50 Harbor Street

  “I love you, Grace,” he whispered. “I can’t live without you any longer. I tried, but nothing seemed any good. I’m working hard—and for what? I don’t need the money. At the end of the day, I walk in from the cold and the house is dark and lonely. That’s the way I feel without you.”

  Grace closed her eyes rather than look at him.

  “I want to love you, live with you, travel with you.”

  She longed to say yes, she really did, but she was afraid….

  “You said, when you made dinner on New Year’s Day, that you were going to ask me to marry you. I’d give anything to have been here. I’d give anything to have the chance to hear that proposal because, my darling, the answer is yes.”

  His reminder was the dash of reality she needed. “I didn’t get to ask you, remember?”

  “I do, and I’m sorry every day for being such a jackass. Then again, I’m just old-fashioned enough to do the asking. Grace Sherman, I love you and I want to marry you. Will you be my wife?”

  She pressed her hand to her mouth and blinked rapidly. Loneliness had been her constant companion since Dan’s disappearance. Here was the opportunity to end that. Without his saying it, she knew that if she refused, she’d never see Cliff again. He’d leave, and it truly would be over.

  “Will you?” he asked, his eyes pleading with her.

  Grace sobbed once and nodded. “Yes, oh, yes.” Before she could draw another breath, she was in Cliff’s embrace, crushing the roses between them. He kissed her until she was weak in his arms, and then whispered in her ear, “I hope you don’t believe in long engagements.”

  She laughed and hugged him tight. “I was thinking the very same thing.”

  Thirty-Six

  Cecilia met her friend Cathy for lunch on Saturday afternoon at the Pancake Palace. They served a really nice meal for a reasonable price. Cecilia had been feeling low all week and was badly in need of a pep talk.

  Cathy was waiting for her when Cecilia walked in. She sat toward the back of the room in a booth, waving vigorously. Her four-year-old son wasn’t with her, which surprised Cecilia.

  “Where’s Andy?” she asked as she slid into the booth. Seven months into her pregnancy, there was no disguising the fact any longer. There wasn’t an inch to spare between her protruding belly and the table. In another few weeks, it’d be too tight a squeeze and she wouldn’t be able to sit in a booth anymore.

  “Andy’s with friends on a play date,” Cathy explained. “I have all afternoon free, so after lunch we can do something fun.” She seemed almost giddy at the thought.

  Cecilia wished she shared her excitement. To hide her mood, she reached for the menu tucked behind the napkin canister. Nothing looked appetizing but she made a decision.

  “What do you think?” Cathy asked. “Shopping? A movie?”

  “Either would be great,” she said, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice. “You decide.”

  “Shopping then,” Cathy announced.

  “That sounds perfect.” Already Cecilia felt better. “The mall or the commissary?”

  “The mall,” Cathy decided. “We won’t be as likely to run into someone who’ll want to tag along.”

  “I wouldn’t mind, you know.” Cathy was such a cheerful person to be around that she naturally attracted people.

  “Not today,” her friend said. “You and I need quality time together. That’s what Andrew always says about him and me—but most of our quality time is spent in the bedroom.” She smiled as she said it.

  The waitress came for their order; Cathy asked for the seafood salad and Cecilia ordered the turkey wrap with a cup of vegetable beef soup. As soon as the woman had brought their drinks—sparkling water for both—Cathy folded her hands on the table and leaned forward.

  “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

  Cathy studied her carefully. “I can see it in your eyes. Besides, when you phoned, you didn’t sound very happy.”

  “I’m not,” Cecilia confessed.

  “Ian and the baby again?”

  “He refuses to decide on a name,” Cecilia blurted out. “It’s ridiculous, and oh—he’s just so frustrating.”

  “He knows the baby’s a boy. So what’s his problem?”

  “I’ve been after him for weeks to give me suggestions for names and he just ignores me. Finally I sent him a list of my favorites and he ignored that, too.” This was the one thing Cecilia disliked about e-mail. Whatever he didn’t want to answer, he simply ignored.

  “What are you going to do?” Cathy asked. “Wait until after the baby arrives? You can’t call him Baby Randall for the rest of his life, you know.”

  “I do know. I told Ian he had his opportunity and if he wasn’t going to make any suggestions, I’d choose the name I liked best without him.”

  “So,” Cathy said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, “what name have you chosen?”

  Cecilia placed her hand on her belly. “Aaron. Aaron Randall has a good sound, don’t you think?”

  “I like it,” Cathy said, testing the name on her tongue. “Aaron Randall. Yes.”

  “Ian’s middle name is Jacob and I thought we’d use that for the baby’s middle name, too.”

  Cathy nodded her approval. “Does Ian have a problem with Aaron Jacob?”

  She sighed. “For weeks he refused to discuss names and when I told him fine, I’d do it without him, he didn’t respond. But the minute he heard the name Aaron he went nuts. I told him about it when he called last week,” she added.

  “Why doesn’t he like the name?”

  Cecilia was embarrassed to repeat what he’d said. “He doesn’t want a name that begins with the letter A.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Cathy muttered, and then her eyes widened. “Oh. He’s upset because Allison’s name began with A?”

  “Exactly.” The waitress delivered their meals and Cecilia thanked her with a smile.

  “Isn’t that being a little superstitious?”

  Cecilia nodded. “He’s so afraid, and it’s really starting to bother me. I like the name Aaron. When I first went back to school, I had a teacher at Olympic College who encouraged me. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Cavanaugh, I would’ve dropped out.”

  “His first name was Aaron?” Cathy guessed.

  Cecilia took a bite of her wrap, which was actually quite tasty. “He became my advisor and steered me toward the bookkeeping classes. I think he must be a friend of Mr. Cox’s, too, because I was hired after Mr. Cavanaugh suggested I apply for the position.” The math professor had been more of a father to Cecilia than her own, and she wanted him to know how much his encouragement had meant to her. She kept in touch with him, sending a Christmas card each year. She’d mail him a baby announcement and thank him again for his kindness.

  “Ian had his chance to name the baby.” Cecilia tried a spoonful of soup. “I tried and tried to get him to discuss names and the only reaction I got was that he didn’t like Aaron.”

  “Well, like you said, he’s afraid.”

  “I’m going to be fine,” she insisted, as though she had to convince herself as well as Cathy. “The baby will, too.” She’d already begun to think of the baby as Aaron, and the name was a perfectly good one.

  Half an hour later, Cecilia and Cathy left the Pancake Palace and drove to Silverdale, to the Kitsap Mall. Neither of them had much extra money, so they just browsed in the baby departments. Cecilia did buy some little undershirts that were on sale.

  “I’m concerned about Allison Cox,” Cecilia said as they passed a record store and saw a display of DVDs. “I think I told you. She’s fallen for this kid who looks like he’s stepped right out of The Matrix.”

  “There’s something highly attractive about a bad boy,” Cathy said and although she was teasing, Cecilia knew it was true. The attraction was certainly there for Allison.

  “I thought you told me they aren’t allowed to see each other.”

>   “They aren’t, and it’s killing Allison. She comes in after school and moans on and on about how hard this is. I listen and try to be sympathetic, but that boy is bad news. I’m just grateful Mr. Cox put his foot down.”

  “So what’s your concern?”

  Cecilia swung her small plastic bag. “Mr. Cox and Anson have an agreement and, when that’s fulfilled, Anson can see Allison again. The poor girl’s living for that day. I’m afraid she’s setting herself up for a big disappointment.”

  “You’re borrowing trouble,” Cathy told her as they strolled past a display of baby furniture. “But on another subject, what do you hear from Rachel Pendergast these days?”

  “Not much,” Cecilia said. As soon as Rachel had learned that Nate’s father was a United States Congressman, she’d broken off the relationship. Cecilia still planned to go to Rachel for her haircuts, but it’d been two or three weeks since she’d talked to her.

  “I take it she’s running scared.”

  “Yeah.” Cecilia paused to run her hand over the side of the display crib. She already had Aaron’s room set up and had purchased a used crib from a secondhand store. Everything was prepared and waiting for her son, although she hadn’t bought many new things.

  “Don’t you wonder how young parents can afford all this?” she mused aloud.

  “They can’t. This is for grandmas to buy,” Cathy said with a smile. “After Andy was born, Andrew and I flew home to visit my parents, and they’d bought a crib for him to sleep in while we were there. A brand-new one! Andrew and I bought a secondhand crib that he painted white. I did the best I could with decals, but it didn’t look half as good as any of these. We got a real kick out of the fact that my parents had a brand-new crib and we had a used one.”

  They left the mall after a couple of hours and no other purchases. Cathy needed to get back to pick up Andy. Cecilia headed home, then changed her mind and drove to the cemetery where Allison was buried.

  Cecilia made sure the gravesite was always well maintained. In the first year, she’d visited at least once a week and brought flowers. These days she didn’t come as frequently, but her daughter was never far from her thoughts.

  Cecilia stooped down and with her gloved hands brushed some wet leaves from the grave marker. “Hello, sweetheart,” she whispered. “It’s Mommy and your little brother.” The baby moved inside her as if to add his own greeting. “Your daddy’s being stubborn again.” She nearly choked on the words, surprised by the emotion that rose inside her whenever she talked to Allison. “Don’t worry, though,” she whispered. “We’ll be all right.” She straightened, placing both hands on her lower back. A moment later, she returned to the car, her head bent against the February wind.

  Thirty-Seven

  Jack rolled his leather chair up to his desk and sighed at the sheer pleasure of getting back to work. Damn, this was where he belonged. He inhaled a deep breath, glancing around the busy newsroom.

  Olivia had made a real stink about his returning to the office. He’d placated her as best he could and promised he’d work only a half day. If he wasn’t home by noon, he was afraid she’d send the sheriff after him. Troy Davis would do it, too. He’d probably delight in hauling Jack out of the office in full sight of any and all onlookers.

  His assistant editor, Steve Fullerton, came up to his desk, carrying an insulated coffee cup. “Listen, Jack. I need to talk to you about the Lifestyle feature. We couldn’t get the photos and…” He grinned widely. “Hey, I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Thanks.” Jack was embarrassed by the fuss his staff had made. His desk was covered with flowers and cards, and they’d hung a banner overhead with gold letters that said Welcome Back. It was nice to know he’d been missed.

  By ten, he was completely immersed in the routine of getting out a daily paper. It seemed as if he’d never been away. He wrote an editorial and praised the quick response of the local EMTs who’d saved his life. His fingers flew on the keyboard. He’d always composed his best editorials under time constraints; in fact, Jack had spent most of his career under the gun and thrived with the pressure—or so he’d once believed. This recent scare made him rethink that assumption.

  At noon, the Lifestyle article had to be dumped, they needed to come up with something new and there was a one o’clock deadline. Olivia would be furious if he stayed longer than he’d promised. He weighed her anger against his inclination to pitch in with everyone else. Jack was still trying to decide what to do when Bob Beldon strolled in.

  “Jack,” Bob said, heading straight for Jack’s desk. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by, see how you’re doing.”

  Jack frowned. Bob just happened to be in the neighborhood. Not likely. He knew this visit was no accident. “Olivia sent you, didn’t she?”

  A chagrined look spread over Bob’s face and he nodded.

  “That’s what I figured.” Leave it to his wife.

  “She said I was to drag you out of here kicking and screaming if necessary. You aren’t going to make me do that, are you?”

  Jack groaned in protest, but Bob was the best friend he’d ever have in this life. He knew when he was beat. Grumbling under his breath, he turned off his computer, then stood and reached for his jacket. He just hoped his wife and his friend knew how hard it was for him to walk away in the middle of a crisis.

  The staff looked on in disbelief. He’d never abandoned them, never left before every deadline was met, every detail attended to. Steve Fullerton actually started a round of applause, and Jack gave a mock bow, waving on his way out the door.

  “See you tomorrow, old man,” Steve called. “Try to stay alive for another few days.”

  Jack wouldn’t admit it, but he was exhausted. During his recovery, Olivia had insisted he take a nap every afternoon. In the beginning he’d defied her because he resented being “ordered around like a kid.” Little good that did him, since he fell asleep anyway, and always slept at least an hour.

  “What am I supposed to do with myself now?” Jack muttered as he and Bob went to the parking lot.

  “I thought I’d invite myself over so the two of us could play a few games of cribbage. It’s been a while.”

  The last comment was a reminder that Jack had been working too hard for too long. The job hadn’t started out like that, and yet within five years he’d managed to work himself into a heart attack.

  “Cribbage sounds like a fine idea,” Jack said. “Just promise to be gentle with me. My skills are pretty rusty.”

  “No mercy,” Bob teased. “For once, I have the advantage and I’m taking it.”

  “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be.” Jack laughed. It felt good to be with his friend, who was also his AA sponsor and all-around mentor.

  Fifteen minutes later, the crisis at the office was forgotten as Jack stared at the cards in his hand, deciding which two to discard. He chewed on the end of a toothpick, a habit Olivia detested, and set aside the six and the three.

  The phone interrupted his concentration. “Ten bucks says that’s Olivia checking to see if I’m home,” Jack muttered, glancing over the top of his cards.

  Bob chuckled. “You’re on.”

  Jack grabbed for the receiver. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  Olivia gave a small gasp. “How’d you know it was me?”

  Jack held out his palm to his friend, indicating that Bob should pay up. “Lucky guess,” he answered his wife. “I’m home, and my baby-sitter’s doing a fine job of looking after me.”

  “Bob is not your baby-sitter.”

  “Am I required to nap this afternoon?”

  She ignored the question. “How did it go at the office?”

  “Great, really great.” He dared not let her know how much he loved being back at work. The frantic pace stimulated him. Afternoon naps—even if he needed them—didn’t.

  “Are you tired?”

  He smothered a yawn. “No way. I’m sitting here in the middle of the day playing cutthroat c
ribbage with Bob Beldon. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”

  Not true. He’d rather be at work—or making love to his wife—but that was another area that appeared to be taboo since his surgery. The only time he’d mentioned the possibility, Olivia was the one who damn near had a heart attack. Absolutely no sex. Apparently even talking about it was off limits. As far as he could figure, he’d been cut off for the rest of his natural life. Sex wasn’t all, either. He hadn’t seen a piece of red meat in weeks.

  “See how you feel after Bob leaves,” she suggested. “You sound a little cranky.”

  There she went again, treating him like a five-year-old. “Shouldn’t you get back to work?” he asked, hoping to get her off the phone before he lost his temper.

  “Not really—I’m on my lunch hour.”

  “You’re interrupting our game,” he said. He suspected Olivia had given Bob instructions on how long he should stay. Although Olivia’s actions were prompted by love, everything she’d said and done since the surgery felt like a noose being tightened around his neck.

  “Have a good afternoon, sweetheart, and I’ll be home soon after five.”

  He wanted to tell her not to rush on his account, but it wouldn’t do any good. Olivia was on a mission and unfortunately that mission was to save him from himself.

  Jack replaced the receiver, closed his eyes a moment in an effort to reduce his blood pressure, then picked up his cribbage hand.

  “So how’d you know it was Olivia?” Bob asked, placing a ten-dollar bill on the coffee table.

  “She’s smothering me with attention.”

  “I don’t know,” Bob returned with a skeptical look. “I wouldn’t mind Peggy giving me a little extra TLC.”

  “You’d mind this.” That was all Jack was willing to say on the subject.

  True to her word, Olivia was home at twelve minutes past five. Jack knew for a fact that the drive from the courthouse to Lighthouse Road took exactly eleven minutes. That meant she was out the door at the stroke of five, in her car and racing away from the office.