16 Lighthouse Road

  “I’m Cecilia Randall,” she told the officer. She gave him Ian’s name and rank, and showed her military identification card.

  He directed her to another officer. By then, Cecilia was nearly at the point of passing out. This all seemed so unreal. It couldn’t be happening. Not to Ian. Not to her. She’d already lost her daughter. Surely life wouldn’t be so cruel as to claim her husband, too. Clenching her hands at her sides, Cecilia held her breath and waited.

  “Mrs. Randall?”

  “Yes.” Instantly alert, Cecilia stepped forward. “I’m the wife of Ian Randall.”

  The officer smiled reassuringly. “Your husband has sustained cuts and bruises.”

  “Is—Is he hospitalized?”

  “No.” He tore off a sheet and handed it to her. “The reason we ask to speak to all the relatives of those injured is to inform you that you can talk to your loved one.”

  “Talk?” She didn’t understand.

  “We have a bank of phones in the other room. If you’ll go over there, your name will be called shortly. Give the officer this sheet.”

  She was going to be able to talk directly with Ian. Cecilia resisted the urge to sob with joy and relief. Waiting in the inner room with several other wives, she realized how fortunate she was that her husband had only minor injuries.

  It wasn’t long before her name was called. She reached for the telephone and cried out, “Ian?”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m fine. I really am.” He briefly relayed what had happened and said it looked like he had a couple of cracked ribs. “I’m tough, you know that.”

  “Yeah, right,” she joked through her tears.

  “How did you hear about the accident?” he asked.

  “I had the radio on while I was studying—”

  “Algebra, I’ll bet,” he interrupted.

  She smiled. “Yeah. Guess what?” she added. “Mr. Cavanaugh suggested I take an accounting course next quarter. I’d never thought about doing any bookkeeping.”

  “Does that interest you?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” But the more she thought about it, the better she liked the idea.

  “I’ve only got a couple of minutes,” Ian said. Obviously someone had told him to hurry it up.

  “I know.” She’d been warned about the time limitations. “I’m glad you weren’t badly hurt.” An understatement if ever there was one.

  “I am, too. I’m missing you something fierce. Don’t stop writing me, okay?”

  “I won’t,” she promised. She looked forward to hearing from him, too. It felt almost as though they were dating again, only this time their dates came in the form of e-mails and postcards. Their communication was comfortable and yet intimate and helped remind her of all the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

  A minute or so later, it was time to end the conversation, long before Cecilia was ready.

  “I love you,” her husband told her.

  “I love you, too.”

  Her words were followed by a short silence. Then, “Say it again, Cecilia. I need to hear it.”

  “I love you, Ian Randall.”

  Cecilia was feeling warm and safe when she returned to the main room, where Cathy waited for her. Her friend watched her anxiously. “He’s got two cracked ribs and is in a lot of pain, but he’s okay.” Even though Ian had done a good job of disguising his discomfort, she knew he was hurting.

  “You ready to head to the hospital?” Cecilia asked.

  Cathy nodded. She wore a look of serenity. “We can go,” she said, “but I have a strong feeling that everything’s just fine. Somehow, I had this sense, when I found out Andrew wasn’t one of the injured, that I had nothing to fear.”

  Cecilia sincerely hoped her friend was right.

  Grace wasn’t sure why she looked inside the drawer on Dan’s nightstand. She sat up in bed reading and for no obvious reason she found herself staring at it.

  Moving slowly, she set aside the latest John Lescroart hard-cover and stretched across the bed. Dan’s nightstand was exactly as he’d left it. A crossword puzzle book lay open, the spine bent. The glass jar where he tossed his loose change was untouched.

  She frowned, pulling open the drawer. Inside were a deck of cards, some receipts and a paperback novel he hadn’t finished. Then she saw it. There in the corner. His wedding band.

  He hadn’t worn it in years. After he started working in the forests, he’d removed it and worn it only on special occasions. The last time he’d put it on, the ring had been tight; it had barely fit. She picked it up and held it with two fingers. She gazed at the ring as though this inanimate object could reveal her husband’s secrets.

  Why had he come back to Cedar Cove? Why risk being seen? Then again, perhaps that was what he wanted. To taunt her, to humiliate her. So he’d come here with another woman.

  Grace gritted her teeth and studied the wedding band, comparing it to her own, which was thin and worn. After all these years his ring still looked brand-new, as if when he accepted it, he’d had no intention of honoring his vows.

  Anger boiled up inside her. Suddenly, she rolled onto her back and with every bit of strength she possessed, hurled the ring across the room. It hit the wall and tumbled across the carpet. Her labored breathing continued for several moments as the rage held her in its grip. Finally she managed to calm down.

  Reaching for the novel, she repositioned herself against the pillows, but quickly realized she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her book. The fierce anger returned. She struggled to regain her composure, but it was like trying to avert a wind-storm by holding out her arms.

  Not knowing what to do, she slid off the bed and stood barefoot in the middle of the bedroom. Her hands were so tightly clenched her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palms.

  “How dare you show up in Cedar Cove with her,” she hissed.

  Her daughters refused to believe Dan had another woman, but Grace knew. She’d known for months. There was someone else and, she thought now, that someone else had been in his life for a very long time.

  Kelly had insisted there’d be some evidence, but Grace had all the evidence she needed. It’d started years ago. The emotional distance and the wild mood swings had been going on for so long, she couldn’t remember when they’d begun. Evidence, she realized, of someone dealing with guilt and remorse.

  By God, she’d prove it. Not to her daughters but herself. Dan had left some evidence; he must have. It was right here in this room—where else could it be? After years of reading mysteries, she should’ve thought of this sooner. The evidence she sought was probably something ordinary, something right in front of her eyes. Something tangible… Proof that Dan was living with another woman.

  She banged open the sliding closet door and jerked a shirt free of its hanger. The force of her rage left the wire hanger swinging like a pendulum. She checked the pocket, tossed the shirt aside and reached for another one.

  Nothing.

  He’d been too smart for her, or so he thought, destroying all the evidence. But Grace wouldn’t be foiled, not this time.

  The second shirt joined the first one on the carpet. Soon the floor was heaped with Dan’s clothes. Her shoulders heaving, she grabbed as many as her arms could carry and hauled them through the house, dumping everything at the front door. Staring at the heap, she unlocked the dead bolt and threw open the door with a fury that made it crash against the opposite wall. Then, standing on the top step, she flung her husband’s clothes into the night. Trip after trip, she repeated the action, until his half of the closet had been stripped bare and every bit of clothing Dan owned was sprawled across the porch and the sidewalk.

  Then, nearly tripping over her cotton nightgown, she kicked a dress shirt on the top step, and sent it soaring into the darkness. A pair of work pants went next as she got caught up in a frenzy of kicking, hurling his clothes one piece at a time.

  Sobbing now, she sank onto the porch step and covered her face with both
hands.

  “Dan!” she screamed. “Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?”

  Only silence answered. Her rage hadn’t brought him back, nor had her love. All that was left were her tears. The emotion poured out of her until she was spent and weak.

  Wiping the tears from her face, she staggered back into the house, not bothering to lock the door. If someone wanted to break in and kill her, she’d welcome death. It was better than this nightmare that had become her life, better than having to walk into an empty house every night and acknowledge that the man she’d loved no longer wanted to be with her.

  What was it Dan had told her? His idea of hell was spending the last thirty-five years living with her. Right to her face he’d said such a thing, not caring how that made her feel. Not caring that his words were as brutal as any weapon.

  “I hate you…” she whispered as she crawled back into the bed. “Oh, God, I hate you.” Curling into a fetal position, she began sobbing again, until there were no tears anymore.

  Grace woke at first light. She didn’t move, but remained in the same curled-up position, her knees tucked against her stomach. The memory of the night before flooded her mind. She’d been like a wild woman, purging her life of Daniel Sherman.

  A sound came from the front room. Dan? It’d be just like him to appear now, she thought wryly. Just like that bastard to show up and behave as if there was nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Mom? Are you all right?”

  “Mom?”

  Maryellen and Kelly. Dear God, not her daughters. Grace didn’t want them to find her like this.

  Maryellen stepped into the bedroom, and sobbing openly, Grace covered her eyes.

  “Mom…” Maryellen leaned forward, and wrapping her arms around her, pressed her cheek against Grace’s hair. “It’s all right. Don’t cry, Mom, please don’t cry.”

  Grace’s eyes burned, and even after sleeping for what must have been several hours, she felt as though she hadn’t rested a single moment.

  “What happened?” Kelly begged. “Tell us what happened.”

  Grace didn’t know how to explain that the clothes strewn across the front yard had been the result of a temper tantrum. “Why are you here?” she asked instead.

  “Mrs. Vessey phoned,” Maryellen explained. “She woke up and saw all Dad’s clothes outside and was worried about you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did you hear from Dad?” Kelly pressed, and it killed Grace to hear the eagerness in her child’s voice. With all her heart, Kelly believed that Dan loved them all. Soon, any time now, he’d return with a perfectly logical explanation of where he’d been and why.

  “Do you know where Dad is?” Maryellen asked gently.

  “No.”

  “Daddy…where…are…you?” Kelly raged. She started to sob.

  Grace didn’t have any answers for her daughter. All she could say for sure, as she caught a glimpse of gold on the other side of the room, was that when Dan had left, he hadn’t bothered to take his wedding band with him.

  Justine couldn’t concentrate on banking. Already she’d made two mistakes and it was only eleven o’clock. This was not the way she wanted to start her work week. The problem had to do with her class reunion. The planning committee had gotten together Friday night for an informal dinner and discussion. Everything had been set in motion weeks earlier and the reunion was less than a month away.

  Justine had never intended to get this involved. She blamed Lana Rothchild for being so eager to enlist her help. And she blamed her mother for encouraging her. Before she could back out, Lana had her collecting the money and paying the bills. At the last meeting, Justine discovered she was also expected to be part of the decorating committee. Now it would be impossible not to attend.

  It wasn’t only the reunion that was getting her down. Seth was on her mind constantly, although she hadn’t heard from him since the night Warren proposed. Not one word. For a man who claimed to be so crazy about her, he did damn little to show it.

  She’d thought… She’d hoped… The hell of it was, Justine didn’t know what she thought anymore. Not about Seth and certainly not about Warren.

  She and Warren weren’t getting along, either. It’d serve Seth right if she did accept Warren’s proposal. Even as that idea went through her mind, she knew it was the worst thing she could possibly do.

  “Looks like you’ve got company,” Christy Palmer whispered as she walked past Justine’s desk.

  Seth. It had to be Seth. Her head shot up with a smile she couldn’t restrain.

  Only it wasn’t Seth who strolled into the bank, but Warren. He carried a huge bouquet of fresh flowers in a glass vase. Every eye in the room turned to him as he headed directly for her office.

  If Justine could have slid out of her chair and hidden beneath her desk, she would have. She’d promised an answer to his proposal, and the deadline had come and gone, and still she didn’t know what to do.

  “Hello, baby.” Warren greeted her loudly enough to ensure that everyone in the bank heard him.

  “Hi, Warren,” she returned without emotion.

  “I came to invite you to lunch.”

  “Sorry,” she said, fighting the urge to be flippant, “but I have a noon meeting.” That was true enough, but she didn’t mention it was a meeting with one of the tellers and would take all of five minutes. If that.

  Warren sighed. “I’m still waiting, you know.”

  “For what?” She closed the file she was working on.

  “You still haven’t given me your decision.”

  “I told you,” Justine said impatiently, lowering her voice, “that if you pressure me, the answer is no.”

  “Hell, I figure we might as well get married, seeing that all we’ve done lately is argue. Is that what you want? What’s happened, baby? We used to be close and now all of a sudden, it’s like I’m not good enough for you.”

  “That’s not it.” How could she explain something she didn’t fully understand herself?

  “It’s that high-school reunion of yours, isn’t it?”

  Justine didn’t know how many times she’d had to tell him otherwise.

  “If that’s not it, then it has to be that old boyfriend you met up with.”

  Seth wasn’t an old boyfriend. “I never went out with him.”

  “But you wanted to.”

  “No.” Not when she was in high school, at any rate. The problem was a more recent one.

  “We need to talk,” Warren said urgently.

  “Warren,” she began, doing her best not to show her frustration, “I can’t just take off in the middle of the day because you want to chitchat.”

  “You could if you married me—you wouldn’t have to work.”

  Justine narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say another word.”

  “All right, all right.” He held up one hand, smiling. “Come on, this’ll only take a moment.” He set the flowers on the corner of her desk and pleaded with his eyes.

  It wasn’t like Warren to be humble. She realized this must be important, at least to him. Normally he went out of his way to act arrogant.

  “Fine,” she said, motioning for him to sit down.

  “I’d rather do it someplace more private,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder.

  Justine darted a look at her watch. “Listen, I have an appointment in ten minutes. I can leave after that. Would you like to meet outside? We could talk there.”

  “All right.”

  Justine thought he seemed relieved.

  Sure enough, Warren was waiting for her when she left the bank. He was leaning against his car and straightened when she stepped outside. Hurrying around to the passenger side of the car, he held the door and Justine climbed inside. He didn’t need to tell her that the engagement ring was stored in the glove box.

  “I only have a few minutes,” she reminded him when he slid into the seat beside her. “I’ve got meetings all afternoon.” A slight exaggeration, but in a good ca
use.

  “You sure you can’t get away for lunch?”

  She answered him with a hard look.

  He shrugged. “Just asking.”

  “What’s all this about?”

  Warren gazed out the side window. “I wanted to talk to you about us getting married.”

  “Warren!”

  “I think I know the reason you can’t make up your mind.”

  Great. If he had any insight into that, she’d gladly listen.

  “You’ve got the hots for Seth Gunderson.”

  For one moment she was too breathless to respond. Breathless with embarassment—and chagrin. “I most certainly do not! That you’d even say such a thing—”

  “Now, don’t get mad. The least you can do is hear me out before you get all riled up.” He clenched the steering wheel with both hands—the only outward evidence of tension.

  “Fine,” she said curtly. This was what got her about Warren. As insensitive and blind as he could sometimes be, every now and then he had the uncanny ability to know her better than she did herself.

  “You don’t have to hide the way you feel about Seth.”

  She crossed her arms irritably. “Is that right?”

  “I can give you the things a woman wants. Jewels, gifts, status.”

  Justine rolled her eyes. “That’s what a woman wants? You sure, Warren?”

  In response, he leaned across her and opened the glove compartment, withdrawing the ring box. He flipped open the lid and she nearly gasped, seeing all four gorgeous carats of the diamond in the full light of day. It sparkled like nothing she’d ever seen.

  “You tell me,” Warren said. “You’re a woman meant to wear a ring like this.”

  Justine didn’t argue with him. He was right; this was an incredible diamond and any woman would feel beautiful with it on her finger.

  “Well?” he pressed.

  She gave a long, drawn-out sigh, conceding. “You’ve made your point.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Is there anything else?” she asked. “I need to get back to work.”

  “You want the ring, and I want you to have it, but you’re still hesitating and I think I know why.”