311 Pelican Court

by Debbie Macomber

  “The kids will probably still be up,” Rosie told him when he came around and opened the door for her. “Allison stays up till all hours of the night whenever she gets the chance.”

  Zach knew that and struggled with it, too. He and Allison had discussed this volatile subject on a number of occasions. His final conclusion was that if his daughter got too tired, she’d learn to adjust. He was saving his big guns for when she started driving.

  Zach unlocked the front door and Rosie entered the foyer ahead of him. Two steps into the house, she stopped abruptly. “What’s this?” she gasped.

  “What?” Zach moved around her to find rose petals strewn about. The red petals seemed to take a path away from the door, down the hallway that led to the master bedroom. Talk about blatant manipulation! His children had set up a romantic interlude for him and Rosie. This, no doubt, was primarily Allison’s doing, since Eddie, as a nine-year-old boy, didn’t have much of a clue about love and romance.

  “Everything is suspiciously quiet,” Rosie murmured.

  That was when a soft waltz started to play.

  “Music, too?” Zach asked in a whisper.

  “Romantic music,” Rosie elaborated. “It’s from Swan Lake.” She moved into the kitchen and turned on the light. There, in the middle of the kitchen table, was another surprise.

  “Wine?” Zach asked, following her.

  “Looks that way.”

  Sure enough, their children had strategically placed two wineglasses on the kitchen table with one long-stem rose lying between them. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice. Unfortunately, it was a red wine, but Zach wasn’t about to complain.

  “I believe our children have planned a bit of romance for us,” Rosie said sheepishly. “In case you’re wondering, I didn’t put them up to this.”

  “I didn’t, either, but I don’t think it’s a bad idea, do you?” He held out his hand to her. “How long since we last danced?” He had no recollection of their doing so in the past half-dozen years.

  Rosie laughed. “I don’t think we ever waltzed.”

  “Then it’s definitely time to rectify that.” Hand in hand, Zach and Rosie hurried into the family room. He brought her into his embrace and they moved to the classic rhythms of the waltz. Amazing, Zach thought. This seemed so natural.

  When the music ended, Rosie flashed him a radiant smile.

  Zach could never resist one of Rosie’s smiles. Their eyes met in the dim light, and all at once he knew he had to kiss her. He prayed she felt the same way, because waiting a moment longer was entirely out of the question.

  They nearly collided in their eagerness. Rosie had her arms around his neck and his were around her waist. Their kisses were wild and wet and urgent, as though it was necessary to feel and taste as much of each other as possible.

  With the kissing came something else Zach had forgotten, something that had been buried deep in the mud they’d slung at each other during the divorce. He loved Rosie. He’d loved her as a young man and, despite everything, he loved her now.

  Loved her and wanted her, desperately wanted her.

  It was the little things that Bruce Peyton missed most about his wife. Stephanie had died in a car accident almost two years ago, and he’d thought, he’d hoped, he’d be able to adjust with time. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. His friends insisted he date again, and several had set him up with blind dates, but he’d always come away feeling guilty and uneasy. He’d read that a year was long enough to heal substantially from a loss like his. It wasn’t true, not for him. He didn’t think he’d ever get over her death.

  Stephanie had been his only love. Bruce felt lost without her, and so lonely. Jolene, their daughter, kept Stephanie’s picture on her nightstand because she was afraid she’d forget what her mother had looked like. That tore at Bruce’s heart, but he had no such problem. He carried the memory of her face in his heart. She was with him every minute of every day.

  Although he tried, Bruce just wasn’t good at little-girl stuff. Right now, for instance, Jolene needed a haircut. Her pigtails fell halfway down her back. Her hair had been cut only once in the two years since Stephanie’s death. Not thinking it mattered, Bruce had taken his daughter to the barbershop with him. Seven-year-old Jolene had primly informed him he’d done the wrong thing.

  “Girls don’t get their hair cut in the same places boys do,” she told him afterward.

  Now Jolene was saying she wanted her hair short.

  “You’re supposed to take me to a beauty shop,” his daughter said when he picked her up at the after-school child-care facility.

  “I’ll make an appointment,” Bruce promised her. He chose a name out of the yellow pages, a place that promised great cuts, phoned and wrote down the day and time. Monday at four. Then he dutifully arrived at the mall with Jolene in tow.

  “Get Nai-led,” Jolene said, sounding out the second word. They stood in front of the shop. His daughter nodded approvingly, and he was relieved he’d apparently made the right choice this time.

  Taking her by the hand, Bruce walked into the salon. It was like stepping into an alien world. Women draped with plastic sheets and huge looped curlers twisted about their heads sat in chairs and stared at him as if he was the odd-looking one. The smell was none too pleasant, either. He didn’t know what these women did to themselves or why, but they had his pity.

  Tentatively Bruce walked over to the receptionist’s desk. “I’m Bruce Peyton,” he managed to get out. “I have an appointment for my daughter.” He leaned against the counter. “She needs a haircut.”

  The woman, who must’ve been about eighteen, ran her index finger down the appointment schedule. Her fingernail had to be a good two inches long and had something painted on it. He stared hard and realized it was some psychedelic print. Very sixties. But why? He shook his head slightly.

  “Here you are,” she said in a chirpy voice. “She’s booked with Rachel.” Looking past him, she shouted, “Rachel, your four o’clock is here.”

  Bruce stepped away from the counter.

  “Rachel will just be a moment. Would you like to take a seat over here and wait?” The receptionist gestured to a row of chairs against the wall, all of which were empty.

  “Ah, sure.” Bruce sat down on one of the chairs and Jolene sat next to him. He reached for a magazine and quickly replaced it when he saw the lead article was “Ten Ways to Achieve an Orgasm.” In case Jolene tried to sound out the word orgasm, he turned the magazine facedown. Luckily, the latest issue of The Cedar Cove Chronicle was available. He grabbed that and hid his face behind the newspaper before anyone could recognize him.

  Jolene sat patiently at his side, her ankles crossed, gazing avidly at the ultrafeminine world before her.

  Less than five minutes later, a dark-haired woman who didn’t seem to be much older than the receptionist approached him and Jolene.

  “I’m Rachel.”

  Jolene scooted off the chair and stood. “I need my hair cut.”

  Rachel smiled and held out her hand. “I can do that.”

  Feeling even more awkward, Bruce stood, too, wondering what was expected of him now.

  “You wait here, Daddy,” Jolene instructed him.

  Rachel’s eyes met his and they shared a brief smile. He had his orders, Bruce figured.

  “This won’t take more than thirty minutes,” the beautician told him.

  “Sure…great.” Bruce sat down with the newspaper, but he soon grew restless. He got up and walked outside the salon and over to the food court. It’d been a while since his last visit to the mall.

  He walked around for a bit and then noticed an electronics store. With at least twenty minutes to kill, he decided to ask about MP3 players. Even if he couldn’t afford one, it didn’t hurt to look.

  Before he went into the store, Bruce checked his watch to be sure he didn’t inadvertently stay longer than Jolene’s appointment lasted. Stephanie had died on her way to pick up Jolene from kindergarten class
and his daughter had been left waiting at the school for hours until someone could come for her. She’d been traumatized and, ever since, had reacted to any lateness, any deviation from a promised schedule, with extreme anxiety.

  A salesman arrived, eager to show him the latest technology. Bruce had a few questions and they were soon involved in a discussion of the pros and cons of different brands. When he checked his watch a second time, a full thirty minutes had passed. Panic rushed through him as he quickly made his excuses and bolted out of the store. He sprinted across the mall, past the food court and toward the salon.

  He could imagine Jolene crying and upset because he’d disappeared. He should’ve told her he was leaving, should’ve explained that he was inside the mall not more than a minute away. He should never have left her.

  Twice since Stephanie’s accident, Jolene had awakened from a nightmare in which Bruce hadn’t arrived to pick her up from school. In her dreams she learned he’d died the same way as her mommy. It had taken her hours to sleep again.

  Bruce realized he must have made quite a sight tearing into the salon, eyes wild. The entire shop seemed to stare at him.

  Jolene broke the spell with a calm, “Hi, Daddy.”

  His daughter sat at a table with her hands outstretched while Rachel sat across from her, painstakingly painting Jolene’s fingernails.

  Now that his heart had decided to leave his throat and return to his chest, Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets and casually strolled over to them.

  “You weren’t here when Rachel finished my hair.” She tossed her head to and fro the way women did in shampoo commercials on television. “Do you like it?”

  Bruce nodded. Hair was hair, but he did think his daughter looked awfully pretty. Of course, he’d thought that before she had her hair cut, too.

  “I got sidetracked in the electronics store,” he told her.

  “That’s what Rachel said prob’ly happened.”

  The beautician glanced up with the nail polish brush in her hand. “We lose a lot of men to the electronics store.”

  Bruce would bet they did. Given a choice, just about any man would look for an excuse to get out of this women’s domain.

  “Was she upset?” Bruce asked Rachel.

  She glanced up again and smiled. “Only a little.”

  “Rachel said she’d paint my nails. Aren’t they pretty, Daddy?”

  Bruce considered the bright red polish a moment and then nodded in what he hoped was a satisfactory manner. “Very pretty.”

  “We’re almost done,” Rachel said.

  “I didn’t mean to stay so long.”

  “It’s not a problem,” she assured him. “Once I’m finished, we’ll need five minutes for Jolene’s nails to dry.” She looked up. “Oh—the manicure is on the house.”

  He mumbled his thanks. Five minutes seemed an eternity, but this was what he got for losing track of time. While he waited, Bruce paid the receptionist and added a generous tip for the beautician.

  When Jolene was ready, she walked with her arms stretched out in front of her as if she’d seen the Bride of Frankenstein one too many times.

  “Can I have an ice cream cone?” she asked, gazing across at the food court.

  “You can if you promise to eat your dinner.”

  “I promise.”

  Together—but not hand in hand, since Jolene was concerned about preserving the perfection of her nails—they walked over to Baskin-Robbins and stared into the glass case. Bruce chose vanilla, his favorite. Stephanie had never understood how he could prefer vanilla when he had thirty other flavors to choose from. Jolene was just as predictable. She wanted bubble gum.

  They sat at a small table and Bruce watched his daughter lick away at her blue ice cream. He smiled at her complete absorption. She smiled back, and he thought his heart would stop. In that split second, she resembled her mother so much.

  Every now and then, Bruce caught glimpses of Stephanie in their daughter. In the way her eyes flashed with a smile or the way she moved. It never failed to fill him with an immediate sense of loss and regret.

  A thousand times or more, he’d gone over that final day of Stephanie’s life. It had seemed an ordinary day. Completely routine. If only he’d known… If only he could go back and relive that morning.

  He’d gotten up at seven, as usual, showered and dressed. He’d kissed Stephanie goodbye, never suspecting that in less than ten hours she would be forever taken from him and Jolene.

  “Daddy…”

  Returning to the present, Bruce looked over at his daughter. “What, sweetheart?”

  “I like Rachel.”

  “Who’s Rachel?”

  “Daddy! The lady who cut my hair.”

  “That’s nice,” he replied absently.

  “She’s fun.”

  “And she does a good job of cutting hair.”

  Jolene nodded. “She wants a husband.”

  “What?” Bruce nearly laughed out loud.

  “A husband,” Jolene said again. “I heard her talking to the lady next to her, and she said she’s almost thirty. That’s old, isn’t it?”

  “Not so old,” Bruce assured her, hiding a smile.

  “She said she wanted to be married before she was thirty.”

  Bruce thought that was a rather personal discussion to be having in a beauty shop, but what did he know about women’s—“I think you should marry her, Daddy.”

  “What?”

  “You should marry Rachel,” she repeated, as if that was a perfectly reasonable statement.

  Twenty-Seven

  Maryellen was depressed. She’d been depressed for weeks. She sat in the bleachers at the waterfront park, sheltered from the rain, and sipped hot coffee out of a plastic cup. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees and stared out over the dark waters of the cove.

  Originally she’d planned to meet her mother for lunch, but she’d been stuck at the gallery with a late delivery and had to cancel at the last minute. She didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway, and appreciated this time alone so she could think. Lois Habbersmith, her assistant and friend, had seemed to sense this and hurried her out the door.

  Maryellen had walked down to the waterfront, which was one of her favorite spots. In the summer the city sponsored Thursday night Concerts on the Cove, and the park and every bit of available space would be filled. She’d always loved the music, the laughter, the atmosphere of infectious gaiety.

  This afternoon Maryellen felt little of that carefree summertime energy. She’d lost Jon. It was what she deserved for the despicable way she’d treated him. She’d explained her reasons, but apparently he couldn’t forgive her.

  That was understandable, she supposed. Her experience with men was limited to one dreadful marriage and a father who’d walked through life in a state of emotional paralysis. There were happy childhood memories, but they were few and far between.

  “Lois said I’d find you here.”

  Jon’s voice broke into her dark musings and startled Maryellen. She nearly dropped her coffee.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “I’m just surprised.” And happy to see him, so happy it was all she could do not to smile and gush and make an idiot of herself. All three of which she’d managed to do any number of times.

  Jon walked up the steps and sank onto the bleacher beside her. He didn’t say anything for a long while. She didn’t, either, and then she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “I want to tell you something,” she murmured. “It’s all right, you know.”

  “What’s all right?”

  She held her breath, then blurted it out. “That you’re involved with someone else. I don’t have any claim on you and—”

  “Who told you that?”

  “No one,” she said, not looking at him. “I figured it out.”

  Jon frowned and shook his head. “You figured wrong, Maryellen. There hasn’t been another woman in my life almost from the m
oment we met.”

  She stared at him, not knowing what to think.

  He was gazing out at the cove. “I loved you long before you invited me to that ridiculous Halloween party.”

  Now she was sure she’d misunderstood him. “If that’s the case, you have a funny way of showing it.” They’d barely talked in weeks. Their conversations, such as they were, had occurred in passing as he picked up or delivered Katie. It seemed he was continually making excuses not to stay.

  “I—You didn’t ever want to talk to me,” she said.

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Well, that explains everything,” Maryellen said—with only a little sarcasm in her tone.

  “I was afraid if I talked to you, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from telling you….”

  “What?” she demanded impatiently.

  “I’ve decided to leave Cedar Cove.”

  “Leave?” she cried. He’d just finished saying he loved her! She already knew how deeply he cared for their daughter. Katie needed her father, and the awful truth was that Maryellen needed Jon, too.

  “I’m putting the house up for sale first thing in the morning.”

  Numb with shock and pain, Maryellen could barely acknowledge his words.

  “I’ve already given my notice at The Lighthouse.”

  It was too much. More than she could bear. Each word was like a knife in her heart, the pain intolerable, impossible to ignore. Burying her face in both hands, she laid her head on her knees and burst into tears.

  “Maryellen…” His voice seemed faint and far away. Then he placed his hand on her spine, as if she were a small child in need of comfort.

  “Why?” she asked, raising her head just enough to speak. “If you love me and you love Katie? Why would you leave us?” She’d been such a fool. When she’d first realized she was pregnant, she saw Jon as little more than a sperm donor, never guessing how important he would become to her or their child.

  Jon didn’t answer. She knew what he was doing—the same thing her father had done. Rejecting and hurting those he loved most.

  “You never met my father, did you?” she said, struggling to keep the pain out of her voice.