“And I was thinking you could do with a haircut,” Teri said cheerfully. “And since we were coming, we decided to bring lunch for all of us.”
Maryellen felt like laughing and crying at the same time. “How did you know I’ve been longing for some TLC?” she whispered, endeavoring not to weep.
“A little birdie told us,” Rachel said, grinning. She walked into the kitchen and collected three plates.
“This place is beautiful,” Teri said. Hands on her ample hips, she glanced around. “Rachel said Jon did most of the work himself. Mighty talented husband you’ve got there, my friend.”
Maryellen had to agree. She liked both women immensely; Rachel had done her nails for years, while Teri had only recently started cutting Maryellen’s hair. Teri had a flair for the outrageous and was genuinely entertaining. More than that, she was a kindhearted and compassionate person—as her visit today proved.
Over the years, Maryellen had gotten to know them both pretty well, and at one time had tried to set Teri up with Jon. Now she was astonished that she’d ever thought of such a thing. Teri and Jon were completely unsuited, but Maryellen hadn’t even considered that. She’d been fighting her own attraction to him and had managed to convince herself that if he turned his attention elsewhere, he’d forget about her and vice versa. However, Jon was interested only in her.
“We brought you teriyaki chicken with rice and veggies,” Rachel said as she pulled containers from the white sack.
Maryellen’s appetite had been almost nonexistent for weeks. Jon had to coax her to eat at every meal. But all at once she was ravenous.
“That sounds fabulous.”
“Good.” Rachel handed her a filled plate and a pair of chopsticks.
Maryellen sat cross-legged on the sofa while her two friends arranged ottomans on the other side of the coffee table. The three of them dug into their lunch as Teri explained that it was from a new take-out place on the outskirts of Cedar Cove. They all proclaimed the food to be delicious and worth getting again. Teri had been considerate enough to leave a menu with Maryellen. “For when you guys just want to order in.”
“I think I should cut your hair short,” Teri said next. “Really short. You’ve got better things to do than fuss with your hair.”
Maryellen smiled. It was all she could do to get it combed every day. “Jon won’t like that.”
“Hey, he isn’t the one who has to wash it and brush it,” Teri said. “He’ll get used to it.”
Maryellen could imagine how he’d react. The last time she’d had more than a trim was soon after Katie’s birth. Until then, Maryellen had worn her dark hair long and straight, reaching the middle of her back, much as it did now. Jon had never actually said he didn’t like her new style, but she could sense that he’d been disappointed. He often told her how much he loved her long, glossy hair, how beautiful he found it.
“Okay, what do you mean by short?” Maryellen asked.
Teri’s dark eyes twinkled. “Wait and see.”
“I hope you realize I can’t afford this,” she felt obliged to remind her friends.
“That’s not your concern,” Rachel was quick to tell her. “It’s all been taken care of.”
“And,” Teri added, “included in the fee was a more-than-generous tip.”
“Who did this?” Maryellen asked, although she could guess.
“Your fairy godfather,” Rachel told her. “That’s all I’m going to say.”
“Cliff.” Just as Maryellen had thought. Her new stepfather, Cliff Harding, had arranged this.
“Like I said,” Rachel scolded, drawing two fingers across her mouth, “my lips are zipped.”
The next two hours were such a pleasure. Teri washed her hair in the sink, and while she cut, dried and styled it, Rachel worked on her nails. God bless Cliff for this—and so much else. Ever since her mother and Cliff had met, she’d been impressed by what a loving, thoughtful man he was.
“Tell me the latest gossip,” Maryellen said as the two women continued their beauty treatment.
“Well,” Teri said, sighing deeply, “the biggest news is that Nate Olsen’s back in town.”
Nate was the young warrant officer Rachel had been seeing. Her friend had an ambiguous relationship with a widower named Bruce Peyton, which had gone on for three—or was it four?—years. Then this navy man had entered her life. Maryellen wondered which one Rachel would eventually choose.
“Would you stop!” Rachel cried. “Nate and I are dating casually, that’s all.”
Maryellen doubted the “casual” part but didn’t comment.
“What about Bruce?” she asked, knowing how close Rachel was to Bruce’s daughter, Jolene.
“We’re just friends.” She brushed off the questions, sounding a bit impatient, but Maryellen suspected Rachel’s feelings for Bruce went deeper than she realized.
“You know what I don’t understand?” Teri said, expertly wielding her scissors. “Rachel has two men on the line and I haven’t hooked a single one.”
“You should’ve put in your bid at the bachelor auction,” Rachel teased, referring to the charity event at which she’d “bought” Nate.
“Those men were far too expensive for my pocketbook,” Teri muttered, still clipping. Long pieces of hair fell to the floor.
She bent to gather up Maryellen’s hair. “Want to donate this to make a wig for a cancer patient?” she asked.
“Sure!” Maryellen felt good about giving to someone in need—especially since she’d received so much herself. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
A few minutes later, Teri switched on the television to check the weekend weather. “Hey,” she said, stepping back from the screen as the local news broadcast concluded. “There’s a big chess championship coming to Seattle.”
“Do you like chess?” Maryellen asked.
Teri shrugged. “I don’t know much about it. It’s a lot like checkers, isn’t it?”
Rachel and Maryellen exchanged looks.
“Well, not really,” Rachel answered. “It’s a little more complicated.”
Soon after the two women finished, packed up their supplies and left, Jon and Katie got home. He seemed exhausted and Katie did, too. When Jon saw Maryellen, he did a double take.
“Do you like it?” she asked tentatively, putting her hand to her head. Then she went on to explain how this change in her appearance had come about—mentioning her satisfaction at donating her hair for a cancer wig.
Jon nodded. “That’s great,” he said. “And I love your new look. I’ve always liked your hair long but this is…nice. Nice,” he repeated. “It suits you and I can see that it’s much more practical.”
Maryellen was pleased at his response, which seemed exactly right to her. Katie crawled into her lap then and laid her head against Maryellen’s shoulder. Within minutes, the little girl was fast asleep. Maryellen settled Katie on the sofa beside her.
She didn’t ask Jon how his day had gone. His weary expression told her everything she needed to know. He’d spent the day doing errands—getting groceries, film, visiting the library.
“Sit with me awhile,” she urged, sitting upright.
“I’ve got stuff I have to do.”
She patted the empty space next to her. “Jon,” she whispered. “Please.”
He hesitated, and she knew he felt torn between the need to work while Katie napped and his desire to be with his wife. Her smile must have won him over because he sank down at her side and slipped one arm around her shoulders.
“I love you so much,” she said.
Jon kissed her forehead. “I love you, too.”
“In a few months, this will all be over.”
“It feels like it’s gone on forever,” he murmured.
“Getting through these last few weeks of the pregnancy…That’ll be the most difficult. Things will get worse before they get better.”
He released a deep, pent-up sigh. “We’ll be fine.”
�
��I think so, too.” She turned her head in order to meet his gaze. “Your stepmother phoned this afternoon,” she said, not bothering with a preamble.
Jon stiffened but said nothing. Then he asked. “Did she call or did you?”
“She phoned,” Maryellen assured him, refusing to take offense at the question. “They read about the fire at The Lighthouse because they get the Chronicle. She called to see if everything was all right with us.”
He didn’t respond for a long moment. “So they know I’m not working?” he finally asked. “At a job, I mean?”
“They know,” she said. “I told her about the problems with the pregnancy, too.”
He wasn’t happy about that, she could tell, but he didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t ask her to do it, I want you to understand that.”
“Do what?”
“Come here and help. Ellen insisted. She said these are her grandchildren and we need help.”
Still Jon refused to comment.
“Say something,” she said, fearing his reaction. On top of everything else, she couldn’t bear his anger. It would break her.
“They can’t stay here.”
She nodded.
“I don’t want them around the house when I’m here.” The arm that cradled her lay heavily on her shoulders.
“I’ll make sure they understand that.”
He sighed. “I don’t like this, but I’ll do it for you and Katie and for the baby.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“It doesn’t change anything, Maryellen.”
“I know.” She pressed her head against him. A minute later, she felt him relax again.
“Love does that to a man, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm?” she murmured.
“Makes you do things you don’t want to for the people you love. Things you never thought you’d do.”
Maryellen knew what he was saying. Jon had vowed that he would not allow his family back in his life after what they’d done to him. Yet here he was, setting aside his deepest convictions because Ellen and Joseph were willing to help in this impossible situation. He’d agreed to let them into the fringes of his life for Maryellen’s sake and Katie’s. There might be no forgiveness in his heart, but he’d set aside his anger to serve his wife’s needs.
“Love makes us put other people first,” she said. “Isn’t that what you mean?” Isn’t that what love is?
Four
Justine could barely stand to look at the burned-out husk that had once been The Lighthouse. Most of the structure had collapsed and the charred remains were a blight against the vivid blue backdrop of the cove. Yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the parking lot. Even now, two weeks after the fire, the acrid smell of burned wood and smoke hung oppressively in the air.
Seth stood at her side and Robert Beckman, the insurance claims adjuster, was with them. He made notes on a clipboard as they surveyed the site together. Leif, thank goodness, was in preschool. As much as she could, Justine wanted to protect her son from all this.
Her panic attack the week before had shaken her. She hadn’t told Seth about meeting Warren. There seemed no reason to do so. Knowing she’d been anywhere close to the other man would only upset him, although her husband had nothing to worry about. Her love for Seth and their family was rock-solid. Warren had been kind to her, and for that she was grateful. He’d asked her to join him for lunch; she’d declined and hadn’t talked to him since.
“How much longer will the investigation take?” Seth asked, keeping pace with the adjuster.
Justine wrapped her hand around his arm in silent entreaty. Seth was still bitter and impatient, yearning to move forward after the fire and resentful of every delay. Already he was talking about rebuilding, eager to get their business and their lives back on track. More than eager, he’d become obsessive. Every drawback, every question, frustrated him. He couldn’t sleep and the stress had begun to affect his emotional health.
“I know it seems to be taking a long time,” Robert said in a soothing voice. “But—”
“It’s already been over two weeks,” Seth snapped. “What else is there to investigate?”
“You’ll have to forgive my husband, Mr. Beckman,” Justine said quietly. “As you can imagine, this fire has been very difficult for us.”
“I completely understand,” the older man assured her. “As I was saying, I know it seems like a long time, but I do promise you that we’re working as quickly and efficiently as we can.”
“I didn’t mean to snap.” Seth gave a helpless shrug. “It’s just that every day we’re not open for business we lose customers and staff.” Word had come that morning that their head waiter had taken a job in Tacoma. Dion wouldn’t be easily replaced. It was inevitable that the rest of their staff would find other employment, as well. No one could go without a paycheck for long.
“The company recognizes that, but we can’t do anything until the fire marshal gives us an opportunity to survey the damage thoroughly. And because this is a criminal investigation, it’s simply going to require more time.”
Justine knew that Seth had made numerous phone calls to the fire marshal in an effort to get the investigation moving.
“I’ve contacted an architect,” Seth explained, and Justine barely managed to conceal her shock. She’d had no idea. “We’ve been discussing design plans,” he went on, “and I’d like to set up a construction schedule. I can’t do that until the fire marshal releases the property.”
“Well…you may have to wait a while.”
“When can we rebuild?” Seth demanded.
Robert Beckman slowly shook his head. “Since the fire appears to have been arson, the company would like to bring in a ‘Cause and Origin’ investigator.” He paused. “This is in addition to what your local people are doing.”
“What will he do?” Justine wanted to know. “Your investigator, I mean.”
“His—or her—primary purpose is to confirm the preliminary finding of arson. Our investigators do that by looking at flame patterns to see where the fire started.”
“How could anyone tell anything from a heap of ashes?” Impatience rang in Seth’s voice.
“It’s astonishing the information they can derive from the site. They’re able to distinguish exactly where the fire originated. They can determine the accelerant. Sometimes there are other clues they can find by sifting through the debris. There are certainly cases in which their investigations have led to the apprehension and conviction of arsonists. I remember one instance in which—”
“That’s all well and good, but what should I tell the architect?” Seth broke in. He ran his fingers forcefully through his hair.
Justine was horrified that Seth had already spoken to an architect and wondered when he’d done this. He’d been gone a couple of afternoons but hadn’t mentioned where he was or with whom. Nor had Justine questioned him. The truth was, it had been a relief to have him out of the house. Seth found it impossible to remain in any one place. When he was home, he stalked from room to room, unable to work at anything or even read for more than a few minutes. Unable to relax.
“Your policy covers loss of income for a year,” Robert Beckman continued, flipping a page on his clipboard. “If construction time goes over that, we can request an extension.”
“So the sooner we get started, the better, don’t you agree?” Seth asked. “For the company and for us.”
Robert gave another of his soothing replies, and unwilling to listen to any more, Justine walked across the parking lot to stand at the farthest edge, which overlooked the cove. The wind carried a briny scent on this overcast day, shrouding the pungent smell of smoke.
The view of the cove always calmed her. She absorbed that peace now, needing it to settle her pounding heart. Seth had taken matters into his own hands; without so much as talking to her, he’d held discussions with an architect. When they’d first conceived the idea of The Lighthouse, Justine had been involve
d in every aspect of the planning. Now Seth had excluded her.
The fire and its aftermath were so much worse than she would ever have believed. Her husband had turned into a stranger, a man Justine neither knew nor liked. The temptation to escape, to pack a suitcase and disappear, grew stronger every day. Warren had offered her the use of a summer cottage on Hood Canal. It sounded so peaceful there. Leif would love to walk along the beach, exploring, wading in the water. She could picture him now, digging for clams with his small shovel, his laughter spilling out into the wind. Not once since Leif was born had they taken a family vacation. The Lighthouse had filled every waking minute. Only in the absence of the restaurant and its demands was she beginning to see how completely it had taken over their lives.
“Justine.” Seth placed his hand on her shoulder as he came up behind her. “Everything’s going to be all right, sweetheart,” he said, his voice conciliatory.
“I know.” The fire, the destruction of the restaurant, was no longer her main concern. What worried her was the effect it’d had on her husband.
“I realize I’ve been a little cranky lately.”
She smiled and pressed her hand on top of his. To say he’d been “a little cranky” was an understatement of major proportions.
“Everything will be all right,” he said again, “once we find out who did this to us.”
“Will it?” she asked, but apparently Seth didn’t hear her because he didn’t respond.
Justine tilted her head to one side so her cheek could rest against his hand. “You’re already talking about rebuilding,” she murmured.
“Of course. I want to get started as soon as possible. Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know anymore.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” He laughed and seemed to assume she was joking. “We’re in the restaurant business. This is how we make our living. Unless we rebuild, we won’t have an income.”
“Yes, but…”
Her husband went still for a moment. “I can’t go back to fishing, Justine.”
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