Читать книгу Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection - Debbie Macomber - Страница 81

Twenty-Eight

Home from a Saturday afternoon spent volunteering at the Cedar Cove Animal Shelter, Grace pulled into her driveway. She enjoyed her work, found real purpose in helping animals. There was such satisfaction in seeing lost pets reunited with their owners and in connecting abandoned or mistreated cats and dogs with people who’d love them.

The vet had a notice about the Humane Society on her bulletin board, which Grace had seen the afternoon she’d taken Buttercup in. She’d decided to respond to the call for volunteers. Buttercup had come into her life at exactly the right moment and Grace wanted others to find the same pleasure.

Her first thought once she’d parked the car was to retrieve her mail. Although she tried not to be hopeful, she couldn’t help looking for a response from Cliff. Two weeks earlier she’d written him, reiterating how sorry she was. Although it meant having to swallow her considerable pride, Grace had asked him to give her a second chance. So far, she hadn’t heard from him, and now, after two weeks, she suspected she wouldn’t.

She walked to the house with Buttercup trotting behind her. The golden retriever sniffed at her legs suspiciously, recognizing the scent of other animals. Buttercup actually seemed a bit jealous and required lots of attention on those Saturdays.

“Did you miss me, girl?” she asked, stroking Buttercup’s head. “Don’t worry, there wasn’t a single dog there as wonderful as you.”

The phone rang and Grace absently reached for the receiver. “Hello,” she said, still fondling the dog’s ears.

“Grace? It’s Stan Lockhart.”

This was completely unexpected. She couldn’t imagine what her best friend’s ex-husband had to say to her.

“What can I do for you?” she asked coolly.

“I’m in town and I was wondering if I could stop by for a few minutes.”

Grace wanted to refuse him, but didn’t have a good excuse. “Can I ask why?”

“I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

“Olivia and Jack.”

“Yes. I won’t stay long.”

She reluctantly agreed. As soon as she hung up, Grace hurriedly punched in Olivia’s phone number. “Why do you think he wants to talk to me? I could really do without this,” she complained.

“He probably needs a shoulder to cry on.”

“Let him look elsewhere,” Grace muttered. She had enough problems of her own without dealing with his. As far as she was concerned, Stan Lockhart was a sore loser.

“I don’t think it would hurt to hear him out,” Olivia said. “He’s had a shock.”

Yes, he has, Grace mused. For the first time in his life, Stan Lockhart couldn’t manipulate Olivia! “Do you want me to phone you after he leaves?” she asked.

Olivia hesitated. “Not particularly. Stan’s out of my life, and frankly I don’t care what he says.”

Grace marveled at her friend. If their positions had been reversed, she’d be sitting by the phone waiting for a report. She’d want to hear all about her ex-husband’s regrets.

Fifteen minutes later, Stan arrived, looking decidedly unhappy.

“Come in,” she said, holding open the screen for him.

Stan entered and she showed him into the living room. Buttercup wandered over to sniff him; apparently he passed muster because the dog wandered back to the chair where Grace normally sat and lay down.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked Stan, only to be polite.

“Do you have any Scotch?”

Yeah, right. Even if she did, she wouldn’t offer it to him. “No, sorry. Coffee or tea.”

He shook his head. “Nothing, thanks.”

She gestured for him to sit down, which he did on the sofa across from her. “Olivia’s actually going to do it, isn’t she?” he muttered.

“If you mean marry Jack, the answer is yes.” The arrangements were in full swing. Seth and Justine were going to hold the reception at their restaurant, following a private ceremony at the gazebo in the waterfront park.

“James and Selina are flying in, she said.”

“Olivia asked if they would.” Grace didn’t mean to make him feel worse, but it was important to Olivia that her children be present.

“I thought she’d have one of the other judges perform the ceremony,” he said. “But apparently not. Who’s this pastor friend of hers, anyway?”

“Dave Flemming. He’s at the Methodist church.”

“Oh.”

Grace was about to ask if there was a point to his visit when Stan glanced up. “This is what I deserve, you know?”

Despite what she knew about Stan, Grace felt sorry for him. The news of Olivia and Jack’s engagement shouldn’t have come as a shock but obviously had. Now his regrets about Olivia would be permanent. There’d be no further chance to make amends, to start over. Oh, yes, she understood about regrets. They were something she’d lived with for quite some time now.

“I made a big mistake myself recently,” she told him.

“You?” He sounded skeptical.

Grace nodded. “I hurt someone I care about and there’s no going back.”

“I feel the same way. I was such a fool. When Jordan drowned…” He paused and stared down at the carpet. “I went out to the cemetery the other day and visited my son’s grave.” He drew a hand along the side of his jaw. “It’s funny. It’s been—what, sixteen years? I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. I still can’t believe my oldest son is dead.” He slowly rubbed his palms together, his eyes closed in pain.

“It was as if I self-destructed after we lost Jordan,” he continued, opening his eyes. “I did the best I could with the mess I’d made of my life after I married Marge, but it was never a good marriage, and we both knew it.”

Grace’s heart softened. Although she’d been furious with Stan for what he’d done to Olivia and his two surviving children, she remembered that he’d been a decent father.

“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t surprised when Marge decided she wanted out. In a lot of ways, I think she did us both a favor. My first thought when she asked for the divorce was that I’d move heaven and earth to get Olivia back.”

“Jack’s a good guy.”

Stan frowned. “I just don’t see the two of them together.”

“That’s because you don’t want to.”

He gave her a half smile and shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

“What now?” Grace asked.

Stan shook his head. “I’d been thinking I might come back to Cedar Cove. But under the present circumstances, I’m not so sure that would be wise.”

Grace knew he was referring to Olivia’s coming marriage, and she knew he was conceding defeat.

“Still, Justine and Seth are here and so is Leif,” he added as though thinking aloud. “I never thought I’d enjoy being a grandfather as much as I do. I missed so much when my own children were growing up, I want to enjoy every second I can with my grandkids.”

“I know what you mean,” she told him. “I have two.”

His gaze went past her to the fireplace mantel, where Grace kept the latest photos of her grandchildren. “I can certainly see you in the girl.”

“Thank you.” Grace stared at Katie’s picture and was unable to squelch a smile of pleasure. Stan couldn’t have given her a greater compliment.

“I never did tell you how sorry I was to hear about Dan.”

Grace blinked quickly and nodded. She wished Dan had lived long enough to know his grandchildren. Tyler and Katie might have made a difference, given him a reason to live. Then again, perhaps not. Dan’s life had been troubled, and very little seemed to touch him. He was closer to Kelly than anyone, yet that hadn’t stopped him from running away during her pregnancy. In the end, despite everything, death had seemed preferable to the suffering—the guilt and depression—he’d endured in life.

Stan got to his feet. “Actually, I came to ask if you’d do something for me.”

“I will if I can.”

“I’d like to order a bottle of good champagne for Olivia and Jack on their wedding night.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “It would be a bit awkward coming from me, though.”

“Do you want me to take care of it?”

“Would you?”

Apparently Stan didn’t know Jack was a recovering alcoholic. “I’ll see to everything.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Stan started for the door, then turned back. “Grace,” he said, looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

She was as surprised by his invitation as she’d been by his phone call. “When?”

He gestured vaguely. “What about tonight? I know it’s last minute and all.” Then, shaking his head, he seemed to change his mind. “Forget I asked. It’s probably not a good idea, anyway.” He reached for the doorknob.

“Stan,” she said, stopping him. She didn’t know what had prompted her to do this. But Stan was lonely. She was lonely. And she’d developed a new sympathy for him during this brief visit. She’d seen a little deeper, past the arrogance she’d always associated with Stan.

“Why not?” she said with a smile. “Let’s go to dinner.”

Charlotte Jefferson and her small band of supporters marched single-file down Harbor Street, holding their pickets high. Whenever she could, Charlotte waved her message at oncoming traffic to ensure that the drivers had ample opportunity to read her sign. Several people honked their horns.

Ben Rhodes marched with her. Together they’d attended countless meetings, talked with elected officials and health-care corporations, studied what other municipalities had done. Without results. After all these months, they were no closer to getting a health clinic in Cedar Cove than they were to taking a giant leap and landing on the moon. There’d been several minor attempts to appease them—but it wasn’t enough. The time had come to take a stand. To demonstrate!

“Don’t look now,” Ben said, bending toward her and whispering in her ear, “but it looks like we’re about to have company.”

Sure enough, the sheriff’s patrol car pulled up alongside Charlotte. Troy Davis parked at the curb and climbed out of his Crown Victoria, pausing long enough to hoist up his belt before he walked over to her.

“’Afternoon, Charlotte.”

“Hello, Sheriff Davis,” she greeted primly. The sign seemed to grow unaccountably heavier and she lowered it. “What can I do for you?” she asked, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to see her marching down the main street of town, hefting a protest sign.

“Do you have a permit for this little rally of yours?” He looked past her at the string of fifteen men and women, all regular attendees at the local seniors’ center.

“A permit?” she repeated. The truth was, Charlotte hadn’t thought she’d need one. At first the demonstration had consisted of only her and Ben. They’d decided to form their own protest and stand silently by the stoplight at Harbor and Heron. However, as soon as word got out, a dozen or so others had asked to join them. Charlotte couldn’t refuse her friends.

“Officer, perhaps I could answer your questions,” Ben said, stepping closer to Charlotte.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Sheriff Davis said, eyeing Ben suspiciously.

“Ben Rhodes,” Charlotte murmured, gesturing from one man to the other, “meet the local fuzz.”

Ben chuckled; Sheriff Davis didn’t.

“Whose idea was this, anyway?” the sheriff asked.

“Mine,” Ben insisted.

“Now, Ben,” Charlotte said, patting him gently on the forearm. “Both of us came up with the idea.”

Her friends and allies gathered around. “And we asked to join her,” Laura said, edging her way closer so that she stood directly in front of Troy Davis’s face.

“Yes,” Helen echoed, moving next to Laura, although she was so short she had to tilt her chin up in order to get a good look. Any menacing expression was wasted on the sheriff, who didn’t bother to glance down. In fact, it seemed Sheriff Davis was having difficulty keeping a straight face. Charlotte, however, was not amused.

“It’s the only way we have of getting heard in this city,” Bess said. She waved her protest sign, nearly clobbering him in the head when she momentarily lost control of the heavy wooden stick.

“Does Olivia know what you’re up to?” Sheriff Davis asked Charlotte, ignoring the others.

“My daughter has nothing to do with this,” Charlotte said, although her voice faltered momentarily. Olivia was her one hesitation about this protest. Charlotte knew her daughter objected to her involvement—but what Olivia didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“We don’t feel it’s any of the judge’s business,” Ben added.

Charlotte thanked him with a small smile. He understood her dilemma and had offered his advice. These days, she often listened to what Ben had to say. He was reasonable and wise in his counsel; he’d proved that over and over. He’d also proved something else, which the others didn’t know—that he was an excellent kisser. She blushed at the thought.

“I don’t believe I was speaking to you, sir,” the sheriff said.

“Sheriff Davis, that was completely unnecessary,” Charlotte objected.

“Does Olivia know?” he asked again, and the friendliness was gone from his voice.

“She knew about it. She just didn’t know when I planned to march,” Charlotte answered bluntly.

“So you don’t have an assembly permit?”

“There’s a logical reason we don’t, Sheriff,” Ben said. “We—”

“I’m sure there is. However, if you don’t have a permit, I’m going to have to ask you to disperse and leave the area.”

“We aren’t causing any trouble,” Ben said.

“We come in peace,” Laura insisted, sounding as if she’d just alighted from an alien spaceship.

“But we mean business!” Bess’s sign flashed back and forth in the sheriff’s face.

Glaring at her, he caught the wooden stem with one hand and took it from her. “Mrs. Ferryman, kindly go home.”

“I was his third-grade teacher,” Bess whispered to Charlotte.

“Officer, I appreciate your problem, but we are on a mission,” Ben started. “We—”

“I’m on a mission, as well,” Troy Davis said calmly. He held up his hand to attract the attention of the small protest rally. “I want you all to cease and desist, and go home peacefully. Now.”

“I refuse.” Laura punctuated her comment by pounding the wooden stick against the sidewalk.

“I do believe,” Charlotte said cheerfully, “that you’ll need to arrest us first.”

Sheriff Davis cast an exasperated look at the small group.

“Charlotte,” Ben warned, his voice low and uncertain, “don’t give the man any ideas.”

“Sheriff Davis knows how important a health clinic is to our community.”

The lawman nodded. “I do know, and personally I agree with you, but the law is the law.”

“Do you think he’ll handcuff us?” Helen asked, tugging at Charlotte’s sleeve.

Charlotte could see that her friend was wavering. “Of course not,” she assured her.

“Don’t count on it, ladies.” Sheriff Davis released a snap on his belt and brought out a pair of handcuffs. He held them up and dangled them from his fingers for all to see.

Bess gasped and raised her hand to her chest. “I don’t want to be strip-searched.”

“I’m not making any guarantees,” Sheriff Davis said, looking at her as though he had X-ray vision.

Bess shrank back behind Laura.

Charlotte strengthened her resolve and hoisted up her sign once more. She’d come this far and wasn’t about to back down now. Ben and her friends would have to make their own decisions. She’d already made hers.

“Five minutes,” Sheriff Davis informed them. “If you haven’t dispersed in that time, I’m afraid I’ll have to call for backup and you’ll all be arrested for unlawful assembly.”

Charlotte knew what she had to do. She turned to face her dearest friends—Helen, Bess, Laura and the others. She hated the thought of them in a cold, damp cell in the basement of the police station, but there were times a person had to take a stand. “The sheriff states that unless we disperse, we’re headed for the slammer.”

The group cried out in protest.

“We have five minutes. As for me, I’m staying right where I am. Each one of us should make our own decision.” Having said that, she placed a hand on Bess’s shoulder. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to go to jail.”

Bess considered her words, and then seemed to steel herself mentally. “I’m staying,” she announced, glaring defiantly at the sheriff. “Troy Davis, I remember you cheated on that spelling test. I never should’ve voted for you. You aren’t to be trusted.”

The small group gathered into a tight knot, buzzing with indecision. To her surprise, it was Ben who raised his hands and spoke. “Perhaps we should reconsider.”

A chorus of loud protests instantly followed. Ben looked at Troy Davis and shrugged. “I tried, Officer.”

“Unfortunately, you didn’t try hard enough.” The sheriff glanced down at his watch—five minutes must be up—and then without another word, marched over to his patrol car. He turned his head and spoke into the small transmitter attached to his shoulder. He was making good on his threat, Charlotte realized, and calling for backup.

A few minutes later, two patrol cars rolled into view. Charlotte groaned inwardly.

Olivia wasn’t going to like this one bit.