Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series

  “Nate’s a wonderful man, but I’m not the right woman for him.”

  “Shouldn’t he be the one to decide that?” Cecilia asked and then sighed. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

  “This is really good news for you, isn’t it?” Rachel said, ignoring Cecilia’s comment. “This means Ian might be home when your baby’s born.”

  “Yes, if he hurries.” She didn’t know the exact day and time the George Washington was scheduled to dock.

  “You’re feeling all right?”

  “Oh, yes.” True, she was extra-tired at night and tended to go to bed earlier than she did when Ian was home. The baby was constantly active, kicking and stretching. She rubbed her hand over her belly, communicating her love to her son.

  “Keep me informed,” Rachel said.

  “Of course.”

  They said their farewells and as soon as they’d ended the call, Cecilia dialed Cathy’s number again. This time the phone rang, and Cathy picked up on the first ring.

  “Cathy!”

  “Cecilia!”

  “Did you hear?” they cried simultaneously and then burst into peals of laughter.

  “You first,” Cathy said.

  “I got an e-mail from Ian.”

  “Andrew sent me one, too.”

  “I have the strongest feeling Ian will be with me when Aaron’s born,” Cecilia said happily.

  “You’re keeping the name?” This had been a silent battle of wills between Cecilia and her husband. He hadn’t agreed to the A-name. At the same time—once he’d retracted his original objections—he hadn’t disagreed, either.

  “After all these weeks, the name’s comfortable to me.” The last thing Cecilia wanted was to argue with Ian over a name when he finally got home. Suddenly another thought struck her.

  “Cathy,” she cried. “Oh, my goodness, Ian’s never seen me pregnant before.”

  “Not true,” her friend insisted. “And if you recall, he’s the one who got you in this condition.”

  “Yes, I know, but really pregnant.”

  “Pregnant is pregnant.”

  Cecilia smiled at Cathy’s teasing. “You know what I mean. He’s never seen me this big.”

  “He’s going to love it, seeing your belly swollen with his baby. Andrew was so loving with me before I delivered Andy. He hardly let me go to the bathroom by myself.”

  Cathy had miscarried two babies before Andy. None of the doctors had been able to tell her what had gone wrong with those first pregnancies and she’d lived in fear that she’d miscarry the third one, too. But she’d successfully carried Andy to term.

  “Everything will be different this time,” Cathy said confidently, answering Cecilia’s unasked question. “Just you wait and see.”

  “My due date’s only a few days away. I couldn’t bear it if Ian was so close and couldn’t be with me.”

  “If he can’t, you know I’ll be there.”

  Cecilia whispered her thanks, more grateful than ever for Cathy’s friendship. “Hold tight, Aaron, hold tight,” she told her unborn baby after she’d hung up the phone.

  Three hours later, as Cecilia got ready for bed, her back began to ache. Rubbing it as she walked into her bedroom, she had a feeling that her son had decided he wasn’t going to wait for his daddy.

  By midnight, there was no doubt she was in labor. Logging onto the computer, she sent her husband an e-mail to let him know. She timed the contractions, pacing through the apartment as she did. When they were five minutes apart, Cecilia phoned Cathy.

  “Now?” Cathy screamed, so excited she woke Andy. “I’ll be right over. Don’t move, breathe deeply and don’t worry. I’m on my way.” Without a pause, phone pressed to her ear, she shouted instructions to her son to get his suitcase and his teddy bear. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” she promised Cecilia.

  Sure enough, Cathy rolled up in front of the duplex precisely twenty-two minutes later, after dropping off her son at Carol’s place. She had a basket of soothing musical CDs, lotions and fruit chews. There were snacks, too, in case Cathy got hungry during the labor.

  Shortly after her arrival at the hospital, Cecilia was prepped and brought to the labor room. Cathy was with her, wielding a stopwatch and clutching the CD player. Roy Orbison crooned softly from the side of Cecilia’s bed.

  She raised her head and laughed. “Somehow, I don’t think this is a good time to hear ‘Pretty Woman,’” she joked.

  “I disagree. If Ian was here he’d say you’re beautiful, and he’d be right. You are, Cecilia, and you’re about to have your baby.” Cathy squealed with delight and Cecilia smiled.

  But she stopped smiling as the pain overcame her. She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes, trying hard to let her body flow with the contraction instead of fighting it. Cathy started counting off the seconds in a slow, even tone.

  With Allison, Cecilia had labored for nearly fifteen hours in a room by herself, with only a nurse to check on her from time to time. When Allison was born, her cry had been weak and barely audible.

  By contrast, Aaron Jacob Randall made his appearance ten hours after Cecilia had entered the hospital. He gave a loud, lusty squall as he was born, pink and perfect. He didn’t like the bright lights and made sure everyone in the room heard about it. Nor did he appreciate having a suction tube stuck up his nose.

  “He’s certainly got a good set of lungs,” Cathy said, squeezing Cecilia’s hand. Tears streamed down her face and Cecilia’s, too—tears of joy. She strained to see her son.

  “What about his heart?” she pleaded. “Is his heart okay?”

  The attending physician smiled over at her. “He looks just fine, but we’ll run all the tests and let you know right away.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, exhausted.

  “You did so well,” Cathy said, brushing the wet tendrils from Cecilia’s forehead. “You were incredible—no epidural or anything.”

  “I’m exhausted.”

  “Sleep,” Cathy urged. “I’ll take care of letting everyone at your office know. Plus Carol and Rachel.”

  “Thanks. Sleeping certainly won’t be a problem.” Already her eyes were drifting shut. After a few minutes, Cecilia was hardly aware of the activity going on around her. She knew Aaron had been placed in a tiny bed in her room and was sleeping at her side, swaddled in a pale blue blanket with a blue knit cap on his head.

  Cecilia wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke. Her first thought was that she’d given birth to her son. She’d so badly wanted Ian with her, but that hadn’t been possible. Slowly she opened her eyes and discovered that her son’s tiny crib was empty. Half-raising herself, braced on one elbow, she saw her husband sitting beside the bed, cradling Aaron in his arms.

  Cecilia blinked, afraid her imagination and desire had conjured him up. “Ian?” she tried tentatively.

  He glanced at her and Cecilia saw that his eyes were bright with tears.

  “It is you. Oh, Ian, Ian, I can’t believe you’re here. How…when?” Her tongue kept tripping over itself in her happiness.

  Her husband gave her the brightest smile she’d ever seen. “The George Washington had a transport that was headed home. The chaplain talked to my CO after I learned you’d gone into labor. I don’t know what he said or did, but he got me on that transport.”

  One day Cecilia would personally thank him.

  “So this is our son,” Ian said, gazing at Aaron. The baby wrapped his tiny hand around Ian’s finger and held on. “He’s perfect,” Ian whispered, nearly overcome with emotion. “I talked to the pediatrician and she put Aaron through a test they do on newborns—the Apgar, it’s called—and he scored a ten.”

  Cecilia sighed, relieved and grateful.

  “I’m holding our baby,” her husband said in awe. “Our Aaron.”

  Ian had never gotten the opportunity to hold Allison. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it for the labor,” he told her.

  “Next time,” she assured him. br />
  Ian’s head came up. “Next time?” he repeated.

  “Aaron needs a little sister, but we’ll talk about that later.”

  Her husband grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain. At your service.”

  Forty-Three

  It was Saturday afternoon. Allison Cox walked out of the JCPenney store in the Silverdale Mall with two of her best friends, Kaci and Alicia. The St. Patrick’s Day displays were still up and the entire mall was decorated with an Irish theme. She was joking and laughing with her friends, having a good time, when she heard her name.

  “Hey, Allison.”

  She stopped abruptly when she saw Anson, shocked that he’d spoken to her. He wore the same long black coat, noticeably shabbier now. His hair was messy and his boots untied. He didn’t look good. And normally he worked on Saturdays. Why was he here?

  Without a word to her friends, Allison joined him. She knew something was terribly wrong even before he spoke.

  “Ditch your friends,” he said, eyeing Kaci and Alicia, who were a few paces behind her.

  She sucked in a breath. “I can’t do that.”

  “Fine.” He turned and walked away.

  “It’s all right,” Kaci said, hugging Allison briefly. “Go. Meet us at Waldenbooks at three.”

  Allison nodded gratefully and hurried after Anson. He was walking through the mall at such speed that she had to run in order to catch up with him.

  “Anson, stop!” she called.

  He turned around but didn’t smile when he saw her.

  “What happened?” she asked. Clearly something had, otherwise he would never have spoken to her. He’d kept his word to her father. “Why are you here?”

  “To see you. Eddie told me you’d gone to the mall. I took the bus.” He looked past her, his eyes hard as flint. “I lost my job.”

  “The Lighthouse laid you off?” That didn’t make sense. Her father had checked on how he was doing, and Seth Gunderson had said Anson was conscientious and diligent in his work habits. There was even talk of promoting him from dishwasher to working as a prep cook. Her father seemed pleased that his faith in Anson had been well placed.

  “Does this have anything to do with Tony?”

  Anson frowned. “Who told you about him and me?”

  “My dad. Mr. Gunderson mentioned that the two of you weren’t getting along. Is he involved in…in getting you fired?”

  “Probably.”

  “Did they give you a reason?” she said, her hand on his sleeve. Anson was so cold and angry and with his whole Goth regalia, including the heavy pewter cross he wore around his neck, people obviously found him menacing. Shoppers gave them a wide berth as they stood outside the food court.

  Anson refused to meet her gaze. “They said it was reduction in force.”

  “Maybe business slacked off,” she said, thinking quickly. “That happens, you know.”

  “It was an excuse.” His eyes narrowed as he spoke.

  “Do you think there was another reason?” she asked softly, her hand still on his arm.

  For the first time he looked directly at her. But this boy wasn’t the Anson she knew. He was irate and resentful, and she felt as though every bit of his fury was directed at her. Allison nearly dropped her hand and stepped back.

  “Mr. Gunderson thinks I took something that didn’t belong to me. He thinks I took cash out of his office.”

  Allison had the sudden urge to sit down. She walked over to an empty table and pulled out a chair. Anson followed.

  “You didn’t do that.” She refused to believe Anson was guilty of such a thing.

  Pain flashed from his eyes but was immediately shielded. “That’s not what Seth Gunderson believes.”

  “He talked to you?”

  Anson nodded. “He talked to everyone.”

  “Did he have any proof?”

  “How could he?” Anson asked hotly. “I didn’t do it.”

  Allison reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his. She needed to touch him, to reassure him. At first he resisted and tried to pull away. Then he entwined their fingers, holding onto her as if she were the only solid thing in a world that was crumbling. Allison didn’t know what to say that could make this better.

  “What can I do?” she asked after a while.

  “Nothing,” he said and swore. “I wouldn’t go back there if they begged me to. I worked my butt off for that restaurant and then they treat me like—”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to; Allison knew what he intended to say.

  “I’ll talk to my dad,” she suggested. Her father had been willing to help Anson before. Once she explained the situation, he would again. She hoped.

  “No.” His voice was harsh. “Not this time.” He laughed. “Your father can’t do a damn thing for me. I was the obvious suspect, you know. Mr. Gunderson knows I was responsible for setting the park shed on fire. If they were going to accuse anyone, it would be me—and why not? I’ve been in trouble. I was a convenient scapegoat.”

  “But it’s not right!”

  “Not everything is right, Allison. You live in this comfortable world where everything turns out perfectly. It isn’t like that for everyone. You’ve got parents who care about you. You’ve got a home and a future. Some of us don’t.”

  “You have a future. We all do.” Her fingers tightened around his. “We each make our own.”

  His eyes met hers as he digested her words. “I just don’t have the options you do.”

  “Do you know who did it—stole the money, I mean?”

  He hesitated. “No, but I have my suspicions.”

  “Who? Tony?”

  “Tony said I made everyone look bad because I worked hard and put in extra time. He was hired before me and then Mr. Gunderson talked to the chef about training me to be a prep cook. Tony didn’t think that was fair.”

  She’d report this to her father and have him talk to Mr. Gunderson. “My dad and Mr. Gunderson are friends.”

  Anson shook his head. “No. I’ll take care of this in my own way.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, afraid of what he might do in this state of mind.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  He had a wild, disheveled look and she suspected he hadn’t slept in a long time. “Have you been home?”

  He shook his head. “Mom’s brought home a new friend.” His lips curled in a half snarl. “We don’t get along. To put it mildly.”

  Anson didn’t need to spell it out for her; his home life was dreadful. Allison frowned. His problems seemed huge, overwhelming. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, right. Like I said, some of us were dealt a lousy hand.”

  She wanted to take away his burdens. She knew that was impossible, and the ache in her heart increased.

  Allison glanced at her watch. Kaci had to be to work by four and Allison didn’t want to make her late.

  Anson stood abruptly and checked his watch, too. “I gotta go.”

  “Where?”

  He shrugged, his gaze focused elsewhere.

  “When will I see you again?”

  That, too, was answered with a shrug, as if he didn’t know. As if it didn’t matter.

  Allison tried to brush aside her disappointment. “I need to know,” she insisted.

  “Why do you care?”

  “I care,” she whispered. “I care more than you’ll ever know.”

  “Don’t,” he said starkly. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “I’m not,” she told him. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. Please, Anson, this is too important. Everything will work out in the end. I’m sure of it.”

  He snickered as though he found her attitude amusing. “Things like this don’t work out for people like me. It’s time you learned that.”

  He walked away without looking at her again.

  She had a sick feeling in h
er stomach. But as much as she wanted to run after Anson, she couldn’t.

  That evening, Allison could barely eat dinner. As soon as the meal was over, she escaped inside her room. Twice now, Anson had come to her bedroom window and she hoped he would again. They needed to talk.

  Sitting on her bed, writing in her journal, Allison poured out everything that was in her heart. She was terrified for Anson and angry about what had happened. She wanted to help him. If she spoke to her father, he might be angry that they’d broken their word. And Anson didn’t want him to find out he’d been fired….

  At nine her mother tapped on her door.

  “Come in,” Allison said. She thrust her journal under a pillow and sat cross-legged.

  Rosie Cox walked into the room and sat on the end of the bed. She touched Allison’s shoulder. “You’ve been very quiet this evening. Is something bothering you?”

  Allison nodded and stared down at her pale-pink comforter. “It’s Anson,” she whispered.

  “Are you sad because you two can’t see each other yet?”

  She nodded rather than confess that she’d seen him and, more than that, spoken to him. All at once Anson’s burden became too much for her and silent tears began to course down her face.

  Her mother held her close, murmuring soothing words, and Allison remembered that Anson had said some kids were dealt a better hand in life than others. He was right; she had been. Until she’d gotten to know Anson, she hadn’t realized how lucky she was to have two parents who loved her.

  Her mother gently stroked her hair. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “You’ll be upset with me.”

  “I’ll risk that,” her mother whispered softly.

  “Anson and I talked.” She waited a moment, fearing a reaction. Her mother didn’t comment, so Allison continued. “He got laid off from his job. Mr. Gunderson thinks Anson took some money, but he didn’t! He wouldn’t. He tried so hard to do everything right, and now he’s been treated unfairly. He’s so hurt and angry.” She swallowed hard. “I’m afraid of what he’s going to do.”