Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series

by Debbie Macomber

  “They’ve gone on several over the years. Will says it’s the only way to travel.”

  This was a mistake; it had to be. Will and Georgia were in the middle of a divorce. Will couldn’t have misled Grace like this, couldn’t have lied to her…not after the things he’d promised. She didn’t believe it. She absolutely refused to accept it.

  Somehow Grace managed to remain in one piece until she got back to the house. Buttercup was waiting for her as usual, but Grace ran past the dog and reached for the phone. Her hand trembled so badly she nearly dropped the receiver.

  No, she couldn’t just call him out of the blue like this. After all these months of communicating online, she didn’t even know his home number. He was always the one who phoned her. With finances so tight, she couldn’t afford lengthy long-distance conversations, and Will knew that. She needed to think this through before she made accusations.

  Perhaps it was all a big misunderstanding. Will didn’t want his family to find out about the impending divorce; that was it. Naturally, after all these years, it would be difficult for him to tell his mother and sister that his marriage was a failure.

  Of course, Grace reasoned, that had to be it. Instantly she felt better, but no matter how hard she struggled to find reassurance, she couldn’t sleep. At midnight, she got up, turned on the computer and went online; no new messages from him. At one, with a pounding headache, she took an aspirin and crawled back into bed. At two, she still couldn’t sleep. Nor at three. Doubts invaded her mind. The fact that Will had insisted she not let Olivia know they were talking online, the secrecy of it, had always bothered her.

  Olivia rarely mentioned her brother. He lived on the other side of the country, so his name didn’t often enter the conversation. He hadn’t lived in Cedar Cove since his early twenties. People changed.

  She had to know.

  At three-thirty, when the night was at its darkest and dawn only an unfulfilled promise, Grace picked up her bedside phone. She got Will’s home phone number from directory assistance. With the time difference, he would be awake, just getting ready for the office.

  The phone was answered on the first ring. A female voice, sounding depressingly cheerful.

  “Good morning.”

  “Is this the Will Jefferson residence?”

  A short hesitation. “Yes, this is Mrs. Jefferson. May I ask who’s calling?”

  “This is Grace Sherman from Cedar Cove, Washington.”

  “Oh, hi. My husband’s from Cedar Cove. I hope everything’s all right?”

  “Yes. Could I speak to Will?”

  “Of course. I’ll get him for you right away.”

  Grace thought she was going to be physically ill. She closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths.

  A moment later Will picked up the phone. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Will. It’s Grace.” She paused to let the words sink in. “You aren’t getting a divorce, are you? That was your wife who answered the phone!”

  “This isn’t a good time to talk. I’ll explain later.” He sounded annoyed with her.

  “An explanation won’t be necessary.”

  “I—”

  She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Please don’t try to contact me again.” How calm she sounded, Grace mused. And yet her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. “I’ll return the plane ticket and if you ever try to get in touch with me again, I’m going straight to Olivia and your mother. Do I make myself clear?”

  Grace could hear his wife speaking in the background, worried that something was wrong with his mother. “I understand,” he said, and then quietly replaced the receiver.

  At eight o’clock, Grace phoned the library and reported that she was sick. It wasn’t a stretch of the imagination. Every flu symptom she’d ever experienced hit her, all at the same time. She fell into bed, pulled the sheets over her head, trying to shut out the world.

  She’d been so gullible, so trusting and naive. Will was her best friend’s brother and not once did she suspect that he’d ever do anything this underhanded or deceitful—especially to her. The fact that he’d lied was bad enough, but that he’d preyed on her heart was nothing short of cruel. He’d lured her to New Orleans, paid for the flight and planned an erotic, exotic weekend for the two of them. She wondered what he’d intended to do once she learned he wasn’t divorcing his wife. Apparently he’d assumed he could keep her dangling like this indefinitely. And he probably could have, except for a chance remark of his sister’s.

  So she was stupid, too…Because it was now abundantly clear that Will had no intention of leaving his wife, especially for her. With her high school crush on him, Grace had been a willing victim.

  Even though she was dizzy and sick to her stomach, Grace turned on her computer and blocked Will’s name and e-mail address. Never again would he be able to contact her online. Anything he sent her would be automatically returned.

  Midmorning, Grace fell into a fitful sleep. She woke in the afternoon, and found Buttercup lying on the bedroom floor. “What is it, girl?” Grace asked. “Do you have a broken heart, too?”

  Buttercup didn’t respond, didn’t even wag her tail. Grace walked over to her, crouched down beside her, and immediately realized something was terribly wrong. Stroking the dog’s head, she grabbed the phone and called the vet.

  “I don’t know what’s the matter with her,” she told the receptionist. “But please get me in as soon as possible.”

  Luckily there was an appointment available that afternoon. Grace dressed in sloppy jeans, ran a brush through her hair and loaded Buttercup in the car, then drove to the animal clinic as fast as she dared.

  Weeks earlier, Cliff had mentioned that there might be a problem with Buttercup’s health. Why hadn’t she paid more attention? Why had she ignored what was right before her eyes? The answer was too painful to examine. Grace knew why. She’d neglected her dog because of Will.

  While Grace sat in the waiting area, she felt sick with guilt. She’d let her friend down. The door to the clinic opened and, to her dismay, in walked Cliff Harding. Tall, dark, ruggedly good-looking, he seemed to energize the compact waiting area. A woman with a large cat on a leash sat up straighter and smiled enticingly. An older man with a terrier grinned and exchanged a few remarks.

  Grace shrank as far as she could into the corner and prayed he hadn’t seen her. Looking as bad as she did, maybe he wouldn’t recognize her.

  “Hello, Mr. Harding.” The receptionist perked up. Cliff was obviously a favorite. “The medication you ordered is in.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” he said, sauntering to the counter. He good-naturedly teased the girl, who blushed with pleasure. One of the assistants from the back must have heard Cliff’s voice, because she made an excuse to slip out front. She was about Grace’s age and flirted openly with him.

  Grace lowered her head and pretended to read a magazine. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Cliff paid for the worming medication he needed for his horses and turned to leave.

  While he might not have recognized her, he didn’t have any problem remembering Buttercup.

  He shoved his wallet in his back pocket and for a moment she thought he might do them both a favor and walk away. No, that would’ve been entirely too easy. Instead he walked across the room and stood directly in front of her.

  “Hello, Grace.”

  She put down the magazine as if noticing him for the first time. “Oh—hello, Cliff.”

  “How’s Buttercup?” he asked. Bending down on one knee, he gently placed his hand beneath the golden retriever’s jaw and looked into her eyes. “What does Doc Newman say?”

  “I haven’t been in to see her yet.”

  A frown darkened his face. “This is your first visit?”

  She nodded. He didn’t need to say anything more; she read the censure in his eyes, felt the reprimand. She wanted to defend herself—but she couldn’t.

  After a moment, he stood and stare
d down at her. “I hope you aren’t too late.” He touched the brim of his hat in farewell and strode out the door.

  Twenty-Three

  It’d been three weeks since Maryellen had seen Jon, other than in passing. She’d gotten quite good at inventing reasons for him to linger when he came to collect Katie, but he always had an excuse to leave almost as soon as he arrived.

  The unspoken message that he no longer wanted to be part of her life was beginning to sink into her stubborn heart. The more she obsessed over his behavior, the more convinced she became that there was someone else.

  For the most part, Maryellen was able to hide her pain and disappointment from those closest to her. Her sister was busy and involved in her marriage. These days Kelly was preoccupied with getting pregnant a second time and seemed oblivious to anything outside her own small world. Not that Maryellen was complaining. If their circumstances had been reversed, she probably would’ve done the same.

  Her mother was a different story. In the last year, Maryellen had felt closer to her mother than anyone, but that, too, had changed and for reasons she didn’t understand. While Maryellen was pregnant with Katie, she’d had many wonderful talks with her mother. But lately, Grace had been distracted, and Maryellen felt excluded from her mother’s life.

  Oddly, the one person she could confide in was her nail tech. Rachel had been working on Maryellen’s nails for three years; during that time, she’d become both confessor and counselor.

  There was something liberating about sitting across from Rachel like this. The minute Rachel reached for her hands, it was as if an emotional wall lowered between them. Despite the privileged nature of their relationship, their time together was limited to these occasional appointments.

  What she couldn’t tell her mother and sister, she could discuss with Rachel. It was Rachel who’d first guessed that she was pregnant, although Maryellen had worked hard to keep it a secret for as long as possible. And Rachel was the first to recognize that Maryellen had fallen in love with Jon, something she’d barely acknowledged to herself. Rachel’s insight and practical wisdom had been a special gift these last few weeks.

  February wound to a close. Maryellen sat across from Rachel for her nail appointment; when she looked up, she found Rachel studying her intently.

  “What?” Maryellen stretched out her hands.

  Rachel frowned. “I wondered, but now I know. You didn’t hear from Jon, did you?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Maryellen tried to make a joke of it and failed.

  “Yes.” Rachel lifted Maryellen’s hands for inspection. “Look at these nails! They’re a disaster. I can always tell when something’s troubling you by looking at your fingernails.”

  “I know, I know.” She’d chipped the polish on two nails and broken another. Rachel was right; she was a mess and in more ways than one.

  Rachel nonchalantly reached for a cotton ball and polish remover. “I saw Jon the other day, down by the waterfront with Katie. I think it’s so cute the way he hauls her around on his back, all bundled up and everything. He had his camera around his neck.”

  Maryellen had seen Jon with Katie in exactly that way a dozen times. She marveled at what a good father he was. She felt sure that Katie would love the outdoors with the same energy and enthusiasm as Jon.

  “Speaking of Katie, how’s she doing?” Rachel asked. “Last time you were in, she’d just gotten over a cold and an ear infection. Poor little thing.”

  “She’s much better.” A fact for which Maryellen was eternally grateful. Katie’s illness had been a nightmare for her. She was astonished by how well she’d managed to function on so little sleep. Not that she wanted to try it again anytime soon. “Katie’s crawling around like crazy. I’ll bet she starts walking early.”

  Rachel sighed and vigorously rubbed the Forever French polish from Maryellen’s fingertips. “I’d love to have a baby. I’m telling you, Maryellen, that biological clock of mine is getting louder than Big Ben. I’m almost thirty, and if I don’t meet someone soon, I have a feeling I never will.”

  Men or the lack thereof was a frequent topic between them. Rachel liked to say that her chances of meeting eligible men in a hair-and-nail shop were equivalent to losing weight on a diet of hot fudge sundaes. She’d done the bar scene, hung around at all the “guy” places. A year ago, she’d even enrolled in a mechanics class at the community college. Not a single date had come as a result of all that effort, and Rachel was discouraged.

  “Anytime you want to borrow Katie for a fix, let me know,” Maryellen told her.

  “I just might.” Rachel dumped the used cotton balls in the garbage and picked up her file. “Enough about my pathetic love life, let’s talk about you and Jon.”

  As if there was anything to talk about. “Unfortunately, it all seems pretty hopeless.”

  “Why?”

  There was no easy way to answer that question. She hadn’t intended to tell Rachel what she suspected, but the words were out before she could stop them. “I think he’s involved with someone else.”

  Rachel looked up and held Maryellen’s gaze. “I don’t believe it.”

  Maryellen mumbled a response, her head lowered. This was humiliating enough without inviting the entire shop to listen in.

  “What?” Rachel asked. “I didn’t hear you.”

  Embarrassed, Maryellen said, “I practically threw myself at him not once, but twice—and Jon turned me down both times.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper. The morning they’d awakened next to each other and he’d moved away from her had been a low point for Maryellen.

  “That’s what I mean,” Rachel whispered back heatedly. “If Jon didn’t love you, he’d have taken what you offered, and just enjoyed himself. Then he would’ve left without a backward glance. But, you’ll notice, Jon didn’t do that. He exhibited self-control.”

  “But why?” Maryellen demanded. If Jon truly loved her, she’d know it; she’d feel it. If he did care for her, she wouldn’t have felt so utterly devastated when he walked away.

  “That I can’t answer,” Rachel murmured as she continued to file Maryellen’s nails.

  “Maybe he’s seeing one of the women he works with,” Maryellen said, and her heart grew heavy at the thought. The Lighthouse employed lots of single women who worked as waitresses. There were others in the kitchen. And his photographs were gaining more and more attention. Maryellen had been around the artists’ community long enough to know how attractive women found creative men.

  “There’s no one else,” Rachel said, with such conviction that several heads turned in their direction.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  Rachel concentrated on her filing. “I wish I could give you definite proof. I can’t, but I’m convinced he loves you.”

  Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Maryellen desperately wanted to believe that, too.

  “You know,” Rachel said suddenly. “Here’s a thought. You could always ask him if there’s someone else.”

  Maryellen immediately shook her head.

  “Why not?”

  “Well…because…” Maryellen couldn’t think of a reason quickly and found herself stuttering. “It’s out of the question,” she said with finality.

  Rachel paused again. “You don’t want to know, do you?”

  Maryellen gaped at her.

  “You’re afraid of the truth,” Rachel insisted.

  Maryellen started to defend herself and then admitted Rachel was right—she was afraid.

  “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” Rachel said next. “My mother used to ask me that whenever I had a problem. It always got me thinking, you know?”

  Maryellen realized she needed to do some thinking, too. This situation with Jon was making her miserable, and there was no solution in sight.

  “You love him, Maryellen.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t understand why two people who so obviously care for each other have such a hard time finding
happiness.” Rachel released a long slow sigh. “I have to tell you, this is not encouraging to someone like me.”

  “You’ll find a husband,” Maryellen said. Surely a woman as lovely, practical and just plain nice as Rachel would succeed in meeting a man.

  “Sure I will,” Rachel agreed, “but I’d prefer he didn’t come with a police record or an addiction to drugs or booze.”

  “There’s your problem, Rach,” Maryellen teased. “You’re just too darn picky.”

  Peggy had seen changes in Bob over the last year, but the most dramatic ones had come after Sheriff Davis’s last visit. Her husband didn’t sleep well and was often up roaming the house at all hours of the night. He’d lost interest in his wood shop, too. He used to spend much of the day there, working on a variety of projects, but now many of them were left uncompleted. Lately nothing interested him.

  For the last few weeks, he’d attended his AA meetings on a daily basis: twenty-one meetings in twenty-one days. He hadn’t been to that many in such quick succession since he’d first gotten involved with Alcoholics Anonymous. Bob refused to talk about his feelings and snapped at her when she pried. For now, she decided, it was best to leave him alone. They’d meet Hannah Russell later today; maybe then they’d find the answers they sought.

  After spending a sleepless night herself, Peggy called Corrie McAfee. They met at least once a week, to shop, exchange recipes and talk about gardening. She was the one person Peggy could speak to about this upcoming meeting.

  “It’s Peggy,” she said when her friend picked up the receiver.

  “Hi,” the other woman said cheerfully. “How are you?”

  “Can I ask a favor?” Peggy’s stomach was in knots, and emotionally she wasn’t in much better shape than Bob.

  “Of course!”

  “Would it be possible for you and Roy to be here this afternoon? We promised Sheriff Davis we’d see this girl, but now I’m not so sure we should.”

  “Let me talk to Roy,” Corrie said, and put her on hold for a moment.