16 Lighthouse Road

by Debbie Macomber

  Moving into the living room, Grace threw herself into a chair and closed her eyes.

  Dan wasn’t coming home.

  Again he’d taken nothing with him—only the clothes on his back. He’d abandoned everything else. His clothes, his personal possessions, his marriage and family.

  She couldn’t say how she knew, but she felt it with a certainty that was inexplicable.

  She didn’t contact Troy Davis or even Olivia; she wouldn’t tell anyone until at least a few days had passed. Her husband had been furious with her the last time. He’d pulled this horrible stunt, worried her to the point of physical illness and then been outraged that she’d called the sheriff. Dan had said she’d embarrassed him. Not once had he taken into account what he’d put her through. Two days of bitter, sullen silence had passed before they could speak to each other again. Now this.

  Grace was right—Dan didn’t come home after work, nor did he show up that night. Despite a determined effort, she didn’t sleep. Her mind played tricks on her until, too exhausted to do anything else, she drifted off an hour before the alarm buzzed. She was tempted to call in sick, but decided against that. Staying home, pacing and worrying about where her husband might be or with whom, wasn’t going to help.

  Tuesday afternoon, she walked hopefully into the house and found it cold and silent. Dan wasn’t back. The phone rang and she nearly tore it off the wall in her eagerness to answer.

  “Mom, I just want to thank you and Dad for having Paul and me over for dinner.”

  “It was our pleasure,” Grace said, doing her best to hide her fears.

  “Daddy was in a good mood.”

  “Yes, he was.” Grace closed her eyes in an effort to concentrate on the conversation.

  “Mom,” her daughter said cautiously, “is everything all right?”

  “Of course…I think so,” she corrected.

  The line went silent, then, “What does that mean?”

  Because she didn’t know where else to turn, Grace told her daughter. “I haven’t seen your father in nearly two days.”

  “You haven’t seen Dad? But where is he?” Kelly asked, anxiety sharpening her voice.

  “I…don’t know.”

  “Shouldn’t you call someone?”

  “I phoned the sheriff’s office the first time and learned that—”

  “This has happened before?” Kelly cried. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Her daughter was upset with her, and that was the last thing Grace wanted. Not with Kelly pregnant. A risky pregnancy at that.

  “I’m on my way over,” Kelly said adamantly.

  “Kelly, no, there’s nothing you can do.”

  “Does Maryellen know?”

  Grace released a shuddering sigh. “I…I haven’t told anyone.”

  “I’m coming over,” her daughter insisted, and then slammed down the phone.

  Twenty minutes later, both Maryellen and Kelly arrived. They stormed into the house like avenging angels.

  “What happened?” Maryellen demanded. The two girls gathered around the very table where they’d sat as children.

  Grace told them everything she could remember.

  “Where would Daddy go?”

  Grace forced herself to look away. Although she didn’t want to admit the possibility, she had to let them know her thoughts. “I think there might be another woman.”

  Both of her daughters vehemently rejected that idea.

  “No,” Maryellen said first.

  “Not Daddy,” Kelly chimed in. “How can you even suggest such a thing?”

  Dan had denied it, too. But he’d been so emotionally detached from her lately, so remote and moody. Another woman was the only plausible excuse that would explain his behavior.

  “I don’t believe that,” Maryellen insisted.

  “Then where is he?” she cried.

  Neither of her daughters answered.

  “Think,” Kelly urged.

  “What could Daddy have been looking for?” Maryellen asked. “You said it seemed like he was searching for something before he left.”

  “But he didn’t take anything.” Grace had carefully folded all his clothes and placed them back inside the drawers. Apparently he’d found whatever he’d been seeking with such impatience, although she couldn’t find a single thing missing.

  “He’s coming back,” Kelly said. “Otherwise he would’ve packed a suitcase.”

  “Of course he’s coming back,” Maryellen agreed, as though it was a foregone conclusion.

  “I’m sure he will,” Grace said. He had the first time, hadn’t he? That gave her hope, although her heart told her something else.

  They were all silent after that. There seemed nothing left to say. Grace reached for her daughters’ hands and squeezed them, hoping to offer reassurance when she had damn little to give.

  “What are we going to do next?” Maryellen, the no-nonsense one, was determined to take some kind of action. Grace didn’t know how to advise her. Maryellen was the daughter of her heart. She didn’t favor one girl over the other, but her oldest child was most like her. Maryellen had married young and unwisely, and, after one year, divorced. Now in her mid-thirties, she didn’t seem likely to repeat the experience. Grace had wanted a different life for her, but Maryellen, who managed a local art gallery, seemed content, and that was all that mattered.

  “We should inform the sheriff,” Kelly said.

  Grace explained what she’d learned earlier. It wasn’t against the law to disappear.

  “We have to let the authorities know, anyway,” Maryellen muttered.

  “We can have posters printed up, too,” Kelly suggested. She stood and started pacing.

  “No.” Grace adamantly opposed that idea. If Dan was coming back, and she suspected that eventually he would, he’d be furious if she allowed his face to be posted around town. “Your father wouldn’t want that.”

  “Too bad. Then he shouldn’t have left.”

  “I’d prefer to wait.” Grace pleaded for time.

  “How long?”

  “One more day is all I’m willing to give him,” Maryellen said, narrowing her eyes.

  “If your father hasn’t returned in another day or two, we should probably contact the authorities,” Grace announced, knotting a tissue in her hand. “Other than that, I don’t feel there’s anything we can do. Your father has chosen to leave. He went of his own free will—”

  “We don’t know that,” Kelly protested.

  “It happened before,” Grace reasoned. “He returned when he was ready.”

  “And he will again.”

  She nodded. “We’ll just have to wait.” Hard as it was, she couldn’t see doing anything else.

  “I don’t know where Dad is, but I’m positive that he’d never leave you for another woman,” Maryellen said softly.

  Grace hugged her daughters and reluctantly let them go. She stood on the porch, both arms wrapped around her as they drove off to their respective homes. She was alone now, totally and completely alone.

  Her daughters refused to believe that Dan had found another woman, but she’d suspected it for a very long time. She didn’t want to believe it, either, but couldn’t think of anything else to explain his disappearances.

  Olivia knew the minute they met for their aerobics class that Wednesday. Grace didn’t need to utter a word.

  “Dan?”

  Grace nodded as they walked toward the gym.

  “When?”

  “The last time I saw him was Monday morning.”

  “No word since?”

  “None.”

  Olivia exhaled. “Are you all right?”

  Grace bit her lower lip. “Do I have a choice?” Dan was determined to punish her for a list of sins she didn’t even know she’d committed. The last laugh, however, would be hers. Grace had no intention of continuing this charade of a marriage.

  Dan’s latest disappearing act was the end. She was getting out. Dan might well ret
urn, and when he did, she’d have him served with divorce papers.

  This was the end.

  Ten

  Cecilia had never been prouder of anything. The test paper had a huge A scrawled on the front and Mr. Cavanaugh, her algebra professor, had written Well Done! in bright red pen across one corner. She’d aced the test. After class Mr. Cavanaugh, who had to be in his late fifties, asked if she’d talked to a counselor about her next quarter’s classes. She told him she hadn’t and he suggested she take more math courses, since she showed aptitude in that area.

  Cecilia had been giddy with joy ever since. The first person she thought to tell was her father, who spent most of his time at The Captain’s Galley, on one side of the bar or the other. She’d see him soon enough, she decided. Cathy Lackey came to mind next, but it might sound as though she was bragging and Cecilia didn’t want that. Feeling slightly deflated, she headed home, picking up her mail in the lobby.

  She automatically tossed the envelopes down on the kitchen table and shrugged off her backpack. That was when she saw Ian’s letter. Funny how a little thing like a letter could throw her for a loop. Cecilia stared at it a full thirty seconds before she reached for it and carefully tore it open.

  April 12th

  Dear Cecilia,

  Andrew got a letter from Cathy this week and she wrote that the two of you recently got together. I assume you have the car by now and hope you aren’t too stubborn to drive it.

  Ian Randall was a fine one to talk, Cecilia mused. Her husband was more stubborn than any man she’d ever met. But since she’d been driving his car for nearly a month, she couldn’t very well complain.

  I realize you’re probably upset with me over the way I acted when you came to see me at the hospital. I don’t blame you. My only excuse is that I was in a lot of pain. I was mad as hell about being so stupid. It was my own carelessness that caused the accident. Andrew should never have told you; it wasn’t necessary for you to know.

  Cecilia disagreed. She was his wife and he’d been hurt. She was grateful Andrew had called her.

  We’ve had our differences the past few months, but after our “date,” I had real hope we might look beyond all that. Then I had to go and blow everything. I’m genuinely sorry, Cecilia.

  It damn well took him long enough to apologize! Nor did it escape her notice that he hadn’t mentioned the lovemaking. If he was willing to ignore it, then so was she!

  I know you don’t have a computer, but I’m including my e-mail address at the end of the letter in case you find a way of contacting me. Hearing from you would mean a great deal.

  Andrew said you and Cathy have become friends and started connecting with some of the other Navy wives. I’m glad. The Navy isn’t so bad, you know. There are a lot of good people here.

  Cecilia regretted rejecting those potential friends earlier.

  Tell me about school—if you write me back that is. I’ll bet you’re at the top of the class.

  Love,

  Ian

  Randall-Ian-M HT2

  P.S. About that night…is everything all right? You know what I mean.

  He was asking if she’d gotten pregnant. He should be concerned. They’d been stupid and this wasn’t the first time, but she swore it would be the last.

  Cecilia read the letter through again. Her overwhelming reaction was pleasure. It wasn’t a long letter, but she knew Ian had agonized over every word. The apology had been hard for him. Well, she deserved one. She was gratified that he’d asked about school; it was almost as though he knew she’d gotten the A on her final.

  Cecilia left for work a few minutes early that afternoon and drove to the library. Fortunately, one of the computers was free. Cecilia slipped into the seat and logged on to the Internet. Her message was brief and to the point, because she didn’t have a lot of time and because she wasn’t entirely sure it would go through, anyway.

  April 16th

  Dear Ian,

  Your letter arrived this afternoon. Apology accepted. I miss you.

  Cecilia

  P.S. Rest assured all is well.

  Curiosity got the better of her the following day, and she returned to the library and was thrilled to find an e-mail waiting for her from Ian.

  April 17th

  Dearest Cecilia,

  I was really happy to hear from you. What did you mean, you miss me? Is it true? I don’t care if it is or isn’t, I’m taking it at face value. Andrew and Cathy e-mail each other nearly every day and she wrote about inviting you to the “girls’ night out.” I’m glad you’re making friends.

  Life on an aircraft carrier is a whole lot different than a submarine. I didn’t know if I was going to like it, but it’s all right, I guess.

  Love,

  Ian

  P.S. Is all really well?

  April 18th

  Dear Ian,

  My final grades are posted for the Algebra and English classes and I got a 4.0 in both. I’m so THRILLED! Mr. Cavanaugh suggested I take an advanced Algebra class, and I am. I’m still working weekends, filling in as a cocktail waitress and am putting aside my tip money for school.

  I know you got the transfer to the John F. Reynolds because of Allison, and because of me. I appreciate what you did, but, Ian, it was too late. If you want to transfer back to the submarine, then that’s what you should do.

  I have to hurry to work. Sorry, I wish this could be longer. I will write you a real letter soon, I promise. School starts up again in two weeks.

  Think of me.

  Cecilia

  April 19th

  Dear Cecilia,

  You asked me to think of you—that was a joke, right? I think of you all the time. You’re my wife, no matter what the attorney tries to tell me. Are we still getting the divorce? God, I hope not. I never wanted it. You know how I feel about that whole issue. Sorry, I didn’t mean to harp at you about that. I’ll live with whatever you decide.

  You said something about me transferring from the Atlantis, and why I did it. This might come as a shock, but I didn’t do it for you. Not entirely. I did it for me, too. When we were deployed that last time before Allison was born, you and I never suspected you’d have the baby while I was away. Neither of us had the slightest warning of what would happen. When I returned, our daughter had already been buried. You were hurting so badly, and I realize now that I wasn’t much help to you, mainly because I was dealing with my own pain. I guess I really didn’t know how to help. You hated the Navy, and I felt as though you hated me, too. It wasn’t a good time for either of us. I never told you—perhaps if I had, we might not have gone down the path we did—but after my last tour on the Atlantis, I tried to get out of the Navy. My baby was dead and my marriage was falling apart and I was about as low as I’ve ever been in my life. I’m not blaming you, I swear it. My CO talked to me and arranged a transfer to the John F. Reynolds. The paperwork said it was for psychological reasons.

  Congratulations on your classes! I’m proud of you. We’ll celebrate when I’m back home. It’s less than five months now. That seems like a lifetime, but the weeks will go fast. I love you and that’s not going to change.

  Ian

  P.S. Don’t freak out over me telling you how I feel. I haven’t mentioned my feelings for you in a long time, because it didn’t seem you wanted to hear. You still might not, but I’m hoping you do.

  April 22nd

  Dear Ian,

  I had to wait until the library opened to e-mail you back—that’s why the long delay. Cathy told me there are places I can go other than the library and after having to wait all weekend to contact you, I’m going to do it. I was so frustrated! Other than that, I had a good weekend.

  I had my best tip night ever on Saturday. I know you don’t like me working the bar. I don’t much care for it myself, but it’s the only way I have of getting ahead financially. The tips are decent and Bobby’s around, so I don’t have to put up with harrassment from customers. Believe
it or not, he’s keeping an eye on me. He even threatened to throw a guy out last week! Hardly seemed like my peace-loving father.

  That’s my little confession—I wanted to tell you about staying on at the bar after you explained about the transfer from the Atlantis to the John F. Reynolds. You’re right. It would have helped if we’d communicated.

  I know you love me, Ian. Through everything, I’ve always known how you felt, but sometimes loving someone just isn’t enough. You asked about the divorce. I don’t know how I feel about it anymore, but at the same time I don’t know if I want to stay married, either. One thing I’m sure of—I don’t ever want another child. This latest scare made that very clear to me. I can’t believe we took such a risk again. The most profound lesson I came away with, after Allison, is that I was never meant to be a mother.

  You deserve to be a father.

  Considering that, you might not want to talk to me again. The choice is yours.

  Always,

  Cecilia

  Charlotte Jefferson waited patiently until her daughter was finished with court for the day. Twenty minutes after the last case was heard, she knocked on her chambers door.

  “Come in.” Olivia sounded distracted, which meant she was probably reading briefs and preparing for her next session.

  Charlotte turned the knob and peeked inside. Coming to her daughter with her own needs was not an easy thing to do. Olivia was a busy professional, and Charlotte tried very hard not to be a hindrance to her children.

  “Mom.” Frowning, Olivia stood up behind her desk. “What’s wrong?”

  Charlotte had hoped to disguise her tears. She’d been feeling depressed—that was the only word for it—ever since she’d heard about Tom Harding’s death. He’d been gone for more than a month now, and it hadn’t gotten any better and she didn’t feel she could delay this task any longer. Janet had already asked about the key; Charlotte knew she’d have to return it soon. But she’d already let Tom down once and she couldn’t do it again.