Читать книгу Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection - Debbie Macomber - Страница 76

Twenty-Three

It’d been three weeks since Maryellen had seen Jon, other than in passing. She’d gotten quite good at inventing reasons for him to linger when he came to collect Katie, but he always had an excuse to leave almost as soon as he arrived.

The unspoken message that he no longer wanted to be part of her life was beginning to sink into her stubborn heart. The more she obsessed over his behavior, the more convinced she became that there was someone else.

For the most part, Maryellen was able to hide her pain and disappointment from those closest to her. Her sister was busy and involved in her marriage. These days Kelly was preoccupied with getting pregnant a second time and seemed oblivious to anything outside her own small world. Not that Maryellen was complaining. If their circumstances had been reversed, she probably would’ve done the same.

Her mother was a different story. In the last year, Maryellen had felt closer to her mother than anyone, but that, too, had changed and for reasons she didn’t understand. While Maryellen was pregnant with Katie, she’d had many wonderful talks with her mother. But lately, Grace had been distracted, and Maryellen felt excluded from her mother’s life.

Oddly, the one person she could confide in was her nail tech. Rachel had been working on Maryellen’s nails for three years; during that time, she’d become both confessor and counselor.

There was something liberating about sitting across from Rachel like this. The minute Rachel reached for her hands, it was as if an emotional wall lowered between them. Despite the privileged nature of their relationship, their time together was limited to these occasional appointments.

What she couldn’t tell her mother and sister, she could discuss with Rachel. It was Rachel who’d first guessed that she was pregnant, although Maryellen had worked hard to keep it a secret for as long as possible. And Rachel was the first to recognize that Maryellen had fallen in love with Jon, something she’d barely acknowledged to herself. Rachel’s insight and practical wisdom had been a special gift these last few weeks.

February wound to a close. Maryellen sat across from Rachel for her nail appointment; when she looked up, she found Rachel studying her intently.

“What?” Maryellen stretched out her hands.

Rachel frowned. “I wondered, but now I know. You didn’t hear from Jon, did you?”

“Is it that obvious?” Maryellen tried to make a joke of it and failed.

“Yes.” Rachel lifted Maryellen’s hands for inspection. “Look at these nails! They’re a disaster. I can always tell when something’s troubling you by looking at your fingernails.”

“I know, I know.” She’d chipped the polish on two nails and broken another. Rachel was right; she was a mess and in more ways than one.

Rachel nonchalantly reached for a cotton ball and polish remover. “I saw Jon the other day, down by the waterfront with Katie. I think it’s so cute the way he hauls her around on his back, all bundled up and everything. He had his camera around his neck.”

Maryellen had seen Jon with Katie in exactly that way a dozen times. She marveled at what a good father he was. She felt sure that Katie would love the outdoors with the same energy and enthusiasm as Jon.

“Speaking of Katie, how’s she doing?” Rachel asked. “Last time you were in, she’d just gotten over a cold and an ear infection. Poor little thing.”

“She’s much better.” A fact for which Maryellen was eternally grateful. Katie’s illness had been a nightmare for her. She was astonished by how well she’d managed to function on so little sleep. Not that she wanted to try it again anytime soon. “Katie’s crawling around like crazy. I’ll bet she starts walking early.”

Rachel sighed and vigorously rubbed the Forever French polish from Maryellen’s fingertips. “I’d love to have a baby. I’m telling you, Maryellen, that biological clock of mine is getting louder than Big Ben. I’m almost thirty, and if I don’t meet someone soon, I have a feeling I never will.”

Men or the lack thereof was a frequent topic between them. Rachel liked to say that her chances of meeting eligible men in a hair-and-nail shop were equivalent to losing weight on a diet of hot fudge sundaes. She’d done the bar scene, hung around at all the “guy” places. A year ago, she’d even enrolled in a mechanics class at the community college. Not a single date had come as a result of all that effort, and Rachel was discouraged.

“Anytime you want to borrow Katie for a fix, let me know,” Maryellen told her.

“I just might.” Rachel dumped the used cotton balls in the garbage and picked up her file. “Enough about my pathetic love life, let’s talk about you and Jon.”

As if there was anything to talk about. “Unfortunately, it all seems pretty hopeless.”

“Why?”

There was no easy way to answer that question. She hadn’t intended to tell Rachel what she suspected, but the words were out before she could stop them. “I think he’s involved with someone else.”

Rachel looked up and held Maryellen’s gaze. “I don’t believe it.”

Maryellen mumbled a response, her head lowered. This was humiliating enough without inviting the entire shop to listen in.

“What?” Rachel asked. “I didn’t hear you.”

Embarrassed, Maryellen said, “I practically threw myself at him not once, but twice—and Jon turned me down both times.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper. The morning they’d awakened next to each other and he’d moved away from her had been a low point for Maryellen.

“That’s what I mean,” Rachel whispered back heatedly. “If Jon didn’t love you, he’d have taken what you offered, and just enjoyed himself. Then he would’ve left without a backward glance. But, you’ll notice, Jon didn’t do that. He exhibited self-control.”

“But why?” Maryellen demanded. If Jon truly loved her, she’d know it; she’d feel it. If he did care for her, she wouldn’t have felt so utterly devastated when he walked away.

“That I can’t answer,” Rachel murmured as she continued to file Maryellen’s nails.

“Maybe he’s seeing one of the women he works with,” Maryellen said, and her heart grew heavy at the thought. The Lighthouse employed lots of single women who worked as waitresses. There were others in the kitchen. And his photographs were gaining more and more attention. Maryellen had been around the artists’ community long enough to know how attractive women found creative men.

“There’s no one else,” Rachel said, with such conviction that several heads turned in their direction.

“How can you be so sure?”

Rachel concentrated on her filing. “I wish I could give you definite proof. I can’t, but I’m convinced he loves you.”

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Maryellen desperately wanted to believe that, too.

“You know,” Rachel said suddenly. “Here’s a thought. You could always ask him if there’s someone else.”

Maryellen immediately shook her head.

“Why not?”

“Well…because…” Maryellen couldn’t think of a reason quickly and found herself stuttering. “It’s out of the question,” she said with finality.

Rachel paused again. “You don’t want to know, do you?”

Maryellen gaped at her.

“You’re afraid of the truth,” Rachel insisted.

Maryellen started to defend herself and then admitted Rachel was right—she was afraid.

“What’s the worst thing that can happen?” Rachel said next. “My mother used to ask me that whenever I had a problem. It always got me thinking, you know?”

Maryellen realized she needed to do some thinking, too. This situation with Jon was making her miserable, and there was no solution in sight.

“You love him, Maryellen.”

“I know.”

“I don’t understand why two people who so obviously care for each other have such a hard time finding happiness.” Rachel released a long slow sigh. “I have to tell you, this is not encouraging to someone like me.”

“You’ll find a husband,” Maryellen said. Surely a woman as lovely, practical and just plain nice as Rachel would succeed in meeting a man.

“Sure I will,” Rachel agreed, “but I’d prefer he didn’t come with a police record or an addiction to drugs or booze.”

“There’s your problem, Rach,” Maryellen teased. “You’re just too darn picky.”

Peggy had seen changes in Bob over the last year, but the most dramatic ones had come after Sheriff Davis’s last visit. Her husband didn’t sleep well and was often up roaming the house at all hours of the night. He’d lost interest in his wood shop, too. He used to spend much of the day there, working on a variety of projects, but now many of them were left uncompleted. Lately nothing interested him.

For the last few weeks, he’d attended his AA meetings on a daily basis: twenty-one meetings in twenty-one days. He hadn’t been to that many in such quick succession since he’d first gotten involved with Alcoholics Anonymous. Bob refused to talk about his feelings and snapped at her when she pried. For now, she decided, it was best to leave him alone. They’d meet Hannah Russell later today; maybe then they’d find the answers they sought.

After spending a sleepless night herself, Peggy called Corrie McAfee. They met at least once a week, to shop, exchange recipes and talk about gardening. She was the one person Peggy could speak to about this upcoming meeting.

“It’s Peggy,” she said when her friend picked up the receiver.

“Hi,” the other woman said cheerfully. “How are you?”

“Can I ask a favor?” Peggy’s stomach was in knots, and emotionally she wasn’t in much better shape than Bob.

“Of course!”

“Would it be possible for you and Roy to be here this afternoon? We promised Sheriff Davis we’d see this girl, but now I’m not so sure we should.”

“Let me talk to Roy,” Corrie said, and put her on hold for a moment.

Peggy gnawed on her lower lip, leaning against the kitchen wall as she waited for Corrie. The meeting with Hannah would be hard on everyone. Peggy didn’t know what they could tell Max Russell’s daughter; she, too, was looking for answers and unfortunately they had none to give her.

Corrie was back. “Roy’s clearing his schedule now. We’ll be there.”

Peggy mentioned the appointment time, then added, “I…I didn’t discuss this with Bob, but I’ll tell him you’re coming before you and Roy get here.” She felt it was only fair to let her friend know this.

“That’s fine,” Corrie assured her. “Don’t worry, Peg, everything’s going to be fine.”

Peggy wished she could believe that.

All afternoon, Peggy and Bob were tense and on edge with each other. He did agree to having the McAfees at the meeting, though, which was a relief to Peggy, who wanted them for emotional support.

By three o’clock when the doorbell rang, Peggy was an emotional wreck and Bob wasn’t any better. Although she’d been a hostess for many years, she fussed about the kitchen with coffee cups and cookies and plates as though she’d never entertained before.

Roy and Corrie arrived first. Bob shook hands with Roy and then led the couple into the living room. Corrie and Roy sat on one of the two sofas, leaving the two wing chairs by the fireplace vacant.

Bob waited until they were seated before he said, “Peggy told me she’d asked you to join us. Frankly I appreciate the fact that you’re here.”

“I’m glad to do it,” Roy assured him.

The doorbell chimed again, and Peggy’s heart instantly flew into her throat. Bob’s eyes met hers and he, too, seemed momentarily paralyzed. He recovered quickly. With a determined stride he went to answer the door.

The young woman who stepped into the foyer was very tall and thin, and Peggy had a whimsical image of her as one of the great blue herons who stalked the pebble beach of the cove. Sheriff Davis entered the house behind their guest.

The woman, who appeared to be close in age to her own children, wore a full-length, tan raincoat with navy-blue pants and a sweater. Her dark hair was tied with a scarf at the base of her neck.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hannah,” Bob said as he took her coat. “I wish it was under more pleasant circumstances.”

“So do I.” She glanced nervously into the room.

Roy stood for the introduction, which Peggy thought was a nice touch. He then shook hands with Sheriff Davis. If the sheriff had any questions about the McAfees’ presence, he didn’t voice them.

Once everyone was settled—Sheriff Davis and Hannah in the chairs by the fireplace—Peggy suggested they talk first and save the coffee and cookies for later.

“I think that would be best,” Hannah said. Her voice was soft and modulated as she leaned forward and folded her hands on her knees, almost as if she were a schoolgirl. She did look young, and so vulnerable. Peggy resisted the urge to give her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“I hope we can answer your questions,” Bob began.

“I hope you can, too.” Hannah inhaled loudly, obviously gathering strength.

“Earlier today I was in to see Sheriff Davis,” Hannah said, nodding at him. “He gave me my dad’s ashes. I’ll take them back to California and place them in the mausoleum next to my mother.”

Peggy could only imagine how difficult this must be for someone so young. “I hope now that your father’s been found, you have some closure,” she said. The words sounded hollow and trite to her own ears.

“I don’t know if closure is possible until I discover why Dad came to Cedar Cove in the first place,” Hannah responded. “As I was telling Sheriff Davis, we don’t know anyone in Washington state. As far as I’m aware, Dad’s never been to this area before…and he was acting so mysterious when he left. He didn’t want me to find out where he was going—that was pretty clear. I wouldn’t even have known he was leaving if I hadn’t stopped in to see him that day. Can you tell me anything?” she pleaded.

“I wish I could,” Bob answered, “but Peggy and I are as much at a loss as you.”

Peggy murmured agreement.

“I suppose you want to know whatever I can tell you about that night,” Bob said, leaning forward.

“Please. Anything would be helpful.”

Bob proceeded to fill in the details, describing everything he and Peggy had discussed dozens of times, together and with the police.

“Sheriff Davis said sometimes it’s the minutest detail that leads to an answer,” Peggy added.

There was a brief silence after this remark.

“Would you mind answering a few questions I have?” Roy asked Hannah.

“I will if I can.”

Sheriff Davis frowned, but he didn’t intrude.

“I understand your father was injured in a car accident that also killed your mother?”

Hannah’s face was troubled. “He never forgave himself for that.”

“What caused the accident?”

Her eyes widened. “The investigation determined that my father was at fault.”

“I read the accident report,” Roy said slowly, “and your father claimed the steering failed.”

“He did say that,” Hannah agreed, “but the accident investigators couldn’t find anything wrong with the steering system. The only thing they could suggest is the tube leading to the automatic steering system had an air pocket in it. Apparently that sometimes happens, but it’s rare, and without any conclusive evidence, my father was found to be at fault.” She paused and looked at Sheriff Davis. “I think in some ways it might’ve been easier on my dad if he’d died that night.”

“The guilt?” Troy asked.

“That,” she said, “and month upon month of surgery and physical therapy.”

“What about your father’s friends?” Roy asked next.

Hannah glanced down at her hands. “Dad was pretty much a loner. He didn’t have a lot of friends. Oh—there was one old army buddy who helped him get into the VA hospital where he was treated. But other than that…” She shook her head. “Mom told me he was a different man before the war. They were just dating back then, and she saved all his letters. Some days after they’d had an argument, she would sit on their bed and read them. She said they reminded her of what Dad was like before the war.”

“Do you still have those letters?” Roy asked.

“I’d like to see them if you do,” Sheriff Davis said before Roy could ask.

“Yes, but I’d want them back.”

“Of course,” Troy Davis assured her.

“I understand you knew my father.” Hannah’s question was directed at Bob.

He nodded. “We spent a year together in Nam.”

“Can you tell me what he was like then?”

Bob leaned back in his chair and took a moment to compose his thoughts. “What I remember most about Max is his guitar. At the end of the day, we’d sit around and he’d bring it out and strum a few songs. You can’t imagine how much music can do to take the edge off, especially in the situation your dad and I were in.”

“I didn’t know my father played the guitar.”

“He didn’t after—” Bob stopped abruptly and faltered. “Something happened in the war that affected both your father and me. War is like that. It can destroy your soul.”

“He never spoke of the war,” she said softly.

Bob didn’t, either. When he’d first returned from Nam, Peggy had thought it would help if her husband talked about his experiences. He’d refused. Had she known what demons hounded him, she would’ve suggested counseling, but he kept many of his experiences hidden from her. It wasn’t until he’d just about drowned in a bottle that she understood why, and by then it was almost too late.

“Is there anything else you’d like to ask us?” Peggy inquired. Hannah shook her head. “I appreciate that you let me come. I wondered, you know. Anyone would. He’s gone… both he and my mom. I just wondered….”

Like Hannah, Peggy wondered if she and Bob would ever find peace.

Rosie tried not to dwell on Zach’s confession that he’d relied emotionally on his personal assistant. In essence, Zach had admitted to falling in love with the other woman. She’d known in her heart that he’d been unfaithful, and he’d proved her at least partially right. Rosie could only speculate about what had happened, but—as he’d admitted—eventually Zach would have become Janice’s lover.

Their divorce had been final for months, and by now she should be ready to move on. Instead, she felt as if she was falling deeper and deeper into an abyss, a place of uncertainty and sadness.

Sunday afternoon she waited until she was sure Zach would be out of the house before she arrived. Her entrance didn’t cause much of a stir. Eddie was reading one of the Harry Potter books and Allison was in her bedroom with the door closed.

“What’s for dinner?” Eddie asked, glancing up when she came in, carrying two plastic grocery bags.

“How about spaghetti?” she asked, knowing it was her son’s favorite.

“We had that last night, and I like Dad’s spaghetti sauce better than yours.”

“Thank you so much,” she muttered under her breath. Her son was nothing if not honest.

When Rosie walked into the kitchen, she set the groceries on the counter and stared around her in complete awe. The room was meticulously clean. The floor had been washed and waxed to such a bright sheen she could see her own reflection. Not only that, the countertops were cleared off and wiped down. The stove had a shine to it that had been sadly absent since the day they’d moved into the house. Rosie walked over to the wall-mounted oven and opened it. Sure enough, that, too, was spotless.

“Who cleaned the kitchen?” Rosie called out to her son.

“Dad.”

It hurt like hell to admit that her ex-husband was a better housekeeper and cook than she’d ever been. Rosie tried not to feel sorry for herself. She should be counting her blessings instead of complaining. The kitchen was immaculate. She’d wanted to clean it for weeks, but even in her heyday as a wife and mother, she’d never have managed anything close to the perfection that lay before her now.

“Hi, Mom,” Allison said, wandering into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and took out a can of soda.

Even without looking, Rosie knew it had been cleaned, too.

“Sloppy joes okay with you for dinner?”

“I guess.”

Such enthusiasm. “Do you think Dad’s a better cook than I am?” Rosie wasn’t sure why she bothered to ask. Her daughter was bound to heap salt onto her already bleeding wounds.

“Do you want me to be honest?” Allison said, pulling the tab on the soda can.

That, on its own, was answer enough. Rosie crossed her arms and mentally prepared herself for the answer. “Go ahead.”

Allison took a deep swallow of her soda. “At first Dad cooked the same things you did, but then he really seemed to get into it. He doesn’t have a lot of time, you know, so he does fun things like chicken salad with grapes and pineapple and lettuce. I sometimes help him,” she added proudly.

“We use bottled sauce—the gourmet stuff. It’s really yummy. I’ll give you the recipe if you want.”

“No, thanks.”

“His spaghetti’s really good, too. He adds sliced olives, and last night he threw in a can of jalapeños. It was great. Dad said that’s called fusion cooking.”

“It’s what?”

“Fusion. Come on, Mom, get with it.”

For reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely, tears filled Rosie’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She tried to hide them from her daughter but should have known better.

“Mom, are you crying?”

Rosie shrugged and turned her back to Allison.

“You’d better tell me what’s wrong,” Allison said.

“I don’t know—I’m just so glad to have you back.” She turned around and hugged her daughter. The girl was taller than Rosie—when had that happened?

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Allison protested.

“But you did,” Rosie said, and cupped her daughter’s beautiful face. “I thought I’d lost you. I’m so grateful you’re back.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing to cry about.”

“I know.” It didn’t escape Rosie’s notice that she wasn’t the one her daughter had reached out to. Instead, a woman who was virtually a stranger had stepped into the role of mentor. Rosie could now add another failing to her list: besides being a bad wife and an inadequate housekeeper, she was a terrible mother.

It was suddenly too much for her, and pulling out a chair, Rosie buried her face in her hands.

“Are you all right?” Allison asked.

“Fine…sorry, just give me a minute.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Allison insisted.

How could she? Rosie kept her face covered and continued to cry into her hands. She could hear Allison and Eddie whispering in the background, but she was too upset to pay attention.

After about ten minutes, she stood, unloaded her grocery bags and set a pan on the stove top. She wasn’t hungry, but in all likelihood the children were. She was enough of a failure without adding that to her list of sins.

The front door opened, and Rosie quickly wiped her cheeks and reached for a tissue to blow her nose. When she looked up, she discovered Zach standing in the kitchen doorway.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Allison and Eddie crowded around their father. “Don’t be mad, Mom. We called Dad.”

“Why would you do that?” she demanded, knowing she sounded defensive. At this point she didn’t care.

Allison took a step forward. “Because you wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Your father—”

Zach’s jaw tightened. “I’m right here, Rosie. There’s no need to talk about me as if I wasn’t in the room.”

She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “This is my time with the kids.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll just turn around and leave.”

“No.” It was Eddie who spoke first.

Allison echoed him. “No. Dad, Mom needs you.”

“I don’t,” Rosie muttered.

“You do, Mom,” Allison said. “Now, talk, both of you, and Eddie and I’ll cook dinner.”

Eddie seemed ready to protest, but at a glance from his sister, he closed his mouth.

Rosie and Zach frowned at each other for a moment before Zach gestured toward the family room. “It looks like we have our orders.”

Rosie grabbed a second tissue and reluctantly followed her ex-husband.

They sat as far apart from each other as possible. Rosie took one end of the sofa and Zach sat on the edge of the recliner. Neither said anything for several tense minutes.

“I wanted to explain about my comment the other day,” Zach said.

Rosie wasn’t up to hearing another confession. She raised her hand, stopping him. “Please don’t. Frankly, I don’t want to hear it.”

Zach ignored her request. “I felt it was only fair to tell you—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she said, losing patience.

“The least you can do is let me explain.”

“Why, so you can drag my self-esteem through the gutter again? Fine, you had an emotional affair. I heard you the first time. I got the message.”

Zach hung his head. “But I was never physically involved with Janice.”

“That’s not the point. You were in love with her.”

“No,” he corrected quickly. “I had an emotional relationship with her, and there’s a difference.”

Rosie wasn’t sure that was true. All she knew was that her husband, the man she loved, had wanted another woman.

“When I look back on everything that led up to the divorce,” Zach continued, “I understand how you must have felt. Instead of answering your concerns, I saw you as a jealous shrew.”

“I was,” Rosie admitted softly. She closed her eyes in shame as she remembered the things she’d said, the way she’d behaved toward her husband.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. I couldn’t regret what happened any more than I already do. I hurt you, I hurt our children and in the process I hurt myself.”

She sniffled loudly. “I’m sorry, too, but that isn’t the only reason I’m crying. Oh, Zach,” she wailed, “the kitchen is so beautiful.”

“You noticed,” he said, and there was a note of satisfaction in his voice. “I wanted to do something for you and that was the only thing I could think of.”

“You’re a better housekeeper than I’ll ever be,” she sobbed.

“Hey, we each have our strengths and weaknesses.”

“And a better cook.”

He shrugged, teasing her with a sexy grin. “I disagree with you there.”

Rosie blew her nose. “The kids don’t think so. Eddie said your spaghetti sauce is better than mine.”

“You use the stuff in jars. I make it fresh.”

“See what I mean?”

“Okay,” Zach conceded, “I make better spaghetti than you do, but no one bakes an orange cake as good as yours.”

She gave him a hopeless look. “The recipe’s from a boxed cake mix.”

“Do you think anyone cares so long as it tastes good?”

He smiled at her again and this time Rosie smiled shyly back.

Allison and Eddie marched into the room.

“Feel better, Mom?” Her teenage daughter was far too pleased with herself.

Rosie nodded. “Much better, thank you both.” She glanced over at Zach. “Thank you, too.”

Her ex-husband stood up, obviously ready to leave.

“Dad,” Eddie said in a stage whisper. “Ask her.”

“Ask her what?” Zach whispered back.

“On a date.”

“What?” Rosie stared at her son.

“I think Dad should ask you on a date,” Eddie explained.

Zach frowned, not meeting Rosie’s eyes. “Your mother’s going out with that widower now.”

Allison shook her head. “No, she isn’t.”

“You aren’t?” Zach turned to Rosie.

“No. We only went out once and it was…not a success. Neither of us is ready for another relationship.”

“Well, then.” Zach smiled. “Are you game for dinner?”

“Dad!” Allison groaned. “You’ve got to be more romantic than that. Ask Mom again and this time do it right.”

With a mock-serious expression, Zach bowed. “Rosie, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me on Thursday evening?”

“She can’t,” Eddie answered. “That’s Scouting night.”

“Right,” Zach muttered.

“Take Mom out tonight,” Allison urged. “I’ll cook dinner for me and Eddie. You two talk. Okay?”

Rosie looked at Zach and he looked at her. A slow grin came over his face as he extended his hand. With barely a pause, she placed her own hand in his.