“Actually, he’s been married three times.”
Olivia had only known about two of his former marriages, but wisely refrained from comment.
“His children are raised.”
From what she’d heard, Warren Saget had a daughter four years younger than Justine.
“In other words, he wouldn’t be interested in starting a second family.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Olivia merely nodded.
“Warren represents safety and security to me,” Justine said in a low, serious voice. “It’s comfortable being with him. It seemed that everything I objected to in other relationships isn’t a problem for him. He’s always been good to me and I didn’t need to worry about…you know.”
Olivia wasn’t sure she did, but again she held her tongue. “You’re looking sad.” Reaching over, she stroked the side of her daughter’s face.
“I am sad,” Justine repeated as though this was a revelation. “That’s exactly what I am.”
Olivia searched for something comforting to say, some wisdom she could pass on to her daughter. Unfortunately her mind was a blank. Every day she sat in court and issued judgments that would alter the way families lived their lives. But when it came to her own child, Olivia was at a loss.
“Have you decided to break it off?”
It was the wrong thing to ask. Justine instantly bristled. “That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?”
“No,” Olivia responded, sorry now that she’d said a word. “Whatever happens between you and Warren is your business. It’s obvious that you care for him.”
“I do. Sometimes he irritates me, and then sometimes he’s so kind and thoughtful…. I know what you think, Mom, what everyone thinks, but Warren’s got his insecurities, just like most people. And in his own way, he loves me.”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
Justine stood and deposited her coffee cup in the sink, as though preparing to leave. “Thanks, Mom, I feel better.”
Well, that was good, but Olivia felt confused. She had no idea what the visit had been about; she only knew she didn’t want it to end. “Isn’t your class reunion coming up shortly?”
“Next month,” Justine mumbled, reaching for her car keys. “I doubt Seth will be there in case you’re wondering.”
“I’m not,” Olivia lied. “But…why not?” she asked, surprised that her daughter had voluntarily brought up the other man’s name. Generally Justine went out of her way to avoid the subject of Seth Gunderson.
“He’s in Alaska, and this is his busiest time of year. He won’t be able to take four or five days off and fly home for a class reunion.”
“Perhaps not,” Olivia agreed mildly.
Then out of the blue, Justine looked her square in the eye and blurted out, “Falling in love with Seth would be a terrible risk.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh, Mom, think about it. I have nothing in common with him. He’s just the type of man I want to avoid. He’s a fisherman—that’s a dead-end career if there ever was one. Besides, he lives on a boat. I have more tablecloths than he has dishes. We just don’t…mix.”
“But you’re attracted to him?”
“He makes me crazy.” She clamped her mouth shut and folded her arms tightly across her chest.
“Loving him is a risk,” Olivia repeated her daughter’s words back to her.
Justine groaned. “I know that, Mother.”
“Oh, Justine,” she whispered, hugging her daughter. “Think about it. Everything of value in life involves risk.”
Her daughter pressed her forehead against Olivia’s shoulder. “Oh, Mom, I wish I knew what to do.”
“Follow your heart.”
“I can’t,” she whispered brokenly.
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid it’ll lead me straight to Seth.”
Olivia patted her back gently, but found it impossible not to smile.
June 25th
Dearest Cecilia,
I know it’s probably a shock to get a letter from me. I’ve gotten into the habit of sending e-mails because they’re convenient and easy, and so much faster. Today, however, e-mail just seems too impersonal. It doesn’t feel right to sit down at a computer. Not today, June 25th.
You didn’t say anything, but I’m sure Allison Marie has been on your mind. If she’d lived, we’d be celebrating her first birthday. And this year, just like last year, her daddy’s out at sea.
I don’t know if there are words enough to tell you how much I regret not being with you when Allison was born. I would’ve done anything, given everything I possess or ever will, to have the opportunity to hold my little girl just once. There’s an ache inside me that will never go away, knowing that not only could I not be with you, but I was denied the one opportunity I had to see my daughter.
Your getting pregnant when you did last year wasn’t a real surprise. A part of me was looking for it to happen, I think. I was crazy about you from the moment we met, and despite the separation, that hasn’t changed. Allison Marie was a gift from God. I don’t know why she had to die or what purpose her life served, but I do know I have no regrets about us marrying. Not a single one. Together we created a beautiful baby and together we loved our child. We still love her. The key word here is together, Cecilia. And that’s the way I want us to stay.
After the accident on the George Washington, you told me you love me. Oh, honey, you don’t know how good it was to hear you say it. My ribs hurt like hell, otherwise I would’ve been shouting loud enough for you to hear me all the way in Cedar Cove.
Let’s not do anything foolish—like get that divorce. When the George Washington pulls into Bremerton shipyard, I hope you’ll be there with all the other wives, waiting for their husbands. I don’t want this to be the end of our marriage, but the beginning of our lives together. I think Allison would approve of her mommy and daddy celebrating her birthday, don’t you? After all, she brought us together, didn’t she? It’s time we put away the pain and celebrated her life, short as it was. Because of Allison, you’re my wife and I’m your husband and that’s how we should remain.
I love you so much.
Ian
Seventeen
Charlotte was fast losing patience with Cliff Harding. He’d assured her he’d come to town to look over the things she’d taken from Tom’s storage unit, but that was more than a month ago. Cliff continued to delay the meeting. Although his excuses sounded plausible, Charlotte could see that this simply wasn’t a high priority for him.
That distressed her, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“I’d drive out and see him myself,” her friend Laura told her on the Monday following her birthday.
Charlotte was with her knitting friends at the Senior Center. A few weeks ago she’d casually mentioned talking to Tom’s grandson, but hadn’t told them everything involved. She wasn’t about to admit, even to her nearest and dearest friends, that she’d committed a felony.
“I would, too,” Evelyn added. “From what you said, it isn’t that far.”
“It’ll mean driving on the highway.” Any road with more than two lanes terrified Charlotte. Cars whizzed past, and no matter what lane she was in, she seemed to annoy the other drivers, especially if she followed the posted speed. What did these people think the speed limit was, anyway? A suggestion? Everyone seemed to be in such an all-fired hurry these days. She’d drive over to see him if she had to, but she wouldn’t like it and she’d make darn sure Cliff Harding heard about it.
“I don’t know what it is with young people today,” Helen muttered, jerking on her yarn with unnecessary force. “They don’t respect their elders the way we were taught to.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” This came from Bess, who nodded emphatically.
“You were his grandfather’s friend. One would think he’d welcome the opportunity to thank you.”
“It didn’t escape my notice,” Helen sa
id, leaning toward Bess, “that he didn’t visit his grandfather, either.”
“I’m going to phone him again,” Charlotte said, decision made. “And I’ll let him know when he can expect me.” She’d put it off for nearly five weeks already. Cliff Harding always had an excuse. There had been that business trip, and last week there was a brief message on her answering machine—one of his horses was about to foal and he couldn’t leave. Charlotte could only imagine what his excuse would be this week. And the next. No, Laura was right, it was time to take matters into her own hands.
When Charlotte returned home, she tucked away her knitting, made a fuss over Harry, and then, filled with determination, headed toward her phone.
Tom’s grandson answered, sounding far more congenial than he ever had before.
“This is Charlotte Jefferson,” she announced.
“Yes, Mrs. Jefferson, I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.”
Charlotte just bet he had. Probably with another of his lame excuses. “I’m sorry to trouble you again, but seeing that you’ve been unable to keep your appointment with me—”
“That was what I planned to discuss with you. Would this afternoon be convenient?”
The indignation that had been bolstered by her friends’ well-meaning advice was suddenly unnecessary. “This afternoon would be fine,” she muttered, feeling deflated and, truth to tell, a little disappointed. She’d been ready to blast him; she’d even worked out some very effective remarks about family duty on the drive home. Now she wouldn’t be able to use them.
“I imagine it’s a bit disconcerting to be sleeping with a gun under your bed.”
Charlotte heard the teasing in his voice and decided to ignore it. “Actually, I moved the gun to my underwear drawer.” She didn’t mention that she’d wrapped it in an old girdle.
“Your underwear drawer?” he repeated.
Again, she’d amused him, but this time she couldn’t fathom why. That was a clever hiding place in her opinion. No one breaking into the house, if they got past her overprotective cat, would think to search for anything of significance in a drawer of cotton panties. Anything that was the least bit important in Charlotte’s house invariably ended up there. Her savings passbook was tucked inside her support panty hose. No thief was going to catch her off guard.
“What time will you be here?” she wanted to know.
“Is around four okay?”
“That would be perfect.” Charlotte gave him directions to her home and they ended the conversation. Then, because she wanted to be hospitable, she baked cookies. The recipe had been given to her three years ago at a seniors’ potluck and it always went over well. Men, especially, seemed to like these cookies, which were thick with chocolate chips, coconut and pecans.
She’d just finished scraping the last of the batch from the cookie sheet when the doorbell rang. Charlotte hurried toward the front door, picking up Harry to keep him from escaping. Her cat purred in her ear as she turned open the three locks. The last one had been installed only recently. Charlotte wasn’t going to make a thief’s job easy for him, no sir. She couldn’t afford one of those fancy security systems, but she had her own safeguards.
The man who stood on the other side of the threshold was a good six feet tall with a small paunch. He wore a cowboy hat and boots, blue jeans with a brown jacket and a string tie.
“Mrs. Jefferson?”
“Yes. You must be Cliff Harding.” She unlocked the screen door and held it open for him. “Come in, please.”
He stepped into her modest home and sniffed appreciatively. “You been baking cookies?”
“I just wanted to be neighborly,” she said, inviting him to take a seat on her sofa. She was ready. The silver service was set up, the pot filled with fresh coffee. The service was used only on rare occasions, but she wanted to make a good impression on Tom’s grandson. The cookies were still warm from the oven.
Charlotte noticed that she didn’t need to urge Cliff to help himself. She sat down across from him.
“How much do you know about your grandfather?” she asked, pouring for them both.
Cliff leaned forward and accepted the delicate china cup. “Only what my father told me.” This was said with a scowl. “And frankly, it wasn’t complimentary. Tom Harding was a scoundrel and a womanizer.”
“That I wouldn’t know. I only knew him during the last few months of his life.”
“Were you aware that he abandoned his family in order to pursue his film career? My grandmother and father lived on charity and died in poverty while Tom Houston, The Yodeling Cowboy, lived the high life. If I have no interest in his effects, I’m sure you can understand why.”
Charlotte found it difficult to think badly of Tom. This wasn’t the man she knew. “By the time I met Tom, he’d suffered a stroke and had lost his ability to speak.”
“You said he requested to be transferred to Cedar Cove?”
“That’s my understanding.” Charlotte reached for a cookie. She should avoid the unneeded calories, but these were simply too good to ignore.
“Do you think I was the reason?”
“I’m positive.” Charlotte didn’t doubt it for a moment. “What you said about your grandfather may very well be true. I can’t possibly know, nor is it important that I do. But I can tell you about the man who became my friend. He wanted to meet you, I’m convinced of that, but I think he was afraid.”
“Of me?”
She nodded. “He moved to Cedar Cove because it was the closest facility to where you lived. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose.” He didn’t seem convinced.
“I understood Tom. Don’t ask me how or why, but the two of us bonded. Some days it was almost as if we could talk. I understood what he wanted to say and he appeared to understand me.”
“My father said he always did have a way with the ladies.”
Charlotte stiffened, then decided Cliff was probably right. She wouldn’t take offense, although that was her first instinct. “Your grandfather never had the chance to tell you he loved you.”
“Loved me?” Cliff flared. “He never even met me.”
“You’re right, of course, but you were his only living relative. He’d obviously kept track of you. Otherwise, how would he have known where you were living or that you raised horses?”
“Are you sure he knew that?”
“I believe he did. The same way I’m confident he wanted you to have the things I took out of his storage unit. He wasn’t able to be part of your life. Perhaps he felt he didn’t have the right to intrude on you. But it’s his blood that runs through your veins. He was proud of you—I know it. Proud to be your grandfather. This is all he had to give you.”
Cliff Harding set down his coffee and stood. Staring out the window, he turned his back to Charlotte. “I came this afternoon to thank you for your efforts on my grandfather’s behalf and to tell you I wanted nothing to do with the man.”
“And now?”
“You’re a very persuasive woman, Mrs. Jefferson.”
“Does that mean you’ll take his things home with you?” She hoped he would. And more importantly, she wanted him to examine each piece and discover the man Tom Harding had been. She feared Cliff would pack everything away without learning about his heritage.
“I’ll take them.”
“And you’ll carefully study what your grandfather left you?”
He nodded.
“I believe you’ve made a wise decision.” Sighing deeply, Charlotte knew she’d put in a good day’s work. Somehow, she’d accomplished what Tom had wanted her to do. And on a more personal note, she’d be glad to remove the gun from her girdle.
Justine bought a slinky blue dress for her ten-year class reunion, but she didn’t know who she was hoping to impress. Her one consolation, as she headed out the door for the festivities, was that Seth Gunderson wouldn’t be attending. She should know. As the treasurer for the reunion, Justine had compiled a li
st of who’d signed up and who’d paid. Seth had done neither.
She felt humiliated arriving without a date, but why should this night be different from any other high-school function? Justine had been an outsider all through those years. She was the class brain, the valedictorian and the girl voted most likely to succeed. With several scholarships offered, she’d dutifully chosen a prestigious East Coast school and followed the course set out for her, but she was never truly happy.
She hated life on campus, hated being away from Cedar Cove. After her graduation, she’d taken a job at First National. In the years since, she’d been promoted steadily. Now she was the youngest branch manager in Cedar Cove history, and one of the bank’s youngest senior employees. Justine loved the challenge of her job and enjoyed playing an active role in financing the growth of her community. But she considered her personal life a dismal failure.
Warren would have attended the reunion with her if she’d pressed him. She hadn’t, afraid her former classmates would assume he was her father or, even worse, an old teacher they couldn’t quite place.
The high-school gymnasium looked great, if she did say so herself. The decoration committee, of which she was a part, had worked hard and done a fabulous job. Fresh flowers were everywhere, on the tables and in huge rented vases along the walls.
The band was already playing, and almost involuntarily Justine tapped her foot to the music as she waited in line to collect her badge and sign in. Everyone around her was talking; she was surrounded by squeals of recognition and “do you remember when’s.” Just as she had in high school, she remained the outsider, listening in, smiling and pretending she felt at ease when she didn’t.
Attending this reunion was a bad idea. Her instincts had told her that months earlier, and she should’ve heeded them.
“Justine!” Lana Rothchild hurried around the sign-in table and hugged her as though it’d been years since they’d seen each other. Actually they’d worked on the decorations together that very morning. “I love your dress.”
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