1105 Yakima Street

by Debbie Macomber

  Rachel reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “That’s a start.”

  “But I can tell you right now that Jolene won’t go,” Bruce continued. “And I don’t know how to get her to agree.”

  “Still, a trained professional can teach us how to deal with her.”

  Bruce frowned. “You really believe that?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  He held her look for a long moment, then shook his head. “I’ll go because it’s what you want, but I don’t hold out a lot of hope that someone neither of us knows is going to help in this situation.”

  “In other words, you think counseling is a waste of time?” She spoke slowly, letting him know how much his comment discouraged her.

  “The thing is, Rachel, if Jolene begs off, which she already said she intends to do, what will we get out of counseling?”

  Sometimes Rachel had to wonder which one of those two was the parent. Bruce had more or less told her everything she needed to hear. Without even sipping her coffee or taking a bite of the pie, Rachel slid out of the booth. What was a waste of time was meeting Bruce. Despite what he’d said, nothing had changed, nor would it. Bruce just wanted their lives to go back to what he thought of as “normal”—the way they’d been this past year. But Rachel would no longer tolerate Jolene’s behavior toward her.

  “Where are you going?” Bruce asked, standing, too. He grabbed for her hand as if to stop her.

  “All you care about is talking me into moving back home, and you’ll say whatever it takes. Sweeping our problems under the carpet isn’t going to work.”

  “I said I’d go to counseling,” Bruce insisted.

  Rachel was sure he’d attend one or two sessions, but then he’d find some excuse to cancel. Jolene would simply refuse to go, and Bruce would be powerless to make her. Rachel wasn’t willing to accept half measures. When and if she moved back home, their circumstances had to be completely different.

  “Don’t leave, Rachel. Please.”

  “It was pointless for us to talk,” she said, tugging her hand free.

  “I don’t understand what you want. I’ve offered to go to counseling and that’s not good enough. So what do you want?” he demanded, irritated now.

  “I want my husband to be a man who honors my place in his life. A man who doesn’t allow his children to dictate what goes on in his household. A man who’ll cherish his role and mine—and frankly, at this moment, you aren’t that man. And I don’t know if you ever will be.”

  Bruce blanched. “Don’t hold back,” he muttered sarcastically. “See how deep you can cut me. I came here hoping you’d be reasonable, hoping to convince you of my love… .”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know what, Bruce? I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to talk again.”

  “Fine. All I ask is that you let me know when the baby’s born.”

  “Of course I will, but until then I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of my life.”

  Anger flashed in his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

  While it was true that she might have a change of heart, right now she was dead serious. “I do mean it.”

  And with that, Rachel walked out of the restaurant.

  She didn’t sleep well that night or the next. Thursday afternoon she was with a client when she saw Bruce standing outside the salon. She turned her back, ignoring him.

  Jane walked over to her and whispered, “Bruce is here.”

  “I know.”

  “He wants to speak to you.”

  Rachel shook her head. Talking to Bruce wouldn’t help either of them. How many times were they supposed to repeat the same argument?

  “Rachel, he’s only going to show up again and again. This is disruptive to you and to everyone here. I told you I didn’t want him back.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you want me to call security?”

  Having Bruce escorted from the mall was further than she was willing to go. “No. I’ll talk to him.” Setting the curling iron aside, and excusing herself to her client, Rachel stepped outside, where Bruce stood waiting.

  He’d buried his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet back and forth like a schoolboy called before the principal. “I didn’t feel good about how our conversation ended the other night.”

  It had bothered Rachel, too, although she had no idea how to change anything.

  “Won’t you please just come home?”

  “No.” She hated to be so inflexible, but she didn’t have any choice. “I told you before and I meant it—I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to see you, Bruce. It only upsets me.”

  “I can’t stay away, Rachel. I’ve tried but I can’t make myself do it.”

  “In other words, you’re determined to hound me.” Thank goodness she’d had the sense not to tell anyone where she was living, not even Teri.

  “I want you back.”

  Apparently he intended to wear down her defenses until he got what he wanted. It sounded as if he planned to wait outside the salon every day until she moved back to Yakima Street. For her, the problem with that was twofold. First, Jane didn’t want him hanging around, and second, Rachel feared that in time he would wear her down to the point that she’d agree.

  “Leave me alone, Bruce.”

  “I can’t,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  She longed to believe they could make their marriage work. For her sake and for the baby’s. But every time she felt herself weakening, all she had to do was picture Jolene’s face, mocking her with that triumphant smile. The girl had won, and for Rachel there was no going back.

  “Don’t come here again, Bruce. I’m warning you, if you do Jane will ask security to step in.”

  “Fine, if that’s what it takes to talk to you, then I’ll gladly let them arrest me.”

  Rachel didn’t respond to his comment and returned to the salon. She wasn’t sure how long Bruce stood there; she did her best not to look in his direction.

  At quitting time, Jane asked the security guard to walk Rachel to her car. While she felt a bit ridiculous, she was grateful to be spared the risk of yet another confrontation with Bruce.

  Once she got home, to the house she shared with Nate Olsen, she opened a can of tomato soup and had that and a few cheese slices for dinner. She wasn’t hungry but she ate because of the baby.

  Nate arrived around seven. Rachel was sitting in the recliner with her feet elevated. She had the television on and was reading a magazine at the same time. She needed as many distractions as she could get.

  Her housemate took one look at her and frowned. “Bad day?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What happened?”

  Unsure how much to tell him, she considered what she should say.

  “Wait.” Nate held up one hand. He sat on the edge of the sofa. “Bruce showed up at work again.”

  She nodded, but didn’t divulge the details of their conversation. “Jane isn’t happy about it, either.”

  “Did he make another scene?”

  “Not really, but he threatened to show up every day until I change my mind.”

  “That’s awkward. It’s going to cause problems for you, isn’t it?”

  She hadn’t mentioned this part of the conversation to her boss. Jane was already upset with her over what had happened a week earlier.

  “I might have a solution,” Nate said slowly.

  “What?” At the moment everything felt hopeless.

  “A temporary position has been posted at the shipyard,” Nate told her. “One of the clerks just had a baby and she’ll be out for five months. The job requires basic computer and administrative skills. Do you think you might want to apply?”

  Rachel bit her lip. “Would I have any chance of getting the job?”

  “As good a chance as anyone else.”

  “Then why not.” Getting on with the shipyard would certainly help her situation. The timing cou
ldn’t have been better. And after the baby was born, she’d have to reassess her options, anyway.

  “I know someone in HR and I’ll drop off a résumé for you.”

  “Wow, that would be great! Thank you.”

  Not surprisingly, the next day after work, Bruce showed up at the salon. Rachel ignored him and after several minutes he left.

  “Rachel,” Jane whispered in warning. “I don’t want Bruce hanging around here. Can’t you do something?”

  “I already have.” Booking an extended lunch hour, she’d gone to the shipyard employment office, had an interview and taken a test. She didn’t know how well she’d done but it didn’t seem that difficult.

  Nate was home early that evening, smiling when he walked in the door. “I talked to Becky, my friend in HR,” he said. He put his briefcase down, opened the refrigerator and removed a cold soda. “You got the highest possible score.”

  “I did? Does that mean they might call me in for another interview? Did you tell her that if she hired me I’d give her a free haircut?”

  Nate laughed. “No, because that might be construed as bribery.”

  Rachel smiled, optimistic for the first time in weeks. Months.

  “The position will be posted for another couple of days and then Becky will notify the applicant who’s been chosen. You’ll know one way or the other by the end of the week.”

  “Thanks again, Nate.”

  He shrugged off her appreciation. “Anything for a friend.”

  Rachel had a good feeling about this short-term position. It was perfect for her. The shipyard obviously agreed because a few days later Rachel received word that she had the job.

  Eight

  “Jack, what’s that in your pocket?” Olivia asked, pulling her husband into the hallway that led to their bedroom. He had the grace to look guilty.

  “Cookies,” he admitted.

  “Jack,” she moaned. He had to watch his diet carefully, and the cookies and cake Charlotte insisted on baking weren’t part of his low-fat eating program. After seeing Jack through one heart attack and bypass surgery, Olivia had been keeping a close eye on his eating habits. He’d been backsliding recently, since temptation, provided by Charlotte, was ever-present these days.

  “Your mother baked them especially for me,” Jack said. “I couldn’t hurt her feelings, could I?”

  “Oh, Jack.” She sighed, and held out her hand. “At least give one of them to me.”

  He snorted. “At this rate we’ll both weigh three hundred pounds by the time your mother and Ben are back in their own house.”

  Olivia had already gained a pound and this cookie wasn’t helping; still, like Jack, she couldn’t resist.

  Thrusting one hand in his pocket, he took out the cookies in their paper napkin, and begrudgingly placed two of the four he’d pilfered in her palm.

  Olivia finished off her last peanut butter cookie before she went into the kitchen. Her mother was busy with the dishes, quietly singing a hymn as she squirted detergent into the hot water. She put the bottle down by the sink and began a song about Jesus washing all our sins away.

  “Mom,” Olivia said, coming to stand next to her mother. She reached for a kitchen towel and slung it over her shoulder while she waited for the first clean bowl. “You could always use the dishwasher, you know.”

  “It only takes a minute to do these few by hand,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t realize you were back.”

  She’d arrived home about ten minutes earlier and they’d chatted briefly before she saw Jack slinking away, looking guilty. “We spoke when I came in.”

  “We did?” Charlotte seemed confused.

  “Mom, do you remember baking cookies yesterday?”

  “Of course I do. I made Jack’s favorites. Snickerdoodles.”

  “You baked him a pie last night, too.”

  “Well, yes, the Granny Smith apples are outstanding this year.”

  Olivia tried to broach the subject carefully. “The thing is, Mom, Jack and I are trying to avoid sweets.”

  “My heavens, why would you do that?”

  “It’s a matter of being healthy, eating right, getting in the required number of fruits and vegetables. While it’s fine to have dessert once a week or so, every day is simply too much.”

  Her mother turned to look at her. “But I enjoy baking for you and it makes me feel like I’m doing something to pay for my keep.”

  “But, Mom, you don’t need to do a thing.”

  “I know that, but I want to.”

  Because Olivia felt guilty she added, “It’s not that Jack and I don’t appreciate it, because we do. But Jack loves your cookies so much, he can’t stop himself from stealing one or two even though he shouldn’t.”

  Her mother beamed with pleasure. “I always did like Jack Griffin. I was so pleased when you decided to marry him.”

  “I like him myself,” Olivia said, smiling as she spoke. “Why don’t we compromise? You bake to your heart’s content, and we’ll freeze the cookies and other goodies.”

  “Olivia, what a marvelous idea! That’ll make everyone happy. No wonder you’re such a good judge.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Olivia dried the clean dishes, put them back in the cupboards, then went to the laundry room. She had a load of whites she wanted to wash. To her surprise, she found them already clean and folded, sitting on top of the washer. Apparently her mother had taken that task upon herself. Unfortunately, she’d added something red—her new towel set? As a result, what had gone in white was now a fetching shade of…pink.

  Groaning inwardly Olivia picked up the stack of clothes and carried them into the bedroom.

  The phone rang just then, and the readout said Grace’s name.

  “Griffin residence,” Charlotte’s voice answered when Olivia picked up.

  “Good evening, Charlotte,” Grace said.

  “I’ve got it, Mom.”

  “You two girls go ahead and talk. I’ll get dinner on the table.”

  “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” Olivia told her mother. She heard the phone click as Charlotte hung up.

  “So how’s it going with your mother and Ben living at the house?” Grace asked.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “It’s not always easy having your mother in your own home, is it?” Grace said sympathetically.

  “I’ll tell you about it tonight.”

  “Er, that’s what I was calling about.”

  “You are going to aerobics class, Grace, and I won’t accept any excuses.” They’d stopped attending their weekly classes during Olivia’s cancer treatments, but they’d since resumed. This was their time and she wasn’t going to be cheated out of it.

  “I promised Beth Morehouse I’d stop by her place on Christmas Tree Lane to meet some dogs she wants to bring into the Reading with Rover program.” As head librarian, Grace had started the program toward the end of the school year and now it had begun again. Beth, a local dog trainer, had been instrumental in its success. “Have you ever been there?”

  “No. You aren’t trying to change the subject, are you, Grace?”

  “No, I’m serious. She’s got quite the operation. Twenty acres of Christmas trees and a full working crew. The house is lovely, too—a big two-story place, charming as can be.”

  “Grace, you know Wednesday is our exercise night.”

  “Yes.” Olivia heard reluctance in her voice. “But I sort of got out of the habit.”

  “Then it’s more important than ever for us to get back into it.”

  “You’re right,” Grace admitted. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk. I needed it, and to be honest, I wasn’t all that excited about driving out to Beth’s.” She sighed. “I can do it later in the week.”

  “You’re missing Buttercup, aren’t you?”

  There was a silence, and Olivia realized her friend was fighting back tears over the loss of her beloved dog. “Yeah, I miss
her. She was far more than just a pet. She saw me through the darkest days of my life.”

  Olivia felt her own eyes welling up with tears. She’d loved Buttercup, too. Years before, one of her mother’s friends was moving into an assisted living complex; she couldn’t take the golden retriever with her and Charlotte had suggested Grace might want the dog. Dan Sherman, Grace’s first husband, had disappeared a few months earlier and Grace had been alone for the first time in her life. Those had been dark days. It was more than a year before they’d learned of Dan’s fate.

  “See you at seven,” Olivia said once she’d recovered her own voice.

  “I’ll be there.”

  Dinner that evening was a four-course meal Charlotte had spent most of the afternoon preparing. Ben had set the table, and Olivia noticed that he’d arranged their cutlery in the wrong order—very unusual for her always impeccable stepfather. They had squash soup, using squash from Charlotte’s own small garden. That was followed by a mixed green salad with homemade poppyseed dressing. The main course was meat loaf, mashed potato casserole, fresh green beans, plus homemade pickled asparagus and sweet corn relish. And for dessert, a chocolate zucchini cake.

  Olivia would’ve preferred a light dinner because of her workout, but her mother wouldn’t hear of it.

  “You’re much too thin as it is,” Charlotte murmured as she heaped a second spoonful of potato casserole onto Olivia’s plate. Olivia forced a smile, took one more bite and then excused herself.

  Ten minutes later, Jack joined her in the bedroom. Ten extra minutes during which he was helping himself to seconds of everything on the table.

  Olivia sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Sweetheart,” Jack said, ever sensitive to her moods. “Are you upset about something?”

  “My mother is trying so hard to be helpful and God bless her for it, but I’d rather do my own wash and I’d rather she stopped cooking like it’s Thanksgiving every single night.”

  Jack’s face broke into a huge grin. “You don’t hear me complaining.”

  “Wipe that smile off your face, Jack Griffin.”

  He spread out his hands. “Honey…”