Love Letters: A Rose Harbor Novel

by Debbie Macomber

  The store gave off a musty scent that reminded her of old books. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. They walked down the aisles and saw a woman standing at the counter. There didn’t seem to be a lot of customers in the store.

  “Feel free to wander around and explore,” the clerk told them. “If you need help, let me know.”

  Maggie asked where to find old buttons, and the woman directed her to an area against the back wall. Roy followed, looking a bit bored, his hands in his pockets.

  Maggie noticed an overstuffed chair close by. “This might take a while,” she told him. “If you want, you can sit and relax.”

  “You don’t need to handle me, Maggie.”

  She hadn’t realized that was what she was doing. “I’ll feel rushed if I know you’re bored.”

  “Don’t worry about me, okay?”

  “Okay.” He could be prickly at times, which led her to believe that he, too, continued to struggle with negative thoughts, old wounds, and fresh ones, too. Determined not to allow his mood to alter her own, she sorted through the buttons, searching out the ones that caught her attention.

  Roy looked around a bit and then sat down in the chair and reached for his phone.

  Maggie went completely still. If he was sending Katherine a text, she swore she’d walk out this door and not look back.

  Roy must have read her thoughts, because he looked up and caught her eye. “I’m checking emails to make sure everything is running smoothly on the job site.”

  Rather than respond verbally for fear her voice would tremble, she nodded.

  Ten minutes later, he was still responding to emails.

  For once, just once, she wished Roy could leave work behind.

  Roy stood. “I need to make a call.”

  “Now?” she asked without censure. “We’re taking a weekend break, remember?”

  “Maybe you are, but I need to see to this.”

  “Roy, you promised.”

  “Maggie, listen, I’m sorry, but the electrical foreman’s run into a problem and the entire job site is about to be shut down. Time is money, and we can’t afford to let that happen, not when it’s within my power to prevent it.”

  “I …” He had a valid point.

  “I know you’re disappointed, but this won’t take more than a few minutes, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  He pushed a button on his cell and then swore under his breath. “I can’t get good reception in here.”

  The clerk, who’d apparently overheard their conversation, called out, “If you step out and face the marina, you shouldn’t have a problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  Maggie was upset. She didn’t want to be unreasonable or difficult over this. They’d had more time together in the last twenty-four hours than they’d enjoyed all year. That alone said it all.

  It used to be they made love three or four times a week. It’d dwindled down to once every other week, if that. Maggie didn’t want to complain, didn’t want to nag her husband. To be fair, she was equally neglectful when it came to the physical aspect of their marriage. The problem, she surmised, was their inability to get in sync with each other. When she was willing and ready, Roy was home late or overly tired. It was the same with her. Her husband would let her know what he wanted and she’d beg off. Neither one of them put up much of a fuss, all too willing to accept the other’s weak excuses, which said a great deal, she supposed, sadly.

  After a few minutes, when Roy didn’t return, Maggie paid for her purchases and left the store. She saw her husband pacing the sidewalk alongside the marina, intent in conversation. He didn’t seem to notice her approach.

  Didn’t seem to notice her at all.

  No, she wouldn’t go there, feeling sorry for herself, making up excuses for what happened, for her own role in the mess they’d made of their lives together. She had to think positively, look forward rather than dwell on all that had gone wrong. The past could bury them. They had to look ahead, not behind.

  Roy saw her and waved. As she approached, she heard him speaking to the project manager. He ended the call and placed the phone back in his pocket. “It looks like that problem is squared away.”

  “Good.”

  “Did you find some buttons you wanted?”

  “I did.” She held up the small bag.

  “Is it going to set me back a house payment?” he teased.

  “It is if we’re paying ten dollars a month for the mortgage.”

  He grinned and looped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her close to his side.

  “I was just thinking we might want to take the boys to Disneyland,” she said casually.

  Roy mulled over the suggestion for a couple minutes. “Aren’t the boys a little young yet for Disneyland?”

  “Perhaps, but it will give us something to look forward to as a family.”

  She tacked on this last part so he’d understand she was looking to the future, their future as a couple. “If we get it on the schedule early, it’ll be easier for you to get away.” She bit her lip to keep from mentioning that the boys needed time with their parents. It was vital that their children know their parents loved each other. Roy was good about giving them attention at night, but they rarely were together as a family.

  “Disneyland,” he repeated slowly, as though considering the idea. “We could plan the trip around Christmas.”

  “Great.” She was enthused now, and Roy seemed to be, too. “I’ll get online and see what I can find.”

  “Yes, do.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. It was the first romantic gesture he’d made toward her in longer than she wanted to remember.

  Maggie scanned the waterfront and the marina. Everything looked inviting. What a charming community. All at once her stomach heaved and a wave of nausea hit her, taking her by surprise.

  “What’s wrong?” Roy sensed right away something wasn’t right.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, and clenched her stomach. “All of a sudden I’m feeling sick.”

  “Do you think it was the fish and chips?”

  Maggie didn’t know. “Everything tasted so fresh and good. You’re feeling okay, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Fine. My goodness, Maggie, you’ve gone pale.”

  “We both ate the same thing, so I doubt this has anything to do with lunch.” Her stomach heaved again then, and she clenched it tighter.

  “Should we go back to the inn?” Roy asked.

  Maggie nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  Keeping her close to his side, Roy led the way up the hill to the inn. Maggie had hoped that the walk and fresh air would help, but they didn’t. If anything, she felt worse. By the time they arrived back, her face had broken out into a sweat and her hands felt clammy.

  Rover barked just once when they walked in the front door, and Jo Marie came around the corner from the kitchen.

  “Maggie isn’t feeling well,” Roy explained.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Jo Marie asked.

  Maggie shook her head. “No.” At the moment, it was imperative that she get upstairs, and quickly. Reading the look in her eyes, Roy raced up the stairs and unlocked their room. Maggie made it into the bathroom in the nick of time, losing her lunch with violent heaves.

  Roy stood just outside the bathroom door, and when she’d finished he handed her a wet washcloth. She wiped her mouth clean, and he gently led her to the bed.

  “Oh Roy, I just can’t have the flu. I just can’t.”

  “Honey, don’t worry.”

  She lay down on the bed and he covered her with a knitted afghan from the foot of the mattress and then leaned over her and tenderly kissed her brow. “Close your eyes and rest, and you’ll feel better when you wake.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, feeling wretched that this would happen now. Oh why now? Why, why, why?

  “I got a book to read, remember? I’ll sit on the chair here and delve into a good story.”
r />   All of a sudden it was all Maggie could do to keep her eyes open. “Okay,” she whispered.

  She heard a gentle knock against the door. Roy answered, and it was Jo Marie.

  “Everything’s fine. Maggie’s going to rest,” she heard Roy whisper.

  This was Roy, her husband, the father of her children, the man she loved with all her heart. Her eyes drifted closed and she remembered the first day she saw him walk across campus. They were college students, both young and eager to make their mark on the world, full of ideas and idealism.

  So much had changed … so much.

  Chapter 8

  I felt terrible for Maggie Porter. She’d looked deathly pale when she’d arrived back at the inn. From the frantic way she raced up the stairs, I knew she was about to be sick. I’d hoped there was something that I could do. I’d suggested that I bring up a pot of weak tea, but Roy told me it wasn’t necessary. Maggie appeared to be resting comfortably now. I knew she’d been looking forward to this weekend getaway with her husband, and I hated the thought of her coming down with the flu.

  Currently, all was quiet upstairs. Ellie Reynolds was busy dressing for her first date with Tom. And I suspected that Roy had either joined his wife for a nap or found some other way to occupy himself.

  The Porters were an attractive couple. My first impression of the two led me to believe there was trouble brewing in the relationship, but I’d since changed my mind. They seemed to have settled whatever was wrong. It’d probably been a small misunderstanding that had escalated but had since been resolved.

  With everything under control, I sat down in my small office off the kitchen. A pile of papers cluttered my desk and needed filing. I kept paper backups, although everything I needed was on my computer. Once I dealt with the clutter on my desk, I worked on completing tax forms the state required from business owners each quarter.

  When I finished I leaned back in my chair and sighed. My meeting with Peggy that morning had been a disappointment. I’d hoped that between her and Bob I’d be able to learn more about Mark.

  It irritated me that he remained so tight-lipped. I thought we were friends, and friends should be open and honest with each other. Right? Well, not Mark. Oh no. The details of his life were like gold bars stored inside a bank vault.

  I suppose I could bribe him with cookies. “What do you think, Rover? Should I bake Mark a batch of peanut-butter cookies and hold them hostage until he fills in the blanks?”

  My faithful companion cocked his head and stared up at me as if to remind me that I’d basically tried that earlier in the day.

  “Right,” I mumbled under my breath.

  Rover placed his chin back down on his paw but kept his gaze focused on me.

  “Well, there’s more than one way to find out what I want to know,” I said aloud, fire stirring my blood. I’d worked in the banking business and there were ways of garnering information.

  More determined than ever, I went onto the Internet and Googled Mark Taylor. Within a matter of seconds I had what I wanted … sort of. The Internet listed the information for two hundred and eleven men named Mark Taylor spread all across the country, from Nome, Alaska, to Key West, Florida.

  “Oh great.” What I needed was his middle name and his date of birth—otherwise, I’d be spending copious amounts of time and money shuffling through the lengthy list. And even then it would be little more than guesswork. I needed a lot more details if I was going to uncover anything of importance. And, really, was it worth all the time and hassle? That was the real question. I could always go back to my spring cleaning. I’d been meaning to check out what was up in the attic for some time.

  I heard a car door slam and Rover was instantly on his feet. Fearing he might bark and wake Maggie Porter, I hurried to the front door. To my surprise, I found Mark parked outside. The bed of his pickup truck was loaded down with lumber.

  The man never ceased to astonish me. It’d taken him weeks to get started on the rose garden. Weeks. Yet only that morning I’d given him the go-ahead on the gazebo. Already he’d purchased the lumber and seemed set on unloading it in the yard.

  He had a long two-by-four balanced on his shoulder, and carted it from the bed of his truck to the lawn before he noticed me and Rover standing on the top step. He hesitated. “What is that look about?” he asked.

  “What look?”

  “The one you’re giving me.”

  I had no idea he could read me that easily. “I’m surprised is all.”

  “About what?” He set the piece of lumber down and then removed his gloves.

  “You’re starting on the gazebo?”

  His gaze narrowed. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “I do.”

  “Then how come you’ve got the look of a mounted bass?”

  I wasn’t keen on the analogy but let it pass. “I thought I’d need to wait.”

  “For what?”

  He was being thickheaded. “For you to get started. By the way, where’s Peter McConnell?”

  “Don’t know and I don’t care.” He didn’t explain, and while I was curious as to what had happened to the other man, I had more pressing subjects on my mind.

  “Do you want me to come back later?” he demanded.

  “No, no, don’t let me stop you.”

  He put his gloves back on and then shook his head as if to say he found me impossible to understand. “It sounds to me like you’re complaining because I’m starting the job. Last time around you were upset because I delayed planting the garden.”

  “I’m not complaining,” I shouted, louder than I intended.

  “Women,” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. He returned to his truck, shook his head, and reached for a second piece of lumber.

  “I said I’m not complaining,” I repeated.

  “That’s your mad voice.”

  “I am not mad,” I insisted again, calmer this time, for fear of waking my guest. “I’m amazed. And pleased,” I added.

  “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

  “It’s a good thing.” Rover went down the stairs and parked himself halfway between the two of us, lying in the grass with his legs spread out, soaking in the coolness of the lawn.

  “When’s your birthday?” I asked.

  He set the board down next to the first one. Either he didn’t hear me or he chose to ignore the question.

  “Your birthday,” I repeated, coming down the steps.

  “What about it?” he asked gruffly. He was on his third trip back from the truck, another long board balanced on top of his shoulder.

  “You have one, don’t you?”

  “Most folks do.”

  “Mine’s in February.”

  He shook his head as if to say it was none of his concern. “You expected me to buy you a birthday gift?”

  “No.” He twisted everything around. “When is yours?”

  “My what?”

  “Birthday!” I was fast losing my patience. He was purposely being obtuse in hope of exasperating me, and he was succeeding.

  He stopped and planted his hands on his hips and glared at me as if I’d asked him if he had a prison record. “What do you want to know for?” he demanded, his words as hard as the lumber he’d carried.

  That was a tricky question. To admit I’d been online seeking information about him was more than I wanted him to know. “I don’t know … maybe I want to throw you a surprise party.”

  “Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

  “I’d invite Peggy and Bob and …”

  “You aren’t throwing me a surprise birthday party, and we both know it.”

  He frustrated me to no end. “Okay, fine. Forget the birthday party.”

  “Gladly.” He was sweating hard now; hauling heavy lumber was strenuous labor. He paused and wiped his forearm across his brow. A dark strand fell across his forehead.

  “You could use a haircut.”

  The look he sent me would have melted krypt
onite. “Are we married?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Are you my mother?”

  “No. Okay, fine. I apologize.” He was long overdue for a haircut, but far be it from me to mention it. I didn’t know what was the matter with me. It was like I was going out of my way to irk him into an argument.

  “You’re getting on my nerves, Jo Marie.”

  I could tell. Seeing how badly I’d bungled this, I returned to the house and brewed him a fresh glass of iced tea and then carried it outside. “Here,” I said, holding out the icy-cold drink for him to take. “It’s a peace offering.”

  He hesitated and stared at the glass for a good five-second count before he deigned to reach for it. He made it seem like he was doing me a favor by accepting. Once he took the glass out of my hand, he drank down the tea in several large gulps and then returned it to me. The ice made clinking sounds against the side of the glass as I took it back.

  Thinking I should make casual conversation, I mentioned Maggie Porter was feeling sickly.

  “That’s a shame. Flu?”

  “Don’t know. I hope not, for both their sakes.”

  He braced his hands against his hips. “I’ve got another load.”

  “You must be exhausted. Sit with me for a while.”

  He cast me a suspicious look. “Why?”

  “So you can relax, unwind.”

  “Are you going to hound me with more questions?” he asked.

  “No.” Not because I wasn’t curious, though. Getting Mark to admit to anything was like chasing after a dog with a bone. It was clear to me that I was going to need to be a whole lot more subtle if I was going to dig up information. I would have to trick him into giving me what I needed to know.

  I poured another glass of iced tea for him and one for myself. We sat side by side on the top step of the porch with Rover resting between us.

  We were silent for several moments, each lost in our own thoughts, I assumed. My musings went straight to Paul, as they often did, although I made an effort to remember the good times we’d had. I’d never laughed as much with anyone as I had with Paul.