The garage door was closed and Rosie frowned when it opened and she saw Zach’s new vehicle parked in her spot. What was that about? Getting out of the car, she slammed the door. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with him, especially after the day she’d just had.
She hesitated at the door, wondering if she should knock, then decided this was her house as much as his. Without bothering to announce her arrival, she barreled into the kitchen from the door off the garage.
Sure enough, Zach was in her kitchen wearing a ridiculous-looking apron. Both kids were with him, which irritated her further. Eddie sat at the table doing his homework, and Allison was standing at the sink peeling potatoes. This was a sight she could hardly believe, especially since the kids seemed to be performing these tasks willingly.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
“What do you mean?” Zach asked, glancing up. His smile faded and his eyes narrowed. His hands were buried wrist-deep in a blue ceramic bowl full of what looked like hamburger and cracker crumbs. Ah, now she understood. This was his pitiful attempt at meat loaf. A year ago they’d had a big fight over her not serving him a three-course meal every night when he came home from the office. He seemed to think she had nothing to do all day but hang around the house and watch soap operas and trashy talk shows.
“Meat loaf?” she asked, making no effort to disguise her sneer.
“It’s my night with the kids,” Zach said. His hands froze as he glared malevolently at her.
The hell it was. “I don’t think so.” Rosie wasn’t backing down. It was bad enough having Zach in her house. She hated every minute of this switching back and forth. She’d memorized the schedule: she was with the children every Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and then Zach was at the house Thursday, Friday and Saturdays, plus holidays. She’d felt triumphant about getting that extra day, but she’d had to give up the major holidays for it. The trade-off didn’t seem fair, but it was the best deal Sharon Castor had been able to get her.
“Monday was a holiday,” Zach reminded her.
Crossing her arms, Rosie gave him a slow, sardonic smile. “So?”
“Monday was Labor Day.”
“Dad has the holidays, Mom. Remember? So he’s supposed to get an extra day this week.”
Leave it to Allison to side with her father. Rosie frowned at her daughter. She’d asked her a thousand times to peel potatoes for dinner. In response Allison always gave her the beleaguered look of an overworked galley slave. But let her father ask…
“We decided last month that instead of me coming here on the less important holidays, we’d simply tack a day onto my usual week.”
“We did?” She vaguely remembered some discussion having to do with Labor Day, but it had slipped her mind with all the craziness that surrounded her first day of school. The situation would be the same for Columbus Day the following month, she realized.
“Do you want my attorney to mail you the paperwork—complete with your signature?” Zach asked.
“There’s no need to get sarcastic with me,” she replied.
Eddie slammed his book closed and covered both ears. “Stop it!” he screamed. “Just stop it.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” Rosie flared, placing her arm protectively around her son’s shoulders. Eddie had always been a sensitive child.
Zach’s gaze bored holes into her. “This is my time with my children,” he said, “and I’d appreciate it if you’d leave.”
Rosie opened her mouth, intent on arguing, but he was right. She was the one who’d made the mistake.
“Fine,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, which at this point was very little. She sent her son and daughter a reassuring smile, then walked out of the house.
Tears burned just below the surface as she climbed back inside the Explorer. This wouldn’t happen again; she’d make sure of it. From here on out, she’d have the days clearly marked on the calendar so there wouldn’t be a repeat of this dreadful scene.
The apartment she shared with Zach was less than a mile away from the house. She pulled into the assigned parking slot and turned off the engine. The neighborhood wasn’t as good, but the rent was reasonable.
Everything inside the apartment was neatly divided. She had her own shelf in the refrigerator and Zach had his. She kept her personal items locked inside one bedroom, and his were locked in the other—not that she cared what he did or didn’t have.
The apartment was hot and, unlike the house, lacked air-conditioning. Rosie turned on the television for noise and then took two aspirin and plunked down in front of the television set. The news was on, but she had no interest in world events. It was all she could do to deal with what was happening in her own life.
She must have fallen asleep because the phone woke her. Startled, she leaped off the couch and raced into the kitchen.
“Hello,” she said breathlessly, not sounding anything like her normal self.
The person on the other end of the line hesitated. “I think I have the wrong number,” the woman said softly.
Rosie would recognize that voice anywhere. It was Janice Lamond, the home-wrecker who’d stolen her husband. The woman who’d carefully planned to ruin Rosie’s life. She seethed with anger and resentment.
“Yes, I think you’ve made a mistake,” she said, letting the intense dislike she felt for the other woman show in her voice. Because nothing further needed to be said, she took delight in banging down the receiver. Her hand shook, and leaning against the kitchen counter, Rosie fought back angry tears.
Zach was dating. He had been even before the divorce was final. Even before he’d moved out. She was the one who’d honored her wedding vows, the one who’d cared for the house and the family while her so-called husband had an affair. It hurt even now to realize that the man she’d trusted implicitly and loved beyond measure had become involved with another woman.
Rosie poured herself a cold orange juice and walked back into the tiny living room. Slouching down on the sofa, she stared up at the ceiling.
Two could play that game, she decided. Rosie didn’t know why it had taken her so long to figure that out.
It was high time she found herself a boyfriend.
With the latest issue of The Cedar Cove Chronicle at the printer’s, Jack Griffin had a rare free afternoon, and a beautiful September afternoon it was. Normally he’d spend the time with Olivia, but now he was at loose ends and in a hell of a mood.
He’d been playing it cool, doing his best to hide his true feelings about Olivia. He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all his best friend, Bob Beldon. Bob was more than a friend, he was Jack’s AA sponsor, and between them they had almost thirty years’ sobriety.
He parked his battered, fifteen-year-old Ford Taurus outside the Beldons’ B and B, Thyme and Tide. Jack paused long enough to take in the view from across the cove. It really was lovely. Breathtaking. In the distance the huge green-and-white Seattle ferry was easing into the Bremerton dock. Seagulls hovered over the water. Closer at hand, statuesque herons walked delicately along the shore, picking at the exposed seabed with thin beaks while the tide lapped at their feet. A line of foam scalloped the rocky beach.
Peggy was busy clipping herbs in her garden, wearing a large straw hat to shade her face from the late-afternoon sun. She straightened when she saw him, a basket over her arm.
“Jack,” she greeted him warmly. “We haven’t seen nearly enough of you in the last little while.” Hurrying across the lawn, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Isn’t it a beautiful afternoon?”
“Sure is, Peggy.” He paused. “Is Bob around?”
“Sorry, no. He’s off with Pastor Flemming. I don’t know how he did it, but Dave Flemming’s got Bob working with the teenagers’ basketball team.”
Frankly, Jack didn’t know how the minister had managed it, either. “I didn’t realize you and Bob were churchgoing people,” he said, puzzlement in his voice.
“We didn’t used to be,” Peggy admitted. “Not until…” An unknown man had died in their home the previous winter, and—understandably—that had shaken them up. The circumstances were shrouded in mystery. The John Doe had arrived in the middle of a storm; he’d carried false identification and had yet to be identified. So many questions remained unanswered, and some people seemed to think Bob and Peggy might be involved. If the stranger had died at his house, Jack suspected he might start attending church, too.
Peggy, willowy and energetic as always, headed toward the kitchen as though she expected Jack to follow. He did so willingly. Peggy was the kind of woman who made everyone feel welcome. It was her gift and made her a natural in the bed-and-breakfast business.
She held the screen door open for Jack and set her basket on the counter. “I just made a fresh pitcher of iced tea,” she announced, and then, without asking, automatically poured two tall glasses. She arranged several large peanut butter cookies on a plate, as well.
With Jack carrying the tray, they walked to the patio. He set it down on the table and began to make an excuse to leave as soon as politeness allowed. He changed his mind; after all, he’d come here hoping for a distraction from his thoughts about Olivia.
“When do you expect Bob?” he asked.
“Around five, I guess,” Peggy told him.
A quick glance at his watch assured Jack that was only thirty minutes off.
“After Dan Sherman’s death…” Peggy began. She hesitated. “Bob took that hard.”
As a relative newcomer, Jack didn’t remember Bob being especially close to the former lumberman. Thinking about it, though, he recalled that Grace Sherman had asked Bob to speak at the memorial service held for Dan. That had surprised Jack at the time, but he hadn’t said anything.
As if reading his mind, Peggy explained. “Bob and Dan used to be good friends in high school. Dan’s death really disturbed him, and then of course there was…” She shrugged and met Jack’s eyes. He knew she was talking about the stranger.
“After Dan was buried, Bob decided he’d like to start attending church services,” Peggy continued. “I certainly didn’t mind. In fact, I’ve wanted to go for quite a while. Funny how death tends to unnerve us, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Jack smiled wanly, disinclined to chat. But after a few minutes, the silence became uncomfortable, so he tried to fill it with questions. “Bob and Dan didn’t see much of each other lately, did they?”
Peggy shook her head. “Not since they got back from Vietnam, but Dan was never the same after the war. They drifted apart. I don’t think Dan was much of a drinker, but Bob was…well, you know about his problems with the bottle as well as anyone.”
Jack nodded. “Friends can do that,” he said, thinking more about himself and Olivia than Dan Sherman and Bob. “Drift apart, I mean.” Only his relationship with Olivia hadn’t exactly drifted, it had been abruptly cut off. His gut twisted, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think he had the beginnings of an ulcer. When he reached for his iced tea, he noticed Peggy studying him.
“You’ve lost weight.”
“Have I?” If so, he was grateful. He had a bit of a paunch that had come with middle age and a demanding desk job. There wasn’t much time for exercise, and meals often consisted of what he could get from a vending machine.
“I suspect it has something to do with Olivia. You’re obviously miserable.”
Now, that was below the belt. Jack nearly groaned aloud. “Unfair,” he muttered. “And Olivia’s off-limits.”
“Okay,” Peggy murmured, apparently content to abide by his wishes. “But I do have one thing to tell you and then I’ll shut up.”
“One thing?” he repeated. “Just one?”
“Yes,” Peggy said, “and I think you’ll find this interesting. I had to go down to the courthouse the other day and everyone in the whole building was buzzing about another of Olivia’s decisions.” She paused, as if waiting for him to bite.
Funny Jack hadn’t already heard about it. Curiosity got the best of him and he swallowed the bait. “What did she do this time?” he asked.
Peggy explained the controversial joint custody decision Olivia had made. “I wish more judges would take the children’s needs into consideration,” she said.
This willingness to employ common sense in her courtroom was what had first attracted Jack to Olivia. He’d been surprised—and impressed—when a year earlier, she’d basically denied a young couple a divorce.
Everyone in the courtroom could tell that Ian and Cecilia Randall were still in love. They’d lost an infant daughter, and the death of their baby had ripped them apart. Olivia had not only recognized their emotional confusion and their need for each other, she’d boldly acted upon it. The last Jack had heard, Ian and Cecilia were together again.
Peggy was staring at him.
“I haven’t seen Olivia in weeks.” Jack helped himself to a cookie. Six weeks to be precise, not that he was counting. All right, all right, he knew down to the day and the hour, which he wasn’t admitting to anyone.
“Jack, that’s terrible!”
No kidding. Well, he didn’t much like it, either, but he’d backed himself into a corner. It was an impossible situation, and his ego demanded he stay exactly where he was.
“You miss her, don’t you?”
He started to say that after a while it wasn’t so bad, then stopped abruptly. Hell, who did he think he was fooling? It was worse than ever, especially in the past few weeks. “She seems to be doing okay. I hear Stan Lockhart is hanging around a lot these days.”
“Is Olivia dating her ex-husband?”
“Not according to Charlotte.” Jack nearly bit his tongue in his eagerness to close his mouth. He hadn’t meant to let Peggy know he’d been commiserating with Olivia’s mother. Charlotte was his biggest supporter. She’d told him that she’d nagged Olivia to mend fences with Jack; unfortunately, Olivia didn’t seem inclined to admit the error of her ways.
Jack set the cookie aside, his appetite gone. “Apparently Olivia’s got some bug up her butt about how I should be making a play for her.”
“A play?”
“You know,” he said, growing impatient. “She wants me to—in her words—show some gumption and fight for her.”
Peggy frowned. “She wants you to fight?”
“Well, maybe not a knock-down, drag-out fistfight but…hell, I don’t know what she wants.” He assumed she was expecting him to come on bended knee and beg her forgiveness. He had too much pride for that. If she was interested in him, the same way he was interested in her, then that high school, high-drama stuff shouldn’t be necessary. For a woman who supposedly knew so much about human nature, Olivia had fallen decidedly short on figuring this out.
“You might send her flowers,” Peggy suggested.
Jack had already thought of that. “I don’t have a reason.”
“Reason? What do you mean, reason?” Peggy repeated.
“You know…her birthday, Christmas, whatever.”
“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Peggy said slowly. “You have a reason. You want her back, don’t you? This nonsense has gone on long enough. That’s all she wants to hear. She’s waiting for you to make the first move.”
Yeah, well, Jack was waiting, too.
“You’re at a standoff,” Peggy said. “If you don’t do something fast, you’ll lose her. If she intended to get together with her ex, don’t you think she’d be with him by now? Good grief.” She shook her head. “Stan must be overjoyed by all this.”
Jack scowled ferociously. He’d thought plenty about that slimy bastard who’d once been married to Olivia, and heaven knew Jack didn’t want to do Stanley Lockhart any favors. “I suppose you think I should pour my heart out on one of those dinky cards, too.”
“No,” Peggy said. “That wouldn’t be like you.”
Thankfully she knew him well enough to recognize that. “What should I say, then?”
“
Why say anything? Just write your name.”
“That’s it?”
Peggy nodded. “All Olivia needs is some indication that you care.”
It was that easy? Nah—couldn’t be.
“Are you going to do it?” she pressed.
“Maybe.” It sounded like good advice, and at this point, he was willing to try just about anything—especially if he could hold on to his pride at the same time.
Peggy shoved the cookie plate in his direction and Jack took the last one. “I hope you do it,” she told him.
Peggy had certainly given him something to think about, but now he was anxious to turn the subject away from Olivia. “I happened to run into Roy McAfee the other day,” Jack said. The retired Seattle police detective had put out his shingle as a private investigator shortly after he’d moved to Cedar Cove. Jack knew that Roy had talked to Bob and Peggy extensively about the John Doe who’d checked into their B and B—and never checked out. The medical examiner still hadn’t determined the cause of death.
“Is Roy still working on our big mystery?” Peggy asked, her eyes troubled.
“He didn’t mention anything, but I doubt it.”
Peggy became quiet and thoughtful. “I wish he would,” she finally said.
“Investigate your John Doe?” Jack prodded.
“It’s almost as if…as if he landed here from another planet.”
“You think Roy might be able to find out something the police can’t?” he asked.
“I…I don’t know.” She shifted in her seat and suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “It’s just that…” Again she hesitated.
“What?”
“It’s Bob. That night, he casually said there was something familiar about our guest. But with the way he arrived, so late and without a reservation, Bob couldn’t put his finger on it. I think there might be more to this than meets the eye.”
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series Page 66
