off. Three hours later, when she woke, night had settled in and darkness surrounded her.

As she took a moment to orient herself, she heard someone in her kitchen. Tossing aside the afghan Cliff had spread over her, she climbed off the bed and came into the hallway.

“Cliff?”

“I’m here.” He appeared, wearing her apron along with an enticing grin. “I’ve made us dinner.”

“You cook?”

He shrugged. “Don’t expect anything fancy.”

The table was set, with everything neatly in place. A tantalizing scent wafted from the oven. He’d put the roses in a vase on the table and had used her best china and linen. His care sent a feeling of warmth surging through her.

“Olivia phoned,” Cliff told her. “We spoke for a while. Maryellen checked in, too. You might want to give her a call later.”

“What about Olivia? Should I return her call?”

“Only if you want. She was more concerned that you not be by yourself, but I assured her I was here for you. I’m not going anywhere, Grace.”

His words comforted her. She’d felt so desperately alone since the discovery of Dan’s body. Even after he’d disappeared, she hadn’t experienced this cold loneliness in quite the same way.

Reaching for the pot holders, Cliff withdrew a casserole dish from the oven. “I hope you like shepherd’s pie?”

She didn’t feel like eating, but nodded. Since he’d gone to so much trouble, the least she could do was make an effort to show her appreciation. Only when she actually sat down to eat did she realize how hungry she was.

“You’re an excellent cook.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, apparently pleased by her praise. “My repertoire is pretty basic, though.”

When they’d finished with the meal, they lingered over coffee and then, because she needed to do something with her hands, she started clearing away dishes. Cliff insisted on helping and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I meant what I told Olivia,” Cliff said as he set a dinner plate inside the dishwasher.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not leaving you. Don’t worry, I’m not going to set up camp in your living room, but I want you to know I’m here for the long haul.” He leaned against the counter and sighed. “Today, the day you’ve buried your husband, probably isn’t the right time to tell you this, but I care deeply about you, Grace.”

His words hung in the air between them.

“I care about you, too,” she said quietly. She knew that Cliff was meant to be in her life as surely as the sun shone in the sky.

“You feel the same way?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“It’s just that—damn, you can’t say that to a man when he has a dishtowel in his hand.”

“Sure I can,” she teased, “and do you know why? Because I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon, either.”

Then they were in each other’s arms again. They didn’t kiss; the day of Dan’s funeral was too soon for that. But the time would come again and they’d both know when it did.

“Are you sure your boyfriend won’t mind me stealing you on a Friday night?” Stan asked Olivia as they stood in line at the six-plex theater.

“Jack’s busy.” He’d phoned and invited her to come with him to the school board meeting, but she’d declined. Because Jack was so paranoid about Stan, she didn’t mention that she was going to an early movie with her ex-husband. She would tell him, though; she just didn’t want a big discussion about it.

“This is almost like old times,” Stan said.

“Not quite. Are you buying the popcorn or am I?”

“You are,” he said.

“Well, in that way, I guess, it is like old times.” With three young children, a night out for them had been infrequent. Going to a movie every six months was a big deal. In order to save time, Stan generally bought the tickets while she stood in line at the snack bar.

“Where is Clark Kent, anyway?” Stan asked as they walked into the theater.

He certainly was curious. “He had a meeting to attend.”

“Are you going to tell him about this? Because I don’t want to be a source of trouble between you two.”

“Of course I’ll tell him.” She wasn’t one who kept secrets, and Stan should know that. His questions irritated her.

They sat in the back of the theater, and as soon as they were settled in, Olivia took a handful of popcorn.

“You actually like this guy, don’t you?”

With her mouth full, she simply nodded. The truth of it was, she did. Jack was intelligent and argumentative and he had a sense of humor; he challenged her and he made her laugh. He was a bit insecure, too, but she was willing to look past that.

Stan seemed about to ask her another question when the previews started, for which Olivia was grateful. She didn’t want to spend the evening discussing her personal relationships.

After the movie, they stopped for coffee and dessert at the Pancake Palace. That had also been part of their date-night routine. But as they sat in the booth across from each other, Olivia was determined not to let Stan sidetrack her, either with nostalgic references or with questions about Jack. He’d contacted her, wanting advice about his marriage. So that was going to be the subject of their conversation.

“Are you and Jack—”

“Wait a minute.” Olivia raised her hand. “Is tonight about you or me?”

Stan lowered his eyes. “Defeat has never come easy to me.”

Olivia had to bite her tongue to keep from reminding him that he’d been the one to pack up and move out of their home. He’d been the one to file for divorce and the one who insisted their marriage was over.

“What happened?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Marge wants out.”

“Why?”

“She says she doesn’t love me anymore—that we had something special once but we don’t now. She’s already filed for divorce.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Stan refused to meet her eyes. “It hurts like hell.”

Then, because her own experience had given her some insight into Marge, Olivia asked, “Do you think she’s met someone else?”

Stan’s gaze shot to hers as he slowly nodded. “I’ve thought that for some time.”

Olivia didn’t feel any sense of vindication at being right. She felt sadness for both her ex-husband and his second wife. Stan and Marge had once had a solid marriage, but apparently old patterns had reasserted themselves. She recalled that Marge, too, had been married when she’d met Stan.

“I’m sorry.”

He tried to make light of it, but Olivia knew him well enough to recognize the pain in his eyes. For the first time, she looked at him and didn’t see the strikingly attractive man he’d once been. Stan seemed old and somehow, worn-out, his skin sallow and lined.

They talked for nearly an hour and she was astonished to see that it was almost nine by the time they paid for their coffee and pie.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he confessed as they drove back to the house on Lighthouse Road. “I have to tell you, Olivia, this divorce business has really got me down.”

She patted his hand. “Life has a way of working everything out. Don’t give up on Marge yet.”

Stan pulled over to the side of the road. The sun was just setting, and the last threads of light cast a golden glow across the shimmering waters of the Cove. “I’ve always loved the view of the house from here,” he said, leaving the engine to idle.

Olivia did, too. She remembered when she’d first seen that old house with the For Sale sign in the front yard. She’d felt chills go down her spine. She didn’t even need to tour the inside to know this was the home she wanted for her family. Although the price had been a stretch for them, together they’d managed to come up with the down payment and get a loan. The twins had been four then, and it was the first time they’d had their own rooms. Unfortunately the house hadn’t been enough to hold their family together after the loss of Jordan. Yet in many ways Olivia viewed it as a symbol of everything that was best about their marriage.

“Marge moved out last weekend,” Stan admitted.

Olivia hadn’t known that. “I’m so sorry, Stan.”

He sighed and looked away. “Thank you for not gloating. This is what I deserve, isn’t it?”

“We’ve been divorced a lot of years.”

“Yes, I know, but you’ve been decent about it, Liv, really decent.”

She wasn’t sure that was entirely true.

“I don’t think I can face going home. Not tonight,” he said, sounding broken and tired.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll just get a hotel room.”

Olivia knew this could just be a ploy, but she did feel bad for him, and she understood his not wanting to go back to an empty house. “There’s no need to do that. You can sleep in James’s old room and drive to Seattle in the morning.”

Some of the stress left his face. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“No, but I do have an appointment tomorrow. I should leave by nine.” She and Jack were going to Sol Duc Hot Springs so he could do research for a travel article. Since she had the better car, she was picking him up.

“No problem, I’ll be on the road by eight. Sooner if you want.”

“Any time before nine will be okay.”

Stan parked his BMW in the back by the garage and before he went upstairs, Olivia gave him a fresh set of towels.

This was the first time they’d slept in the same house since their divorce. As she readied for bed, she wondered if she’d done the right thing by inviting him to stay.

In the morning, her doubts disappeared. She was awake at seven and while she brewed coffee she heard the shower running upstairs. Humming to herself, she was surprised to hear someone ringing her doorbell.

She ran to answer it.

“J-Jack?” she stammered, instantly afraid he’d hear Stan and assume the worst.

“I come bearing gifts.” He held two containers of coffee and a white bakery sack. “Maple bars,” he said enticingly. “Your favorite. I thought we’d have breakfast here before we head out.”

“I—”

“Olivia,” Stan called as he bounded down the stairs. He stopped cold when he saw Jack. He wore one of Justine’s old housecoats and a pair of her fuzzy slippers.

“You remember Stan, don’t you?” she muttered, which was probably the most inane thing she could have said.

“Oh, yes, I remember Stan.” Jack’s eyes were cold and narrow.

Stan, doing his best to appear dignified, wrapped the silky housecoat more securely around him. “Obviously, my timing couldn’t have been worse.”

“On the contrary,” Jack said. “Your timing couldn’t have been better.”

“Sorry.” Stan cast an apologetic look at Olivia and hurried back up the stairs.

Jack and Olivia faced each other. “You can’t believe that Stan and I…slept together.” Surely Jack had more faith in her than that!

“Whatever, Olivia.”

This was such a juvenile response she didn’t know how to react.

“He wants you back.”

She’d heard that before. But Jack didn’t know how badly Stan was hurting. This wasn’t what it looked like!

“You can believe me or not,” Jack continued. “That’s completely up to you. But I’ll tell you something. It’s either him or me. You decide.”

“You want me to tell my ex-husband that I won’t see him again?”

Surely even Jack must realize he had no right to make such a demand.

“That’s exactly what I want, or we’re through.”

“I don’t deal well with ultimatums,” Olivia told him.

Jack set the coffee and the maple bars on the dining-room table. “That tells me everything I need to know.” He turned and headed out the door.

Olivia was so shocked she didn’t know what to do. Shocked and then angry. It took her a full ten seconds to decide to chase after him. By then Jack had reached his dilapidated old car.

“You say Stan wants me back?”

“He’s made that plain for months.” Jack’s hand was on his door.

How dare he just walk away like this! If what he said was true, then the least he could do was show some gumption.

“Jack Griffin, do you care about me at all?” she cried.

He turned around and glared at her. “It’s him or me. You have to decide.”

So Mr. Hotshot was still playing that game. “You’re wrong. I’m not the one making the decisions here, it’s you. You’re the one who’s running away with your tail between your legs. You’re the one who’s tossing out ultimatums.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Finally a question she could answer. “What I want, Jack Griffin, is for you to fight for me. Prove to me that you’re worthy of all the faith I have in you.”