I refused to waste another minute on Mark. I finished knitting my row, set the project aside, and returned to the kitchen. Seeing that I had excess energy, I decided what I really needed was a brisk walk. It was still cool out, so I grabbed a sweater, thinking I would use this opportunity to return the book I’d recently finished reading to the library. I hoped to run into Grace while I was there.
The instant Rover saw me get my sweater he headed for the laundry room, where I kept his leash. He was more than ready for a bit of exercise. Thankfully, the library was pet friendly.
As I headed down the hill, my mind continued to whirl. I thought about Paul again. Truly, he was never far from my mind, and the conversation with Lieutenant Colonel Milford was front and center.
I wondered how it was with other widows. Did they continue to think of their husbands every day for years following their death? That was a question I would ask Grace. Did she feel as I did some days, that I was living only half a life? I knew I would never stop loving Paul.
When I arrived at the library I learned that Grace wasn’t scheduled to work until the afternoon. I left the book and collected another that had been held on reserve. The walk back up the hill to the inn was steep, reminding me that I needed to get into a regular exercise routine, possibly join the local gym or sign up for an aerobic swim class.
As I approached the inn, I saw a car pull up and park in one of the spaces allotted for visitors. The driver’s door opened, and out climbed a rather tall, fit young man who I assumed was in his mid-twenties, possibly close to thirty. He stood and looped his dark hair around his ear before opening one of the back doors and helping an older woman out. I noticed right away how gentle he was with her, lending her a hand.
The front passenger door opened and an older man climbed out, and with his hands at his waist, he twisted left and then right as if to settle his bones.
This had to be Kent and Julie Shivers, the anniversary couple.
With Rover straining against the leash, I hurried my steps. “Hello,” I called out as I approached. “You must be the Shivers.”
“That’s us,” Kent said.
“Jo Marie Rose.” I extended my hand to Kent first and then Julie. “And you’re Oliver?”
“Oliver Sutton,” he confirmed.
“Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Julie said, and her gaze went to the inn. “What a lovely place you have here.”
“Thank you. I like it, and I hope you will, too.”
“Are the rooms ready?” Kent asked. “I could use a nap.”
“You napped on the way here,” Julie complained, frowning at her husband of fifty years.
“I most certainly did not.”
“Then you snored all the way here,” she returned.
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I don’t snore.”
Oliver went around to the back of the vehicle and opened the trunk to get out the suitcases.
“You’d think we planned a six-week vacation for all the luggage Julie packed.” The comment was directed at me.
“I only brought what was absolutely necessary.”
“Were those ten books necessary?” Kent demanded.
“That’s why I asked Oliver to drive us. You’re always complaining about one thing or another. For once in your life could you kindly keep your comments to yourself?”
Kent made a huffing sound and started toward the house with Julie following behind at a slower pace. I tried to help Oliver with the luggage, but he refused.
“I’ll get it, no problem.” He closed the trunk and looked toward the inn. “When do you suppose Annie will arrive?”
“Oh, she’s here now.”
“Already?” His eyes widened with surprise.
“Not here here,” I answered, which probably only confused him more. “She arrived last evening and stayed the night.”
“Then she’s in town.”
“Yes, but she is currently out.” I checked my watch and was surprised to notice it was already after eleven.
Oliver looked like he couldn’t be more pleased. “Any idea when she’ll be back?”
“She didn’t say, but I don’t imagine she’ll be long. You’re a bit early, aren’t you?”
“A bit,” he agreed. “Kent and Julie are early risers.”
Julie rolled her eyes. “That’s because Kent can’t seem to stay awake past nine o’clock these days. I miss all my favorite television shows because of him.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to go to bed when I do,” Kent muttered, taking each of the porch steps one at a time. “Ever think I was looking to get away from you?”
“Fine, then you can sleep by yourself for the rest of your life if that’s the way you want it.”
I hurried ahead to give Kent a helping hand in case he needed it. Rover raced to the top of the steps and waited anxiously for me to join him. I tucked my hand under Kent’s elbow. He smiled and whispered, “I can do these stairs just fine, but if you want to hold my hand, I won’t object.”
Following us, Julie took hold of the railing. “Don’t listen to him. Kent needs his knee replaced, but the fool man refuses.”
“I’m not letting any doctor cut me open,” Kent sputtered.
“Stubborn old fool.”
“I heard that,” Kent said, and, glancing over his shoulder, added in a lower voice, “Meddling old woman.”
“He has selective hearing as well,” Julie told me.
I looked to Kent, who seemed not to have heard that last comment.
Once they were both inside the inn, I watched as Oliver unloaded the last of the two large suitcases, a cosmetics bag, and two smaller travel-size quilted bags.
I led the way into the kitchen, after releasing Rover from his leash. He went straight to his bed but kept a close eye on our guests.
“Where do I sign?” Kent asked, looking a bit flustered as he reached inside his rear pocket for his wallet.
“Oh, not to worry, Annie took care of everything.”
“I do hope she’ll be back soon,” Julie said.
“I’m sure she will be,” I promised. “Can I offer you some coffee?” I asked.
All three refused, so I gave them their room keys. Kent and Julie ambled toward their room. Oliver followed with their luggage. I could hear the anniversary couple snapping at each other as they headed down the hallway outside the kitchen.
So this was the loving couple Annie had bragged about? Oh, dear.
Oliver stepped out of their room and closed the door.
“Everything all right?” I asked.
“I think so. I just hope they don’t end up killing each other before the party.”
Chapter 8
Following breakfast, Mary lay down on the bed and rested. After thirty minutes, she felt refreshed enough to take a short walk. The oncologist had urged her to get back into life as much as possible. A walk in the fresh air would do her good.
She was encouraged. While she still moved slowly, she could feel her energy returning. She wasn’t ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound, Superwoman-style, as she once had, but that was fine. This was progress. At least she wasn’t hanging over a toilet and clinging to the sides with both hands while losing the contents of her stomach. Despite all the advances in anti-nausea medication, Mary found they just weren’t effective for her.
Coming down the stairs, she half expected Jo Marie to race out of the kitchen to check on her. Pausing on the bottom step, she waited for the innkeeper to seek her out. When Jo Marie didn’t immediately show, Mary rounded the corner and peeked into the kitchen. The dog was nowhere in sight, either. Apparently, Jo Marie was busy elsewhere, which was just as well.
Her steps were measured and slow as Mary left the inn and started down the steep hill toward the waterfront. She felt drawn to the grassy area by the gazebo. The sun was out, and the day was still young. A big sign posted on a community board advertised the entertainment that was scheduled to start the fo
llowing month: Concerts on the Cove.
One of the acts scheduled to play was a singer who was advertised as comparable to Tony Bennett, as if that was even possible. George had taken her to see Tony Bennett years ago. Tony had come to Seattle, and knowing how she enjoyed the singer, George had finagled tickets to a sold-out event. He’d held her hand during the entire concert. Oh, how romantic he’d been. Thoughtful and caring.
With the other men in her life, the lovemaking had been frantic, done in a fever, ripping off each other’s clothes as they hurried toward the bed. It was never like that with George. With him, the lovemaking was slow, attentive, tender … and, oh, so very loving.
George again.
Seeing she was in close proximity to Seattle, it wasn’t surprising that George wasn’t far from her thoughts. In fact, he seemed to be front and center from the moment the plane’s wheels had bounced against the tarmac.
Sitting on one of the picnic tables close to the gazebo, Mary looked out over the waters of the cove and focused her gaze there. Just around the point of land was Seattle.
And George.
Men had come in and out of her life, but there had been only one George. She loved him then, and she loved him now. Biting into her lower lip, she struggled with emotion. Her throat thickened and her chest burned. Again, she blamed the cancer. This blasted disease had taken control of her well-ordered life. Having cancer infuriated her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She exercised; her diet was balanced; she got regular medical exams. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with this.
When she’d first gotten the news it’d felt like a death sentence, but she’d decided that if she was going to die then by heaven she would go down fighting. And so with characteristic resolve she’d fought. With every ounce of strength she possessed, with every bit of her will, she faced cancer head-on. She refused to lie down and wait to die. It simply wasn’t in her personality to be a quitter, and so she tackled the disease the way she had every other stumbling block in her life.
Feeling disjointed, Mary stood and walked to the railing that overlooked the waterfront. A huge white starfish, the largest she’d ever seen, clung to a rock in the water below. That was how she felt, clinging, holding on, fighting in desperation for her life to go back to the way it had once been.
Mary needed structure. Craved it. As a creature of habit, there’d been order to her day; indeed, to her life. That was the way she functioned best. At eight o’clock she would be at her desk with a cup of coffee. At ten, at noon, at three, at five—she knew exactly what she’d be doing or where she’d be headed. Her life was carefully organized.
Cancer changed all that.
Digging out her cell phone, she went online. For all she knew, George might not even be in Seattle any longer and all this angst could be for nothing. It wouldn’t do any harm to check the listings for Seattle attorneys, although she had resisted until this very moment. If his name came up, she’d know, and then she would feel some sense of relief.
It didn’t take her long to find her answer. His name was there along with a phone number.
George Hudson, Esquire.
Feeling the need for something to drink, Mary found a coffee shop and went inside. The Java Joint coffee menu was impressive, but then she knew how serious people in the Pacific Northwest felt toward the brew.
She found it astonishing how many latte stands a small town like Cedar Cove boasted. On the ride from the freeway to the inn, she counted six. Six. In a town that stated the population was less than seven thousand. And that was just the ones she’d seen. It boggled the mind that there were obviously others.
The young man behind the counter wore a white apron tied at the waist. His name badge identified him as Conner. He looked to be about fifteen, but surely he was older.
“What would you like?” he asked when Mary approached.
“Just coffee.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try our drink of the day?”
“Is it coffee?”
“Well, sure, mixed with a combination of flavors. Today it’s a cotton-candy latte.”
“Cotton candy?” Unbelievable.
“Hey, it’s one of our top sellers.”
“Right along with peanuts and popcorn?”
“Funny,” Conner said, grinning. “We haven’t tried that one yet.”
“Just coffee,” she reiterated.
“You got it.” He poured her a mug and handed it to her.
As she paid, Mary noticed his class ring. “Are you graduating on Sunday?” Then, because she felt like she needed to qualify the question, she added, “I met a young lady who works up at the Rose Harbor Inn who told me the graduation ceremony is this weekend.”
“You’re staying at the inn?”
“Just for a few more nights, yes.”
“You must have met Hailey. The inn’s a great place, isn’t it?” he said, chatting on as he poured the coffee. “Hailey says Jo Marie is the best. I think it’s great the way she was willing to show Hailey the ropes. I know the inn isn’t big, but it’s a start.”
“You know Hailey?” Mary had never lived in a small town, and it seemed everyone was connected to everyone else, which she found just short of amazing. Born and raised on the East Coast in Boston, she’d been employed from the time she was sixteen. Her father had drinking problems and couldn’t seem to hold down a job, and her mother had worked two jobs to support the family. Nothing had ever come easy to Mary; she’d worked for everything she got. Caring for her younger brother, who unfortunately followed in their father’s footsteps, had shown her she wasn’t interested in a family of her own. She had too much ambition, too much drive. She loved the east and George … Oh, George again … He couldn’t ever see himself living outside of Seattle. They’d tried to make a go of a long-distance relationship, but it was doomed.
“Everyone knows Hailey,” Conner said, interrupting her thoughts. “She stops by here after work most days and we hang.”
“Hang?”
“Yeah, you know, talk and stuff.”
“Of course.” Clearly, Mary wasn’t up on the current teenage vernacular.
“I’m a year ahead of Hailey. I’m working here to help with college expenses.”
“Good for you.” Mary had worked her way through school, too, and it hadn’t been easy. Thankfully, she’d gotten a number of scholarships.
“I’m grateful to get summer work. It isn’t like jobs are growing on trees these days.”
“I know what you mean.” Mary left him a generous tip.
His eyes widened when he saw the five-dollar bill. “You need a refill, just say the word and I’ll bring it over to you.”
“Thanks.” Mary chose a table by the window that overlooked Harbor Street. A woman came by and watered the plants potted in the urns next to the streetlights. Flowers had never been Mary’s forte, and she wasn’t sure exactly what variety they were, but the colors were a vibrant red and yellow.
“Are you here for the seagull-calling contest?” Conner asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Cedar Cove has this contest every year. It’s big around here. One year the winner appeared on Jay Leno.”
Mary smiled. She wasn’t sure how she’d missed that. “Sorry to say I haven’t heard about it.”
“It’s next Saturday morning on the waterfront. The person who attracts the most seagulls with their call wins. If you’re in town you might want to stop by. It’s a lot of fun, and the farmers’ market is up and running, too.”
“I’ll make a point of doing that.”
“Hailey’s down there most Saturdays with her mom. They sell homemade jelly. My favorite flavor is chocolate cherry.”
“Jelly?” Apparently, there was an entire world of flavors Mary had somehow missed.
“Sounds weird, doesn’t it? But trust me, it’s the best ever.”
Such enthusiasm. Mary sipped her coffee. Her cup was still half full when Conner rounded the counter with a
fresh pot and refilled her cup. A new customer, a man in greasy coveralls, stopped into the coffee shop. He glanced in her direction and then quickly looked away. Mary was accustomed to that. Not accustomed exactly, but seeing others’ uneasiness at her lack of hair, her obvious battle with cancer, no longer took her by surprise. Nor was she offended.
He was in and gone within a couple of minutes, with carryout.
Mary took her time with the coffee, savoring it until it had cooled to the point that it no longer appealed to her. She really didn’t have any place she needed to be or any place special she wanted to go. That bothered her more than just about anything else.
Perhaps coming to the Seattle area hadn’t been such a bright idea after all. She wasn’t an impulsive woman, and this entire trip had been decided on a whim. What had she been thinking? This was insane. Yet here she was. And just across the water was George.
Glancing at the steep climb back to the inn filled her with dread. It was too much. She should have realized that when she’d started toward the waterfront. She’d need to find a ride, a taxi or something.
Her phone beeped, indicating she had a message. Someone had reached out to her. A friend? A colleague? In her eagerness to free her cell from inside her purse, she nearly dropped it. To her disappointment, the email message was an advertisement from her favorite New York steakhouse.
Her hand tightened around her cell. With a click of one button the phone number to George’s office showed on the screen. If he knew she was in the area or even close, he’d want to know. Wouldn’t he?
“He’s married,” she muttered.
“Did you say something?” Conner asked.
Her head shot up; his question had alarmed her and taken her by surprise. “Just talking to myself,” she said, while her eyes remained focused on George’s office number.