Rose Harbor in Bloom

by Debbie Macomber

  The lieutenant colonel hesitated. “I want to assure you that the crash site hasn’t been disturbed by enemy combatants.”

  “Oh.” I was grateful for the chair close by, and I sank into the seat, as my knees would no longer support me.

  “All the remains are being retrieved.”

  That had been his promise to me. Somehow, some way, I would have the opportunity to bury my husband. No man would be left behind. That had been Dennis Milford’s promise to me and the army’s promise to Paul when he became a Ranger.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  He hesitated.

  I’d been right. There was more, something he wasn’t telling me. I could sense it. Feel it in every pore of my being. “What else?” I managed the question with some difficulty.

  “I hesitate to tell you this, Jo Marie.”

  “Please, whatever it is, I need to know.” My ear hurt from the pressure of the phone against it.

  “The copter went down with six men.”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Only the remains of five bodies were retrieved.”

  My eyes flared open. “You mean …”

  “It doesn’t mean anything. There’s every possibility that the last victim was thrown from the helicopter or carried away by animals. I don’t want you to pin your hopes on Paul being alive. He isn’t. Accept that.”

  “Do you know whose body is missing?”

  “Not yet. I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “No, no, I’m glad you did.” My pulse was going wild. All along I’d had a feeling, call it intuition, call it whatever you want, but this sensation had been with me ever since I’d received word of the helicopter crash. I’d felt that somehow, some way, Paul would have found a means to survive and had been sending me mental notes telling me to go on with my life until he returned.

  Perhaps it was because our love was so new and we’d found each other when we least expected to fall in love … I’d always felt I would have sensed it if Paul died. Part of me was convinced that in the moment of his death Paul would have managed to come to me and I would know for certain that he was truly gone. In some ways he had come, had surrounded me with his love. This was all so confusing. The problem, I realized, was that I didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t accept that my husband was actually dead. To be hit with news like this changed everything.

  In the weeks that followed the first shocking report of the helicopter crash, I’d been overwhelmed with such horrific grief that I didn’t sleep; I didn’t eat. At night I laid awake, waiting for Paul to come to me, to appear in my dreams. He didn’t … not right away.

  Not until I’d moved to Cedar Cove did I feel his presence. It was the first night I’d slept at the inn. I remembered that life-altering moment as clearly as I did the night it first happened. I’d been sitting by the alcove, half asleep, with the fire in the stone fireplace flickering gently. It’d been a starlit night early in January and all of a sudden Paul was there, as real as anything I’ve ever known. I was awake enough to know what was taking place. I sensed his presence as strongly as if he’d claimed the seat next to mine.

  I remembered I’d been afraid to open my eyes for fear he would vanish, and I couldn’t bear that. I yearned to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. That was the night he’d told me I would heal at this inn and that all who came to stay there would heal, too.

  “Jo Marie.”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Paul is gone.”

  “Yes,” I whispered again, but I felt my heart resist. I didn’t want to believe it, nor did I want to accept it as truth.

  Chapter 17

  After Mary finished breakfast, she returned to her room to get ready to meet George in Seattle. He’d wanted her to spend the day with him, and she’d agreed, although even now, she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. He’d wanted to return to Cedar Cove and get her himself, but she’d refused. Instead, she would take a cab to the ferry terminal in Bremerton and ride over to Seattle on the Washington State ferry. For the entire time Mary had lived in Seattle she’d never ridden the ferry, and that was a downright shame. The state was said to have the largest ferry system in the world, and considering island nations, such as the Philippines, that was impressive.

  Until recently, until she’d been diagnosed with cancer, Mary had been too busy, too involved in her career for such frivolous activities. She was far too impatient to sit in a line and wait for her chance to drive onto a ferry. Far too impatient for many things, including motherhood. This might very well be the only opportunity she would ever have to ride a ferry to Seattle, and she wasn’t about to be cheated out of it because George, bless his dear heart, feared that the ride might possibly tire her out or that she’d catch a chill.

  The taxi arrived at ten-fifteen, which would give her ample time to walk onto the eleven-ten ferry from Bremerton to Seattle. The sailing time was said to be sixty minutes, which would be ideal. Although the morning was overcast, the weather report claimed the sun would burn off the morning clouds. Mary hoped that would be the case, as she’d enjoy viewing the Olympic Mountains from the ferry.

  The cabbie proved to be a friendly fellow who chatted easily during the thirty-minute drive between Cedar Cove and the ferry terminal in Bremerton. Mary couldn’t help being amused by his ongoing dialogue. As little as eighteen months ago, she would have found him an irritation, but a great deal had changed in that time period. She took pleasure in studying him and listening to his stories.

  When they arrived at the ferry terminal, she paid the fare and added a healthy tip. The walk up the platform tired her, but she took it slow and easy, letting the other walk-on passengers speed ahead of her. There’d been a time when she had felt the need to keep up with everyone else and would often lead the way. That was no longer the case. The sounds of the cars driving onto the ferry echoed in the morning as she paced herself, reserving her energy as best she could on the steep climb up the ramp.

  As soon as she was on board, Mary found a seat and gratefully sat down. She looked out over the dark green water and viewed the scene with appreciation and wonder. Seagulls swooped overhead; the sound of their loud caws made her smile, remembering the young man’s comment from the day before about the annual seagull-calling contest in Cedar Cove. She was about to get up and wait in line at the small galley for a cup of tea when George slipped into the seat across from her.

  “George,” she said, unable to hide her surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wasn’t about to let you travel to Seattle without me,” he stated calmly, as if he made a trip on the ferry a routine part of his weekend. “I want to spend every minute I possibly can with you.”

  George had always been wildly romantic. It was one reason she’d fallen so hard for him. “How did you get here?” she asked, thinking he must have driven around.

  “How else?” he asked. “I rode the ferry across from Seattle, walked off, and then walked on again.”

  Mary smothered a laugh. “Are you nuts?”

  “For you, I’m more than willing to be a fool.” He moved to the seat next to her on the padded bench, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and gave her a gentle squeeze.

  Despite what she said, Mary was pleased to see him. Sharing this ride with George would make it all the more meaningful.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’d love a cup of tea.”

  “I’ll be right back.” He stood eagerly, and seemed more than willing to get her anything she might possibly want or need. After taking a step or two, he abruptly turned around.

  Mary raised her head expectantly, and with a smile George bent down and briefly pressed his lips to hers.

  Funny how such a small display of affection could profoundly affect her. Emotion tightened her chest. Really, she mused, furious with herself, she had to get over this ridiculous desire to weep at the drop of a hat. She found it embarrassin
g in the extreme.

  Within minutes George returned with two steaming cups of tea. He’d doctored his own and kept hers just the way she liked it best, hot and strong. That he remembered shouldn’t have surprised her. He’d always been detail-oriented.

  “What are our plans for the day?” she asked, seeing that he’d been the one who’d asked to spend this time with her. “Although after our wonderful dinner last night, I doubt I’ll be hungry again for another month.” George had insisted she try the clam chowder before the entrée, and later dessert, a delicious bread pudding, which he shared with her. He made no effort to hide the fact that he wanted to get some meat on her bones. They hadn’t dealt with the past yet. She’d been tired and anxious, so George hadn’t pressed the issue, and Mary had been grateful.

  “I have a number of plans for our day,” he said, and reached for her hand, folding both of his over hers. “First I wanted to take you to my office.”

  “Good idea.” In the past, his office would have been the first thing she would have wanted to tour. Work had been her life, the focus of her attention, and where she felt most at home, most in her element and comfortable. Her corner office with the incredible view of the New York City skyline, a view she rarely noticed, had once been her kingdom from where she ruled. Cancer, like it had so much else, had put an end to her reign.

  “Then I thought I would take you to my condo.”

  “Perfect.” How thoughtful he was to make sure he didn’t tire her out by filling their day with tourist activities. Mary squeezed his fingers, letting him know she approved.

  “I’ve arranged for us to have lunch there.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “My view is great, and there’s probably nothing in Seattle that you haven’t already seen.”

  “True.”

  “If you have your heart set on …”

  “I haven’t,” she assured him. His plans suited her. She didn’t have the energy for a lot of physical activity. It shocked her how quickly she tired, and being reminded of her limitations only served to depress her. Cancer had threatened nearly every aspect of her life, and she refused to allow it to rob her of this day with George.

  “I’d like to go outside for a while,” she said, as the ferry reached the middle point of its journey. Seeing the view of the Seattle skyline from the front of the ferry was an opportunity not to be missed.

  George hesitated, and Mary could see he was worried.

  “I’ll be fine,” she was quick to assure him. She’d worn a jacket with an extra scarf over her shoulders. Plus, her near-bald head was well protected from the wind.

  Still holding her hand, George led the way outside and onto the area in the front of the ferry. As promised, the view was spectacular. The Space Needle jutted up, reminding her that this was where they’d first met. Wind whistled around her, and the bite of it brought an instant chill to her. Nevertheless, Mary refused to leave. She wanted to hold on to this moment. George was with her, making it all the more precious.

  Ever thoughtful, George moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her torso, offering her his warmth and protection. Closing her eyes, she placed her hands on his arms and savored his warmth and his love.

  The ride seemed to pass in seconds instead of the sixty minutes. When they docked in Seattle, the cars drove off the ferry, making the same clanking sound they had while boarding. George and Mary walked off, following the crowd on the passenger ramp and through the terminal.

  Once on the street they took a short, leisurely stroll down to the waterfront. George kept her close, with her hand around his arm. Mary immediately noticed that a great deal had changed in the years since she’d been away. New businesses had sprung up, and yet much was the same. The original Starbucks was close by, and the Seattle Aquarium was just down the street. The climb up the hill to Pike Place Market would be too much of a challenge now.

  The market held a special place in her heart. She recalled that George would present her with a fresh floral bouquet from Pike Place Market each week. With care, they would often last a full seven days, and the arrangements were usually colorful arrays of exotic flowers, whose names she would never hope to pronounce. She kept them on her desk at work and was reminded of his love every time she glanced in their direction.

  “Are you thinking about what I think you are?” he asked. He’d placed his hand over hers in the crook of his elbow and walked at a slow pace so as not to overly tire her.

  “And what am I thinking?” she asked, glancing at him.

  “Pike Place Market.”

  “The flowers.”

  George laughed. “Remember the time the fishmonger tossed a salmon right over your head?”

  It wasn’t something she was likely to forget. It’d been a magical moment. The entire day had been. If she were to guess, it was that very night that she’d conceived his child.

  Sadness, mingled with regret, settled over her, and she swallowed hard. Always sensitive to her moods, George noticed right away.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Now, what was it you said about showing me your office?”

  George led her to the line of taxis outside the ferry terminal and held open the rear passenger door for her. Once inside, he gave the driver the business address, and almost immediately the cabbie sped off in such a rush that the car bounced as they flew toward Fourth Avenue.

  The tour of his office told Mary a great deal. George had done well for himself. His corner office, with its cherrywood desk and credenza and original artwork, couldn’t help but impress. Pride in him, this man she had loved, stirred in her, and she smiled.

  “This room is so you,” she commented.

  “How so?”

  “Look at your desktop.”

  “What about it?”

  “It’s clean and polished and …”

  “I have a janitorial service that takes care of that sort of thing.”

  Mary was undeterred. “You’re focused and brilliant, and any client should consider themselves fortunate to have you as their counsel.”

  Clearly embarrassed by her praise, George looked away. “I can see it’s time for us to leave.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and gently guided her toward the elevator.

  Although his condo was only a few blocks away, George insisted on getting a cab. Mary could have easily walked the short distance, but she was grateful for this thoughtfulness. His home was on the twenty-fourth floor of a modern high-rise. His living room offered a stunning view of Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains. Mary felt drawn to the windows the moment they entered the condo.

  “Oh, George.”

  “You like it?”

  “How could I not? This view is incredible.”

  He helped her off with her jacket and hung it up in a hallway closet. Mary saw that the kitchen table had been set and that lunch was ready to be served.

  “Shall we have a glass of wine first?” George asked.

  Mary looked away. “I can’t … the medication.”

  “Tea?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Coming right up.” He walked into the kitchen, which was separated from the living area by a long counter.

  “Let me help.”

  Although she offered, Mary knew George wouldn’t allow it, and she was right.

  “Stay put and relax. I don’t want to wear you out.”

  From where she sat, Mary had a good view of George as he set about brewing the tea. He fidgeted about the kitchen, opening and closing drawers. At one point he went completely still and held on to the counter. Mary didn’t need anyone to tell her the cause of his restless uneasiness. He’d brought her to his home because he wanted to delve into the regrets of nineteen years ago.

  This was exactly what she’d feared would happen, and yet he had a right to know the truth, as painful as it would be to tell him.

  “George,” she said softly.

  He whirled around, his look expectant.

  �
��Come, sit with me.” Her hand bounced against the cushion beside her.

  “Your tea …”

  “I’ll drink it later.”

  He returned to where she sat, but he didn’t take a seat. Instead, he paced the area, rubbing his palms together. “Tell me, Mary, why wouldn’t you marry me? We could have made it work. I wanted nothing more than to raise our child and love you.”

  Mary lowered her gaze and struggled for the words. “We tried, we both did, but I could see, even if you didn’t, that it was impossible.” She didn’t mention the pregnancy … She would, but not now. Later she would be stronger; later she would be better able to deal with his anger and disappointment.

  He ignored her response. “How could you have taken that transfer without discussing it with me first?”

  This was an old argument. “You know the answer to that better than I do, George. Please, can we put that decision behind us for now …” This awkward discussion was what she’d feared would happen, and she didn’t have the emotional fortitude to deal with it now. “I could never have been the kind of wife you deserved or the mother a child needs—you know that, George. I had my own goals, and you knew, you always knew, that I never had any desire to be a mother. And then I couldn’t even imagine dragging a child from one side of the country to the other. That’s no life for anyone. I did what I had to do. I know you wanted to marry me, especially after I told you I was pregnant, but this is my body, and a pregnancy was never part of my plans.”

  Her words hung in the air between them. As if he couldn’t face her, George walked away and seemed to mull over her words.

  “Answer me this: Have the years brought you happiness?” His look was intent.

  What a question. Had she been happy? “I don’t know,” she said, being as honest as she could. “But I felt a deep sense of accomplishment.”

  “Did reaching the top of your profession give you what you needed?”

  This question was even more difficult to answer. “In a way, I suppose it did.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it.” He clenched his fists at his sides. “Was it worth it, Mary? Was killing our baby worth it?” The words were calm, but his pain was much louder than any outburst. “I wanted that baby,” he said, his voice trembling with barely restrained anger and gut-wrenching pain.