Maryellen met him at the top of the staircase and he threw his arms around her waist. “Where’s Katie?”
“Asleep.”
He wore that special smile of his. The one that told her he’d had a good reason for rushing home. “When did you put her to bed?”
Maryellen gave a coy shrug. “About half an hour ago. What do you have in mind?”
Jon’s throaty chuckle sent shivers of excitement down her spine. “First things first. A shower, followed by something to eat and then…” He hesitated, still smiling, and brought her close. “On second thought, I’m not that hungry.”
“Oh, honestly,” she chided, but she relished his strong sexual appetite.
“Want to take a shower with me?” he whispered.
“Not now. You go, and I’ll put together a couple of sandwiches. I wouldn’t want you to faint from hunger.”
He nuzzled the side of her neck. He held and touched her often. After so many years of living alone and avoiding relationships, Maryellen hadn’t been entirely comfortable with his need for frequent physical contact. But the longer they were together, the more accustomed she became to his caresses—and the more she craved them.
“How did your day go?” he asked as he headed into the bedroom, still holding her by the hand.
“Actually it was pretty quiet. Katie and I spent some time outside and then I paid a few bills.” For obvious reasons she didn’t mention she’d also written a letter. “Did you get the photographs you wanted?”
Jon pulled her into the room with him. “I got several that should work, but the whole time I was trudging through the forest I kept thinking how much more enjoyable it would be if you and Katie were there, too.” He released her hand, then sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes.
“I’ve got leftover meat loaf,” she said.
Jon looked up at her blankly.
“For your sandwiches.”
“Sure, whatever.”
Maryellen grinned.
“What’s so funny?” he growled, jumping up and catching her around the waist again. He brought her down onto the bed with him and rolled over, trapping her beneath him. He ran his fingers through her hair and his eyes softened as he gazed down at her.
In that moment, she felt his love so strongly she wanted to weep. Pregnancy made her overemotional; she remembered that from before.
Sliding her arms around her husband’s neck, Maryellen drew his mouth down to hers. Their kisses were slow and tender. After Katie’s birth—when Maryellen realized how much she’d come to love Jon—he’d refused to make love to her. Those months had been agonizing, but now it seemed there was no satisfying him—or her.
“Come into the shower with me,” he said between tantalizing kisses.
“It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
“So?”
“Jon…” Her protests were growing weaker by the moment.
“All right, all right…I’ll take my shower.” He stood up and walked into the bathroom, shedding clothes as he did. The haze of desire didn’t dissipate immediately. Maryellen got slowly off the bed and went downstairs. Times like this reminded her how fortunate she was to be loved by Jon Bowman.
She’d just finished making the meat loaf sandwiches when Jon skipped down the stairs, his shirt unbuttoned and his hair still wet from the shower. She froze when she saw that he was carrying the envelopes she’d left upstairs. Watching him carefully, she hoped he’d set them on the edge of the counter, where they usually put the mail, and leave it at that.
Her heart nearly stopped when the envelopes slipped from his hand and scattered across the floor. They both leaned down to retrieve them.
“I’ll get these. Your lunch is ready,” she said, hoping to distract him.
It didn’t work. “Who’s the letter to?” He straightened and held the unaddressed stamped envelope in his hand.
“A friend.”
He stared at it for several seconds, frowning.
“Do you want your lunch or not?”
He ignored her question. “What friend?”
“No one important,” she said, trying to squelch her panic.
“Maryellen, what friend?” he asked. “You look like a cat with feathers in your mouth. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“What’s the big deal? Just someone who stopped by the gallery recently.”
He studied her, eyes narrowed. “Do you mind if I take a look?” She knew he probably suspected another man; the truth was even worse.
She pressed her back against the counter, feeling her pulse hammer in her neck. She couldn’t answer him.
“Maryellen?”
She turned away. “It’s to your parents.”
“What?” he exploded.
“Don’t be angry,” she pleaded, her eyes closed.
He was silent for so long she couldn’t bear not knowing his thoughts. Tentatively she turned around, biting her lower lip, afraid her deception was about to destroy her happiness.
“What have you done?”
“I—”
“Is this the first time?”
She shook her head.
He groaned with frustration. “I told you how I felt about my family.”
“I know….”
He clenched his fists. “And you decided you knew better? You felt it was your duty to go against my wishes?”
“I—”
“How did you know where to reach them?”
Maryellen took a calming breath. “I found their letters.”
“Didn’t I ask you to throw them out?”
“Yes—and I did.” But until then, he’d kept the letters and that told her he still felt an attachment to his family.
“My father chose to offer me up as a sacrificial lamb. He betrayed me.”
“He’s so sorry, Jon. If only you’d talk to him, you’d see for yourself.”
“Talk to him?” he shot back at her. “Talk to him! I spent seven years in hell because of my so-called father. I’ll rot before I say one word to him again.”
“You don’t mean that! You can’t have that much hatred in you.”
“Obviously you don’t know me as well as you think.” He whirled around and dashed up the stairs.
Maryellen couldn’t leave things as they were. She raced after him. “Please listen,” she begged. “Your father isn’t well. He’s aged and he’s frail and—”
Jon sat on the bed and jerked on his shoes. At her words, he grew still. “You’ve seen him?”
This was possibly a worse offense. She clasped her hands behind her and nodded. “They came into the gallery…. I didn’t know who they were but your father wrote me afterward and asked me to act as a mediator between you.”
“What did you tell him?” he demanded.
“I said no—all I did was mail them a letter to let them know about Katie and me and—”
“That’s bad enough.” He stood and brushed past her.
“Where are you going?”
Already halfway down the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder. “It seems I can’t trust you, Maryellen.”
“Can’t we talk? Please don’t do this.”
Jon paused at the foot of the stairs. “There’s nothing to talk about. I need time to think.”
With that, he slammed out the door.
Brokenhearted, Maryellen slumped to the floor on her knees and hid her face in her hands. If Jon couldn’t forgive his parents, it was unlikely he’d forgive her either.
Thirty-Nine
“Peggy,” Bob shouted from the patio. “We’re going to be late.” He wasn’t that keen on attending church this morning and would’ve gladly stayed home had Peggy agreed. However, he knew better than to ask.
His wife hurried out the back door and cast him an exasperated look. “I tried to talk Hannah into coming to worship service with us, but she isn’t interested.”
As far as Bob was concerned, Hannah was the lucky one. Peggy didn’t want to hear it, though, so he attempte
d to console her. “Until recently, I wasn’t interested in church, either, remember?”
Peggy nodded and climbed into the passenger seat. “I don’t know what it is with the two of you.”
“The two of us?” For the most part, Bob avoided Hannah, which wasn’t that difficult. She worked odd hours at her dishwashing job at the Pancake Palace. She was rarely home for dinner and frankly Bob preferred it that way. He’d tried to get along with their guest. Two or three times he’d made a genuine effort to talk to her, but Hannah was like a frightened rabbit; she ran for cover the moment Bob approached. He’d given up and settled for hoping that she’d leave soon.
Peggy frowned as she set her Bible in her lap. “Ever since Colonel Samuels phoned, both of you have been edgy and out of sorts.”
“That’s an exaggeration if I ever heard one,” he snapped.
“No, it’s not,” Peggy insisted. “Hannah’s as bad as you—worse, even. She isn’t sleeping well. I know because I hear her roaming from room to room at all hours of the night. Of course, you’re not much better.”
Bob didn’t argue; he’d been sleeping fitfully ever since the conversation with his former commanding officer. Bob couldn’t explain the reason. It remained as much a mystery to him as his attitude toward Hannah. He’d tried to like the girl, but his negative reaction to her was visceral. Instinctive. Maybe it came from some innate revulsion to cringing, fearful personalities. He hated her clinginess with Peggy and he couldn’t seem to change her aversion to him. Well, there was nothing he could do about it.
“Church would be a big help to Hannah.” Clearly Peggy hadn’t finished worrying about their guest’s refusal to attend Sunday morning services.
Bob made a noncommittal grunt. The truth was, he’d had to drag himself out of bed that morning. Just as Peggy asserted, he hadn’t been sleeping well. Little wonder. He was afraid that the moment he closed his eyes, the nightmare would return. It often struck without warning. Life would be perfectly agreeable if he could turn in for the night and have simple, pleasant dreams. Unpredictably he’d be thrust back into a Vietnamese jungle, gripped by terror. He hated every aspect of the dream. For years, he’d tried to drown out the noises of that day. The voices. Screaming. Shouting. Crying. Alcohol had only made it worse. If anything, the voices had gotten louder.
Sobriety wasn’t helping all that much, either. The voices continued in a low drone that he ignored as much as possible. He’d been fairly successful until Maxwell Russell died in his home. Then the nightmare came back full force.
“Thank you so much,” Bob muttered under his breath, angry with his old army buddy.
“Did you say something?” Peggy asked.
Bob shook his head.
Peggy glared at him. “You’re certainly in a fine mood this morning.”
He didn’t bother to answer because she was right. And feeling the way he did, the last place he wanted to be was church.
“Bob,” Peggy cried.
“What?”
“You just missed the turnoff.”
Damn, she was right. “Let’s skip church this morning, okay?”
“Not you, too?” Peggy whined. “First Hannah and now you.”
“I don’t feel like it today.”
“We’re almost there. Please, don’t be difficult.”
Not wanting to get into an argument, Bob sighed and found a place to turn the car around and head back toward Briar Patch Road. Within five minutes, he slipped into an available space in the crowded church parking lot.
Organ music drifted out the open doors. Thankfully they were late enough to avoid all the handshaking and friendly chitchat. In case Peggy hadn’t guessed, he wasn’t in a sociable mood.
Of course, being late also meant they couldn’t get a decent seat at the back of the church. Those who arrived early set claim to the back five pews. He and Peggy ended up sitting in one of the middle rows. That was acceptable, since at least they’d missed the “meet and greet.”
Following the music, Dave Flemming stepped up to the pulpit and opened his Bible. Bob had left his at home. Peggy flipped to the book of Matthew, chapter six, the reference listed in the bulletin she’d picked up on the way in. Bob crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He had no intention of listening. He was here to keep the peace at home and for no other reason. For all he cared, the pastor could be talking about the inflated price of dot.com shares.
Then it hit him—one word in particular. Forgiveness. He opened his eyes and sat up and started to listen. It was as if Pastor Flemming knew his innermost thoughts and had written the sermon specifically with him in mind. The idea unsettled him.
At the close of the service, the congregation stood and sang together. Normally Bob enjoyed the singing. He had a good baritone and at one time had considered joining the choir. His commitment to the community theater took up most of his free hours, however. It was the theater or the church choir. He’d chosen the theater.
At the end of the song, the service was over and the pews began to empty. Still deep in thought, Bob remained seated.
“I need to talk to Corrie,” Peggy announced, then got up and scurried off. Apparently she was afraid he’d argue with her and was gone before he had a chance to tell her to take her time. He had some thinking to do.
Usually Bob resented being left to twiddle his thumbs while Peggy did her socializing, but just now, he was grateful for a few moments of solitude.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, alone in the church. Peggy would come and get him when she was ready, he figured, letting his thoughts drift where they would.
“Hello, Bob.” Pastor Flemming stepped into the pew and sat down next to him.
Bob knew Dave, liked him well enough to play golf with him every week. They hardly ever talked about God, which suited Bob just fine. To him, a man’s faith was a private matter.
“Pastor.” Bob smiled in his friend’s direction.
“Something on your mind?” the other man asked.
Bob shook his head. The pastor knew some of the story. He’d been the person who’d recommended that Bob contact Roy McAfee in the first place. He trusted Dave. At the time, he’d been desperate, half-afraid he was losing his mind.
“Well, maybe I do need to talk.” Bob paused and drew in a deep breath. “What you said about forgiveness kind of hit home, you know?”
Pastor Flemming nodded. “It’s in the Lord’s Prayer. We recite it so often we tend to forget what it means.”
Bob agreed. He’d said the prayer at every AA meeting for years, and had never truly understood the part about forgiveness. “You said this morning that we can only accept forgiveness to the extent that we’re able to forgive ourselves.” Those were the words that had struck him with such intensity.
The pastor nodded again.
“Some people require a lot of forgiveness,” Bob murmured.
“We’re all sinners.”
“But like I said,” Bob continued, “there are sins, and then there are sins. Some of us will never find forgiveness. In certain circumstances, it just isn’t possible.”
The pastor said, “In such cases, you do what you can and then you forgive yourself.”
“That isn’t possible, either,” Bob said, unable to keep the despair from his voice.
“Remember what else I said, Bob. Your willingness to forgive others is directly related to your willingness to forgive yourself.”
That wasn’t news Bob welcomed. It had never occurred to him that the two were linked.
He heard a sound at the back of the church and turned around to see that Peggy had appeared. She hesitated when she saw him talking to Pastor Flemming. “You’ve certainly given me something to think about,” Bob mumbled, eager now to escape.
The only way he could figure this out was by himself. He had to stop resisting the memories. Maybe then he could lay them to rest.
Forty
On the last Saturday morning in August, Grace was scheduled to work the animal shelter
’s booth at the Farmers’ Market. On her last stint there, she’d netted Sherlock, who was the remaining kitten in the litter and the only one left without a home. The whole day, she’d had the feeling she’d end up with one of the six kittens that had been placed for adoption. Sure enough, she’d come home with eight-week-old Sherlock.
She always enjoyed the market, especially on days like this—bright and sunny yet not really hot. In the rainy months of winter, she often found it hard to remember how lovely summers could be in the Pacific Northwest.
Today, as usual, the market teemed with activity. The variety of products sold there always impressed her—everything from fresh oysters, plucked only hours earlier from the beach, to knitted afghans.
Grace had her hands full with the animal shelter booth. She’d left Buttercup at home; she was too busy to watch the dog and besides, Sherlock would keep her company. All morning long, Grace answered questions and talked to the children who crowded around, instantly attracted to the kittens. She had ten this Saturday, plus several mature cats, and hoped to arrange adoptions for at least half.
Grace was grateful she was busy, which helped keep her mind off the fact that Will Jefferson was in town. Olivia had phoned shortly after Will’s arrival to let her know. He’d tried to call her once, but she had Caller ID, and when she saw Charlotte’s name, she let the answering machine pick up. Sure enough, it was Will. Grace feared Charlotte might inadvertently mention that she did volunteer work with the shelter and would be at the market this weekend.
Just when she finally felt she was safe, Grace glanced up and nearly swallowed her tongue. Standing a few feet away from her was Will Jefferson, the man she least wanted to see. Her heart seemed ready to implode. For one crazy moment, all she could do was stare. When her senses returned, she looked sharply away.
Unfortunately, all the children who’d gathered to admire the kittens had drifted off. It was apparently the opportunity Will had been waiting for. He walked toward her, his steps determined and his gaze focused relentlessly on her. He’d always been handsome, and his attractiveness, combined with her schoolgirl fantasies, had blinded her. But Grace wasn’t the same woman she’d been a few months ago.
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series Page 118
