“Be…cause,” he said, dragging out the word, “if you’re anything like me, you tend to order the same dishes from the same restaurants. Before you know it, you’re in a rut.”
The lines on her forehead gradually relaxed. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I do. I order chili rellenos when I’m eating Mexican and the chicken hot-sauce noodles when I order Chinese.”
“Consistency is comforting,” he said, “but every once in a while it’s good to venture out, try something new. Take a risk.” He hoped she understood that he was talking about more than food—that he was referring to their relationship, too.
He guessed she’d been with one man her entire adult life and the thought of being with another intimidated her. Will hoped his advice would expand her view of more than just meal choices.
Shirley picked up the menu again and studied it carefully.
“I recommend the fried oysters,” he told her. “I had them for the first time a few weeks ago. See?” he said with a grin. “I tried something new and I liked it.”
She shook her head. “I already know I don’t like oysters.”
Not easily discouraged, Will asked, “When’s the last time you ate them?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Then do it.”
She shook her head again. “I could order the seafood sampler—it includes oysters and shrimp and cod.”
“Excellent.”
“But all that fried food…” She frowned.
Will listened to her go through practically the entire menu, discussing each selection in detail and dismissing one after the other. The waitress returned three times before Shirley was finally ready to order.
She looked at Will and grinned sheepishly. “I’ll have the—”
“Oysters,” he said, cutting her off. “The lady will try the oysters.”
“Actually, I won’t,” Shirley said. “I’d like the crab Louie.” She threw Will an apologetic glance. “I’d rather stick to something familiar.”
He wondered if there was a message to him in these words—a response to his message. “I’ll give you one of my oysters and you can try it.” That seemed a fair compromise.
“Okay.”
The waitress left and Shirley had a little more of her wine. “You were telling me about Larry Knight.”
“Ah, yes.” He rested his back against the polished wood bench and lifted his glass. “Like I was saying, Larry has a lot of sway with art schools around the country.”
Shirley soaked in every word. “Do you think he might open doors for Shaw? I mean, I don’t know what Shaw’s financial situation is. I seem to remember Tanni telling me his father disapproves of Shaw’s dream of being an artist. He’s an attorney and wants Shaw to attend law school. He’d probably need a scholarship.”
That was understood; one look at Shaw was enough to convince Will that the kid didn’t have a dime to his name. “I figured he would.”
“Would you be willing to do that for Shaw? To ask Larry?”
But Will knew she also welcomed the prospect of Shaw’s departure, for her daughter’s sake.
“Only if you believe Shaw’s talent is sufficient,” he said.
“Oh, I do,” she said earnestly.
Will set his glass on the table, holding on to the stem, gently swirling the wine. “I’m sure Larry gets these sorts of requests all the time.”
“I’m sure he does. I didn’t mean to imply that he should recommend Shaw unless his talent warrants such an advantage.”
He nodded. “I’ve already had him look at Shaw’s work, so Larry’s familiar with what the boy can do.”
“Then you’ll ask?”
He nodded again, slowly. “I’ll call Larry on Monday morning, then let you know what he has to say.”
Shirley’s face lit up with a huge smile. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
He couldn’t resist the thought that maybe, when the time came, she could show him. No, that was the old Will talking, he reminded himself. The new Will wanted something more genuine with this woman. Something lasting.
Their meal was splendid and, true to her word, Shirley sampled one of his oysters.
“Well?” he asked, confident that she’d order them the next time they dined at D.D.’s. “What did you think?”
She smiled across the table at him. “It was better than I remembered. But then, it’s hard to find fault with anything deep-fried.” With a wry grimace, she added, “That’s why I usually stay away from that kind of food.”
Will chuckled. “Me, too. But I allow myself extravagances on special occasions.” He wanted her to understand that being with her was one of those occasions.
“All in all, though…”
“Yes?” he said, eager to hear her verdict.
“I’ll stick with the crab Louie.”
Fourteen
“Cut off a little more on the sides,” thirteen-year-old Jolene instructed Rachel, examining her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Rachel had set her up in the small hallway bathroom for a haircut. Some of their best conversations came while she was busy with Jolene’s hair.
Over the years, Rachel had developed a theory about why that was the case. When she was working on a customer’s hair, Rachel was in that person’s space—by invitation. This proximity created a sense of intimacy that made clients feel comfortable enough to share some of the most private details of their lives. She figured that was also why so much gossip got started—or at least spread—at hair salons.
“It looks really cute,” Rachel said.
Jolene turned her head from side to side. “You think so?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
“I do.” Rachel plugged in the electric razor. “Lean forward and tuck your chin down.”
“Do you think Dad will like my hair this short?”
“Absolutely,” Rachel assured her, although she wasn’t sure. Jolene bowed her head, and Rachel clipped the hair at the base of the girl’s neck.
When she’d finished, Jolene raised her head and their eyes met in the bathroom mirror. Slowly Jolene exhaled. “I’m not mad at you and my dad anymore.”
“Good.” It’d been an uncomfortable week or so after Jolene had caught the two of them in bed in the middle of the afternoon. Rachel could laugh about it now.
Not Bruce.
He’d been in such a state—of embarrassment, frustration and anger—that it’d taken him days to put the incident behind him.
Meanwhile, Jolene had given them both the silent treatment for nearly a week.
“I’m glad you’re my stepmother,” she said.
“I’m glad I am, too.” Rachel held the girl’s gaze in the mirror. “I like being your stepmother.”
Jolene pointedly broke eye contact. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to be mad?”
Rachel wasn’t about to make that kind of promise. “I’ll try not to be. Okay?”
“Okay.” With an exaggerated sigh, the girl repeated, “I’m glad you’re my stepmother,” then added, “but I really wish you and my dad weren’t married.”
The words stung and Rachel couldn’t respond for a moment. “I love you and your father very much, Jolene. It’s important for me to be part of your family.”
“I know. Dad needs you…and I do, too. I feel selfish and mean for…for complaining.”
“Then we should talk about it.” Rachel needed to put aside her own emotions and listen carefully to what Jolene was saying. “Tell me why you feel this way.”
Rachel sat on the edge of the bathtub, hands braced on either side, ankles crossed, hoping that if she looked relaxed, she’d encourage Jolene to confide in her.
“But…I don’t want you to get mad at me.”
Rachel shook her head and reached out to give the girl’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Jolene kept her head lowered. “Before you and Dad got married, I was afraid that if…if you moved into the house, Dad wouldn’t have time for me anymo
re.”
“Do you think that’s happened?”
“No,” she said after a moment. “Not exactly.”
That was good, because Rachel knew Bruce had put a lot of effort into spending extra time with his daughter. He did more than drop her off at basketball practice these days. Twice now he’d stayed and watched, just so Jolene would know he was interested. Naturally, when the actual games started, Bruce and Rachel would attend them together.
“What do you mean, not exactly?” she asked, unwilling to leave the smallest detail unexplored.
“It isn’t just Dad,” Jolene whispered.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You were always my…special friend. I could talk to you about anything.”
“That hasn’t changed.” At least, not to Rachel it hadn’t.
“Yes, it has,” Jolene insisted.
“Okay,” Rachel said. “Tell me how.”
“Well…” The girl seemed at a loss. Then she blurted out, “I’m just going to say it, all right?”
“Of course.”
“I see how my dad looks at you.”
“With love?” she asked, hoping that was the answer.
Jolene shook her head. “He wants to get you into bed so you can do…that.”
“Make love,” she elaborated. This was what she’d expected…and feared. It was probably best to have the conversation, bring it out in the open once and for all. “Married couples make love, Jolene. It’s a normal and healthy part of marriage.”
“Dad wants to do it all the time.” Jolene sounded mortified. “He doesn’t think I notice, but I do. And that’s not all. You’re my friend and now I have to share you with my dad and I don’t want to and…and I have to share my dad with you.” This came out on one long breath. Jolene’s eyes met hers in the mirror again. “Am I making any sense?”
“Yes, you are,” Rachel told her. “You’re making a lot of sense.”
“Things are…different. Just like I was afraid they’d be.”
Rachel couldn’t argue with her. But perhaps she could explain it to Jolene in a way she’d find more reassuring. “That happens when a couple’s first married,” she said.
“You mean it’ll stop?” the girl asked hopefully.
Rachel did her best to hide a smile. “Not…completely.”
“Oh.”
“Does that answer your questions?”
Jolene looked at her fearfully. “Are you pregnant?” she asked, as if this would be truly dreadful, the most dreadful thing she could imagine.
“No.”
The girl’s shoulders relaxed. “Good.”
Rachel felt it was critical to address Jolene’s concerns about her marriage to Bruce before they even thought about adding to the family.
“I know you were afraid that once your father and I were married, we’d be so involved with each other you’d feel excluded.”
Jolene’s gaze held hers.
“We’ve tried very hard to make sure that hasn’t happened.”
Jolene shrugged, raising one shoulder. “Yeah, but I wish…you know.”
Unfortunately, Rachel did. This was becoming more than a minor problem, not only for Jolene but for her and Bruce, too. Being discovered that one afternoon had had a devastating effect on their love life. They’d barely touched since.
If, as Jolene claimed, Bruce looked at her longingly, there was a very good reason. They were both experiencing sexual frustration.
That evening Rachel had dinner ready by the time Bruce walked into the house. “How are my girls?” he asked, pausing to kiss Rachel on the cheek.
“Hey, Dad,” Jolene said. “What do you think?” She waltzed into the living room and twirled around so her father could see her new haircut. “Rachel said you wouldn’t mind if I got it cut real short. You like it, don’t you?”
“Ah…”
Rachel cast him a pleading glance.
“It takes some getting used to.”
“But you like it?”
He grinned and managed to nod enthusiastically.
Overjoyed, Jolene rushed to his side and threw her arms around him.
“Would you set the table, please?” Rachel asked her. She followed Bruce down the hallway and into the bedroom. He usually showered as soon as he got home from work.
The moment their door closed, Bruce pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily.
Rachel eased her mouth from his. “We need to talk.”
“Now?”
“No, later, after Jolene’s asleep.”
“I have other plans for then.”
Rachel dropped eager kisses along his neck. “I do, too, but we need to talk first.”
When he started to protest, she kissed him again. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she said seductively.
Sliding his hands up and down her arms, Bruce’s eyes melted into hers. “I’m holding you to that.”
Quietly she slid out the door and hurried back to the kitchen.
Jolene frowned at her and set the water glasses on the table with a lot of unnecessary noise.
Rachel was willing to be patient and understanding, but she couldn’t allow a thirteen-year-old to dictate the terms of her marriage.
“I love your father, Jolene,” she said, looking directly into the girl’s eyes, “and if I want to talk to him alone for a few minutes that shouldn’t upset you.”
Jolene nodded contritely. “I know.”
“Okay, then.”
The evening passed, with everyone involved in various tasks—laundry, homework, bill paying—and other than Bruce making exaggerated yawning noises and darting glances at the master bedroom, everything went smoothly.
“Isn’t it your bedtime?” he asked Jolene when the clock chimed nine-thirty. He and Rachel were watching TV by then.
She closed her textbook and kissed them both on the cheek. “Night.”
“I’m going to watch the news,” Rachel announced. She wanted Jolene to understand that they weren’t going to jump into bed the minute she was out of sight.
“I guess I will, too,” Bruce muttered.
Jolene walked past Rachel and rolled her eyes. The kid wasn’t fooled.
When their daughter’s bedroom door shut, Bruce shifted closer to Rachel. “Okay, talk to me.”
Rachel had been waiting for this moment all evening. “Jolene and I had a good discussion today while I cut her hair. She talked about you and me and her place in this family.” Rachel wouldn’t tell him everything Jolene had shared.
“You’re my wife!”
“Yes, but—”
Bruce grimaced, unwilling to listen. “You know, I’m getting sick of this. I’ve done my best to be sensitive to Jolene’s feelings. I’ve spent more time with her in the past two months than at any—”
“Yes, it’s just that—”
“The frustration is killing me, Rachel. I want to make love to my wife. I’m sick and tired of tiptoeing around my daughter and her insecurities. The longer we kowtow to her, the more complicated and difficult this becomes.”
“But, Bruce—”
Again he cut her off. “What we need is time away, just the two of us.”
“No,” she countered swiftly. She couldn’t disagree more. “That’ll make every insecurity Jolene already has that much worse. She’s feeling excluded as it is. Sharing me, sharing you… If we abandon her for even a weekend, it’ll feel like a betrayal.”
Bruce stared at her for several seconds before throwing his head back, eyes closed. “I don’t believe this.”
“We haven’t been married very long. Give Jolene a chance. The two of us made progress today.”
Bruce exhaled and finally nodded.
The ten o’clock news came on, and they cuddled together on the sofa. They held hands, and every now and then he’d lean forward to kiss the side of her face. Rachel’s eyes drifted shut as a river of awareness flowed through her.
“Do you think she’s asleep yet?”
Bruce whispered after the last news segment.
“I certainly hope so.”
“Not as much as I do…”
Turning out the lights as they went, Bruce led Rachel down the hallway to their bedroom. He didn’t bother with the light. Rachel heard him slip out of his clothes. She did, as well.
They got into bed, and Bruce reached for her. Rachel moved into his arms. They kissed passionately, caressing each other, until she was weak with longing.
“So far, so good,” Bruce whispered.
“So far very good,” she whispered back and the kissing continued.
The bed creaked, and it seemed to reverberate through the room. They both froze.
There was a long hesitation, in which they held themselves suspended, afraid to move or even breathe.
Then they heard Jolene’s bedroom door open.
The sound of the door was followed by the patter of feet going down the hallway to the bathroom.
“What if she comes in here?” Rachel whispered.
“She wouldn’t dare,” Bruce muttered fiercely.
Rachel ran her hands tenderly down her husband’s back. “Do we risk it? Remember what happened last time.”
Groaning, Bruce rolled away from her. Without a word, he marched into the master bathroom and a moment later she heard the shower.
Rachel didn’t need him to tell her he’d turned on the cold water.
Fifteen
“Dad, you’ve got to do something,” Megan wailed.
Troy Davis had just walked into his house when the kitchen phone rang. He picked up, not surprised to hear his daughter’s voice; she’d left a message at the office but he’d forgotten to call her back. Troy’s day had been interesting and he was eager for an opportunity to analyze what he’d learned that afternoon. The coroner’s office had finally sent him the complete report on the remains discovered in the cave, and the information had given him pause, to say the least. He needed an opportunity to digest what had been revealed and decide how to proceed. His one hope was that media interest had died down sufficiently to let this latest development pass without attention.
“Dad, are you listening to me?” Megan asked impatiently.
“What is it you want me to do something about?” Troy asked, just so she’d know he’d heard her the first time.
Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3 Page 12
