Cedar Cove 01 - 16 Lighthouse Road

by Debbie Macomber

  Olivia groaned when the telephone rang for the fifth time Saturday morning. No doubt this call, like all the others, was the result of Jack Griffin’s newspaper piece published that morning. The newly appointed editor of The Cedar Cove Chronicle had for some reason decided to write an article about her. He’d run the headline Divorce Denied across the editorial page. Olivia sighed; all this unwanted attention was disrupting her weekend, and she resented it.

  “Hello,” she said, making sure her voice conveyed her irritation. If this caller felt compelled to discuss her judgment, then she wasn’t in the mood to talk. She’d brought each of the four previous conversations to a swift end.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  Justine, that was a relief! Olivia had been waiting to hear from her daughter all week. “How are you?” It used to be that they spoke on a regular basis, but no longer. Justine was dating a man Olivia considered disreputable, which created ongoing tension between mother and daughter. Consequently Justine avoided her. Warren Saget was a forty-eight-year-old land developer—twenty years her senior—who had put together more than one shady deal. The age difference didn’t bother Olivia as much as the man himself.

  “Did you know your name was in the paper this morning?” Justine asked.

  As though anyone would let Olivia miss seeing it. Starting the first of the year, The Cedar Cove Chronicle had gone to two editions a week and this was the very first Saturday edition. Maybe Griffin should’ve stuck to one paper a week, Olivia thought grimly, since he obviously couldn’t scrape up enough real news. His entire column had been about the day he’d spent sitting in her courtroom, listening to the judgments she’d made. Although he didn’t mention the Randalls by name, he said her ruling in that instance had come from the heart rather than from any law book and he applauded her decision, calling her gutsy and unconventional. Olivia wasn’t opposed to receiving praise, but she’d prefer not to have attention drawn to that particular case. While he’d mentioned her in a vaguely flattering light, he certainly hadn’t been as kind to others in her profession. He appeared to have a bias against attorneys and judges, and wasn’t afraid to share his opinions on the subject.

  It was just Olivia’s luck that Jack Griffin had chosen her courtroom that day. Just her bad luck, she amended.

  “What happened?” Justine asked. “I mean, it’s obvious Jack Griffin doesn’t have much respect for the law, but he seems to like you.”

  Olivia could hear the amusement in her daughter’s voice. “I don’t even know the man,” she said dismissively.

  “That’s interesting. I thought you’d been holding out on me.”

  “Holding out?”

  “As in you’d found yourself a man.”

  “Oh, please,” Olivia moaned.

  “Well, he seems to have made himself your champion. Especially over that ‘divorce denied’ thing.”

  Olivia had known she was taking a risk when she’d made her ruling on the Randall case. Her personal feelings had no role on the bench, but she was absolutely certain those two young people would be making a terrible mistake if they went through with the divorce. She’d merely put up a roadblock, hoping it would be enough to force them into dealing with their problems instead of running from them.

  “Jack wrote that you weren’t afraid of making a controversial decision.”

  “I’ve already read his column,” Olivia said in an effort to keep her daughter from repeating any more of it.

  “So you know all about it?”

  Olivia sighed. “Unfortunately, yes.” Then, hoping to change the subject, she asked, “Are you free for lunch this afternoon? It’s been weeks since we had a chance to visit.” Justine had come for Christmas, but she’d left as soon as the gifts were opened and dinner had been served. Olivia had no idea where she’d spent New Year’s. Then again, she did know—and wished she didn’t. Her daughter had spent the night with Warren Saget. “Your grandma and I are getting together. We’d love it if you could join us.”

  “Sorry, Mom, Warren and I already have plans.”

  “Oh.” She should have guessed. Warren kept a tight rein on Justine. She rarely had any free time these days. That distressed and annoyed Olivia, but whenever she mentioned it, or even hinted as much, her daughter became defensive.

  “We’ll get together soon,” Justine promised. “Gotta go now.”

  Olivia was about to suggest they set a day and a time right then, but before she had the opportunity, the line went dead.

  Grumbling to herself, she finished writing out her grocery list, then reached for her jacket and purse. The January weather was gray and bleak. It was raining lightly—more of a fine mist, really—as she locked the front door and hurried down the porch steps to her car. Olivia loved her home, which looked out over the water on Lighthouse Road. The lighthouse itself was three miles away, situated on a jut of land that led into the protected waters of the cove. Unfortunately it couldn’t be seen from her property.

  She had a number of stops to make—the grocery, the dry cleaner, the library. She hoped to get everything done by noon, when she was meeting her mother for lunch. She wished again that Justine could have joined them.

  She picked up her dry cleaning and returned her books to the library, then swung over to the local Safeway, where she always did her weekly shopping. Thankfully, she was early enough to avoid the usual Saturday morning crush. She began with the produce aisle, where she stood debating whether a head of lettuce was worth this outrageous price.

  “Judge Lockhart. Didn’t expect to run into you here.”

  Olivia turned to confront the very man who’d managed to upset her morning. She recognized his face from that day in her courtroom—the man who’d sat right in front, notebook and pen in hand. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Jack Griffin.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a formal introduction.”

  “Trust me, Mr. Griffin, after this morning’s paper, I know who you are.” He was around her age, Olivia guessed, in his early fifties, and about her height. Dark hair, starting to gray. Clean-shaven, with pleasant regular features, he didn’t strike her as outstandingly handsome but he had what she could only describe as an appealing quality. He smiled readily and his gaze was clear and direct. He seemed a bit disheveled in a loose raincoat, and she noticed that his shirt was casual, the top two buttons unfastened.

  “Do I detect a note of censure?” he asked, his smile flirting with her.

  Olivia wasn’t sure how to answer. She was annoyed with him, but letting him know that would serve no useful purpose. “I suppose you were just doing your job,” she muttered, tossing a green pepper into her cart. Rubies cost less per pound, but she had a fondness for green peppers and felt she deserved a treat. Especially after this morning. Green peppers were a whole lot better for her than butter-pecan ice cream.

  She started to push her cart away, but Jack stopped her.

  “They’ve got a coffee shop next door. Let’s talk.”

  Olivia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Jack followed her as she sorted through the fresh green beans. “It might’ve been my imagination, but you didn’t want to see that couple go through with the divorce, did you?”

  “I don’t discuss my cases outside the courtroom,” she informed him stiffly.

  “Naturally,” he said in a reasonable tone as he continued walking at her side. “It was personal, wasn’t it?”

  Losing her patience, Olivia turned and glared at him. As though she’d admit such a thing to a reporter! He’d make the whole episode sound like a breach of professional ethics. She’d done nothing wrong, dammit. She’d acted with the best of intentions, and she’d remained steadfastly within the law.

  “You lost a son, didn’t you?” he pressed.

  “Are you gathering information on me for your next article, Mr. Griffin?” she asked coldly.

  “No—and it’s Jack.” He held up both hands, which was supposed to reassure her, Olivia suppose
d. It didn’t.

  “I nearly lost my own son,” he said.

  “Do you always pester people who prefer to go about their own business, or am I special?”

  “You’re special,” he answered without a pause. “I knew it the minute you made your judgment in the Randall case. You were right, you know. Everyone in that courtroom could see they had no business getting divorced. What you did took guts.”

  “As I explained earlier, I cannot discuss my cases.”

  “But you could have a cup of coffee with me, couldn’t you?” He didn’t plead, didn’t prod, but there was a good-natured quality about him that was beginning to work on her. He had a sense of humor, even a certain roguishness. She gave up. It probably wouldn’t hurt to talk.

  “All right,” she agreed. She glanced down at her cart, calculating how long it would take her to finish.

  “Thirty minutes,” he suggested, grinning triumphantly. “I’ll meet you there.”

  That settled, he walked away. Olivia couldn’t help it, she was curious about this man and his comment about almost losing his own son. Perhaps they had more in common than she’d realized.

  Twenty-five minutes later, her groceries in the trunk of her car, Olivia entered Java and Juice, the coffeehouse next to the Safeway. Sure enough, Jack was waiting for her, hands cupped around a steaming latte. He sat at a round table by the window and stood when she approached. It was a small thing, coming to his feet like that, a show of good manners and respect. But that one gentlemanly gesture told her as much about him as everything else he’d said and done.

  She sat in the chair across from him and he waved to the waitress, who appeared promptly. Olivia ordered a regular coffee; a minute later, a thick ceramic mug was set before her.

  Jack waited until the high-school girl had left before he spoke. “I just wanted you to know I meant what I said—I admire what you did last week. It couldn’t have been easy.” Olivia was about to remind him yet again that she couldn’t discuss her court cases when he stopped her, shaking his head. “I know, I know. But in my opinion you made a bold move and I couldn’t let that go unnoticed.”

  Olivia would have preferred he not publish his opinions for the entire town to discuss. However, there was nothing she could say or do that would change what had already seen the light of the printed page.

  “How long have you been in Cedar Cove?” she asked instead.

  “Three months,” he answered. “Are you purposely turning the attention away from yourself?”

  Olivia grinned. “I sure am,” she told him. “So—you have a son?”

  “Eric. He’s twenty-six and lives in Seattle. When he was ten, he was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer. He wasn’t expected to live….” His face darkened at the memory.

  “But he did,” Olivia said.

  Jack nodded. “He’s alive and healthy, and for that I’m deeply grateful.” Then he went on to say that Eric worked for Microsoft and was doing very well.

  Olivia’s gaze went automatically to his ring finger. Jack had mentioned his son, but not his wife.

  He’d obviously noticed her quick look. “Eric survived the cancer,” he said, “but unfortunately my marriage didn’t.”

  So he understood on a personal level what had occurred in her own life. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged carelessly. “That was a long time ago. Life goes on and so do I. You’re divorced yourself?” Although he asked the question, she was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

  “Fifteen years now.”

  The conversation flowed smoothly after that, and before she knew it, she had to leave to meet her mother for lunch. Reaching for her purse, Olivia stood and extended her hand to Jack.

  “I enjoyed getting to know you.”

  He rose to his feet, taking her hand in his. “You, too, Olivia.” He briefly squeezed her fingers, as if to say they’d formed a bond with one another. When they’d first met today—and definitely before that—she’d been irritated with him, but Jack had managed to thwart her displeasure. By the time she walked out the door, Olivia felt she’d made a friend. She was well aware that Jack Griffin was no ordinary man, though; she wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him.

  Ian Randall sat in his car outside his wife’s apartment building, dreading what was certain to be another confrontation. The judge had made it plain that the prenuptial agreement wasn’t going to be rescinded. Now what? They had a few options, none of which suited him or, apparently, his wife.

  Cecilia was the one who wanted the divorce. She’d been the first to hire an attorney. Hell, she’d rammed this whole stupid idea down his throat. She wanted out. Okay, fine. If she preferred not to be with him, he was hardly going to fight for the privilege of remaining her husband. But now they were faced with a stumbling block in their attempt to end the marriage, such as it was. All because they’d written that agreement, intended to safeguard their wedding vows. Some decision had to be made.

  There was no point in waiting any longer. He climbed out of his car and slowly entered the building, approaching the first-floor apartment they’d once shared.

  Ian was irritated that he had to ring the doorbell to what had recently been his own home. After their separation, he’d had to move on base. Fortunately, his friend Andrew Lackey had allowed Ian to store a few things at his house. He leaned hard against the buzzer now, fighting down his resentment. Releasing the button, he retreated a step and squared his shoulders. He steeled his emotions the way he’d been taught in basic training, unwilling to reveal any of his thoughts or feelings to Cecilia.

  His wife opened the door, frowning when she saw who it was.

  “I thought we should come to a decision,” he announced in resolute tones. No matter how many times he told himself he shouldn’t feel anything for her, he did. He couldn’t be in the same room with her and forget what it was like when they’d made love or when he’d first felt their baby move inside her. Nor could he forget how it had felt to stand over his daughter’s grave, never having had the opportunity to hold Allison or tell her he loved her.

  Cecilia held open the door. “Okay.”

  The hesitation in her voice was unmistakable.

  Ian followed her into the compact living room and sat on the edge of the sofa. They’d picked it up second-hand at a garage sale shortly after their wedding. Ian had refused to let Cecilia help him move it, since she was already three months pregnant. His stubbornness had resulted in a wrenched back. This old sofa came with a lot of bad memories, just like his short-lived marriage.

  Cecilia sat across from him, her hands folded, her face unrevealing.

  “I have to tell you the judge’s decision was kind of a shock,” he said, opening the discussion.

  “My attorney said we could appeal it.”

  “Oh, sure,” Ian muttered, his anger flaring. “And rack up another five or six hundred dollars’ worth of legal fees. I don’t have that kind of money to burn and neither do you.”

  “You don’t know the state of my finances,” Cecilia snapped.

  This was the way every discussion started with them. At first they were courteous, almost too polite, but within minutes they were arguing and everything exploded in his face. They seemed to reach that level of irrational anger so quickly these days, or at least since Allison Marie’s birth—and death. Ian sighed, feeling a sense of hopelessness. With the way things were between them now, it was hard to believe they’d ever slept together.

  Ian diverted his thoughts from their once healthy and energetic love life. In bed they’d found little to disagree about, but that was before…

  “We could always do as my attorney suggested.”

  “And what’s that?” Ian had no intention of taking Allan Harris’s advice. The other man represented his wife’s interests, not his.

  “Allan recommended we do what the judge said and take our disagreement to the Dispute Resolution Center.”

  Ian remembered Judge Lockhart making some c
omment about that, and he remembered his own reaction at the time. “What exactly is that supposed to do?” he asked, trying to sound reasonable and conciliatory.

  “Well, I can’t say for certain, but I think we’d each present our sides to an impartial third party.”

  “What will that cost?”

  “Does everything boil down to money with you?” Cecilia demanded.

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” This divorce had already set him back plenty. He wasn’t the one who’d wanted it in the first place, he told himself stubbornly. Sure, after Allison died, they’d had a few arguments but he’d never expected it to lead to this.

  Cecilia had never understood what it’d been like for him, although he’d tried to explain countless times. He hadn’t received her “family gram” until the end of the tour. His commanding officer had withheld the information about the premature birth and death of his daughter, since there was no possibility of a humanitarian airlift or any way of contacting Cecilia. When he finally reached the base, he hadn’t had a chance to absorb the reality of their loss.

  His wife gave him a disgusted look. “Do you have any suggestions, then?” she asked in a superior tone of voice that set his teeth on edge. She knew he hated it when she spoke to him as though he was still in grade school.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, and got to his feet.

  “Fine. I can’t wait to hear it.” Cecilia crossed her arms in that huffy way of hers.

  “I say we simply go on with our lives.”

  Cecilia frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Do you plan to remarry?”

  “I—I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

  As far as he was concerned, Ian was through with it. Never again would he subject himself to a woman’s volatile emotions or fickle whims. “Not me. I’ve had it with marriage, with you, with the entire mess.”

  “Let me see if I understand what you’re saying.” Cecilia stood, too, and started pacing the small living room, passing directly in front of him. He caught a whiff of her perfume, and it was all he could do not to close his eyes and savor the scent. He hated that she still had the power to make him weak, to leave him wanting her….