204 Rosewood Lane (17 page)

“Good, because I don't want to argue, either. But I'm sick of this, Rosie.”

“What is it with you?” she demanded, whirling around. “We can't talk anymore.”

“All I said was that I don't remember you telling me you'd be gone all day.”

“And I said—”

“I know what you said.” He was fast losing his temper. “You might've reminded me.”

“Why, so I could listen to you complain about it?”

Ah, so that was it. She saw him as complaining. The finger had been pointed and it was aimed in his direction.

“I'm making up a to-do list for you,” he snapped, grabbing a pen and paper. “First, we need groceries.”

“You were at the store. You might've picked up more than milk and bread, you know.”

“I work forty hours a week.”

“And I don't?” she shouted.

“Look around you and answer that question for yourself. If you
are
employed, exactly who are you working for? Not your family. Not me. Not our children. A Christmas Bazaar is more important than a Saturday with your family. A bake sale at the mall outweighs decorating a Christmas tree.”

Rosie slammed a pound of frozen hamburger into the microwave. “Don't paint yourself as a martyr in this marriage,
Zachary Cox. If you think you're so perfect, then you can start doing more to help around here. Who said it was
my
responsibility to buy the groceries? You seem to think that because I don't have a nine-to-five job, you can rule my days. I have a life, too, you know.”

“Don't yell!” Eddie screamed. “Don't yell anymore!” He stood in the kitchen entrance, tears in his eyes, his hands covering his ears.

“Eddie, I'm so sorry,” Rosie cried, sounding close to weeping herself. She bent down to hug their son and cast an accusing glare at Zach. “Now look what you've done!”

“Me?” Funny how everything got turned around so that he was the one at fault.

Zach waited until after dinner—a pot of chili thrown together in about twenty minutes, but still an improvement over recent meals—before approaching his wife again. “It's clear we have several issues that need to be addressed,” he began as she watched a rerun of
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
.

“Several issues,” she repeated. “You sound like an attorney.”

“So, I sound like an attorney. Let's just get through the holidays. The kids are hurting.”

“So am I, Zach.”

“I'm not exactly overwhelmed with happiness myself.” He walked out of the family room and into the bedroom. A second television was set up there. He put on the History Channel and tried to watch a documentary about Napoleon.

Rosie came in an hour later. “Do you want to talk this out?”

He glanced in her direction and frankly couldn't see the point of any discussion. “Not particularly.”

She didn't say anything for a moment. “That's what I thought. Just remember I tried, Zach. I sincerely tried. But you're impossible.”

If she was trying so hard, then she'd be with her family where she belonged, Zach thought and steeled himself against giving in. Rosie was the transgressor here, and he wasn't going to drop this until she owned up to her faults.

G
race hadn't been sleeping well since Thanksgiving Day. The more she dwelled on the phone calls, the more she came to believe it'd been Dan on the other end of the line. For some sick reason, her ex-husband felt it was necessary to destroy what little peace she'd found in the months since his disappearance. It had occurred to her that he might even have someone feeding him information about the details of her life. That would explain the timing of the calls.

During the last three weeks, she'd consistently awakened about four in the morning, when the night was its darkest. She was unable to return to sleep and lay there overwhelmed by guilt and fear and pain. She felt anger, too, as she imagined where he was and who he was with—imagined them laughing at her. It had been like this in the beginning, but gradually she'd come to terms with the shock of Dan's actions. Now, following the phone calls, it was bad again, as bad as it had been those first few weeks.

When Grace arrived at the library on Monday morning, her eyes burned from lack of sleep and her spirits were in the doldrums. The only positive feeling she had about the holidays had to do with her grandson. Little Tyler was almost four months old now, and the very light of her life. The problems of the world faded away when she held her grand-baby.

Cliff Harding entered the library just before noon. Grace sensed his presence even before she saw him. He returned a book and then casually strolled toward her desk. He wore a lazy smile that touched her with its warmth.

Grace's mouth went dry, and despite herself, she felt flustered. She knew he'd gone to see his daughter on the East Coast, but she hadn't heard from him since, and for that she was grateful.

“If I asked you to lunch, would you come?” he whispered, leaning against her desk.

Before she could answer, he added, “Charlotte told me your divorce was final Thanksgiving week.”

“It was.” She swallowed hard, unsure how to tell him what was in her heart. She wasn't ready to get involved in another relationship. And she didn't know when she would be. The divorce might be final but the questions, the doubts and fears, continued to haunt her. Legally she was free, but emotionally she clung to the past.

“Lunch?” he repeated.

“I don't think so…. I'm sorry.”

“How about a walk along the waterfront? The sun's out and a leisurely stroll would do us both good.”

Grace agreed; it seemed like a reasonable compromise. “Let me check with Loretta first.”

Her assistant was more than willing to switch lunch hours.
Grace gathered her coat and gloves and met him in front of the library. Cliff was studying the mural when she joined him. The painting was a favorite of hers; the artist had depicted a late 1800s waterfront scene with a family picnicking in the background.

“How was your visit with Lisa?” she asked. From previous conversations, Grace had learned that his daughter was twenty-eight and married to a financial advisor in Maryland.

“Wonderful. She asked me if I was dating yet.” He looked meaningfully in her direction.

“What did you tell her?” Grace asked. She buried her hands in the pockets of her long wool coat and matched her pace to his as they walked toward the gazebo and picnic area. The grandstand was where the Concerts on the Cove were staged each Thursday night during the summer. Now, in mid-December, the whole park was bleak and empty. Their only company was a bevy of seagulls who circled above looking for a hand-out. Their piercing, discordant cries echoed across the waterfront.

“I told Lisa not yet, but I'd picked out the girl.” Again he studied Grace. “I'm just waiting for the girl to notice me.”

Notice him?
Grace nearly laughed out loud. She'd noticed Cliff, all right. But she stood frozen with one foot in her old life and the other unwillingly thrust into a new one.

“Are you going to keep me waiting long, Grace Sherman?”

She wished she had an answer for him.

“Don't say anything,” Cliff said. “I promised myself I wasn't going to press you.” He exhaled, and his breath created a fog in the cold, crisp air. “You asked about my visit with Lisa and I can tell you it was definitely an experience.”

“How so?”

“The day after I arrived, a blizzard hit.”

“I heard about that on the news,” Grace said, remembering the report of the snowstorm that had struck the East Coast Thanksgiving week. “Did you lose your electricity?”

“Right in the middle of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Naturally, the turkey was only partially done. I suggested we serve sushi turkey but no one seemed interested.”

“What did you do?”

“What any enterprising soul would. The turkey got barbecued in the middle of a snowstorm.”

Grace laughed, picturing Cliff huddled over a barbecue with wind and snow whirling all around.

“How about your Thanksgiving?” he asked.

“It was quiet with just me and Maryellen.” She gnawed on her lower lip, wondering if she should mention Dan's phone calls. In the end, she didn't. Then, feeling guilty and uneasy about what she had to say to him, she sank onto the edge of a picnic bench. “Listen, Cliff, maybe this isn't such a good idea.”

“What? Us taking a walk?”

“No… Your daughter's anxious for you to get out into the dating world again and you appear to be ready. I want you to start, but I don't think it's right for me just yet.”

He frowned as if she'd completely missed the point. “What you apparently don't understand, Grace, is that the only woman I'm interested in dating is you.”

Grace shook her head. “Come on, Cliff—I don't believe that. Ask Charlotte to recommend someone. She knows just about everyone in town and once you've met a few other women, you can decide if you still feel the same way.”

His frown was back in place. “You're not the jealous type, I take it?”

A year earlier her response would have been automatic.
There wasn't a jealous bone in her body, she would've said. She couldn't say that any longer. Until a few months ago, she hadn't viewed herself as possessive. Then she'd learned that Dan had been seen with another woman. Afterward she'd been filled with such rage that she'd torn the bedroom apart and dumped his entire half of the closet outside. Dan's clothes had been strewn across the front porch and the yard.

“I don't know about that,” she told him. “I think most people are capable of jealousy. Anyway, I want you to promise me you'll at least consider meeting other women. It'll be good for you, Cliff.” Good for her, too, perhaps.

He walked over to the middle of the large gazebo, stood there a moment, then purposefully strolled back. “Okay. I considered it.”

Grace laughed, shaking her head. “You're not taking me seriously.”

“Oh, but I am.” Cliff sat down on the bench beside her. “I don't want to see any other woman, Grace. I'll wait for you. Like I told you before, I'm a patient man. Don't worry, I'm not going to pressure you, but I might give you a gentle reminder every now and then.”

Grace didn't know why he remained persistent. She hadn't given him any encouragement. And so far, she'd been the only one to benefit from this relationship—she and her garage door.

“I'd like to show you my place someday,” Cliff said. “You and Charlotte can both come. In fact, I'd enjoy it if you would. It'd be completely non-threatening,” he said with a grin. “You can even bring Buttercup if you want.”

Grace thought about it. She'd formed an image of his home, and she was curious to find out if the reality matched her expectations. She nodded. “I'd enjoy a tour,” she said.

“When you're ready to learn how to ride, Brownie's the
one who'll teach you everything you need to know. She's gentle as the day is long, and she's the perfect horse for a beginner.”

“She's agreeable to that, is she?”

“Sure is.” Cliff's eyes danced. “So, should I schedule an outing this month?”

December was usually crowded with engagements, but in her current frame of mind, Grace wasn't in the mood to socialize. The prospect of visiting Cliff's ranch strongly appealed to her.

“I'm free on Saturday afternoon, if Charlotte is.”

Cliff looked pleased. “I'll find out and get back to you.”

“You meant that, about Buttercup coming along?” Her dog was an important part of her life and Grace liked the idea of the golden retriever accompanying her.

“Of course.”

Cliff reached for her gloved hand, taking it between his own. His eyes met hers, and he smiled. “I keep telling you I'm patient, Grace, and it's true. I'm willing to wait for what I want.” Then he turned over her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist.

Grace closed her eyes to savor the moment. She wanted this, too. As much as he did—maybe more—but first she had to get Dan out of her head. And out of her heart. Because, despite everything, he still claimed a piece of it.

 

Maryellen didn't need the pregnancy test kit to tell her what she already knew. Sitting on the edge of her bathtub, she stared at the little blue stick and felt the numbness spread into her arms and legs. It'd been nearly a month now, and she'd done her best to ignore what was becoming increasingly obvious.

Striking her forehead with the heel of her hand, she closed her eyes. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Panic grew inside her until she was sure she was going to faint. Regaining control of her emotions required a monumental effort.

When she could manage it, she stood and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. How pale she was. That explained a comment she'd received earlier in the day. A longtime customer had stopped by the gallery, taken a hard look at Maryellen and asked if she'd had the flu.

A bad case of the flu would've been welcome, compared to confronting the truth of her situation.

What should she do? The question rolled around in her mind like a marble inside a tin can. Difficult as it was, she tried for a while to pretend that nothing was wrong. But after heating a frozen entrée in the microwave, she sat at the kitchen table and sorted through her emotions.

One thing was clear. She wasn't telling Jon Bowman. He was completely out of the picture as far as she was concerned. There was no reason to tell him. No reason to see him. Jon's work was now being represented elsewhere. He need never know about the pregnancy until after the baby was born, and then he'd no doubt assume some other man was the father. That was exactly what Maryellen wanted.

The thought that perhaps he had a right to know wasn't something she could accept at the moment. The thought that perhaps he, too, had a responsibility toward this baby—no. She rejected the idea without further consideration.

Another concern arose: the necessity of keeping this news a secret from her friends and family for as long as possible. A year earlier when Kelly was pregnant, her sister had barely showed. Even in her seventh month, Kelly had worn her
everyday clothes. Maryellen hoped she might be able to hide her condition until then, as well. She'd wear loose dresses and make a point of staying away from formfitting business attire. Hiding her pregnancy would be a challenge but she'd do it while she could.

She needed to make room in her life for the baby. This unplanned pregnancy was a shock but she'd quickly adjusted to it. In a sense, she was getting an opportunity she'd never anticipated. This child,
her
child, was taking shape within her womb, and for a moment she was almost giddy with joy. Then reality hit.

In less than eight months she'd be a mother. Life was giving her a second chance, and this time she wasn't going to repeat the mistakes of the past. This time she wouldn't allow a man to dictate her life—and that of her child.

Overwhelmed by emotion and full of half-formed plans, Maryellen found that sitting at home held little appeal. The Christmas shopping season was in full swing, and if ever there was a night she needed gaiety and fun, it was now.

She headed for the shopping complex on Cedar Cove Drive, next to the six-plex theater. The strip mall held several small businesses, a Wal-Mart, a huge craft store and a hardware outlet. The parking lot was nearly full. Maryellen walked toward the cinemas and glanced over the selections offered, but didn't see any that piqued her interest.

Rummaging around the craft store seemed a far more interesting prospect. It wasn't until she was walking across the parking lot that she saw Jon, coming in her direction. Instinctively, Maryellen froze. Jon saw her and he, too, stopped in his tracks. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to make the first move.

Maryellen recovered before he did and even managed a smile as she continued toward him. “Merry Christmas, Jon.”

“Hello, Maryellen.” His look was guarded, closed. “Christmas shopping?”

“Browsing.” Her shopping had been finished months earlier.

He merely nodded.

“I understand you've taken your photographs into Seattle.” The rumor mill had been quick to inform her that his work was now being displayed in a large Seattle gallery. It was a coup for him and she was pleased to hear it, although the Harbor Street Gallery would miss the money his work generated.

He nodded again.

“Congratulations, Jon.” She genuinely meant that.

“Thank you.”

No need to stand in the middle of a parking lot. “Well, it was nice seeing you.” That was stretching the truth, but it would be impolite to say anything else. She started to walk past him when he stopped her.

“Maryellen.”

“Yes?” She knew she sounded impatient.

“About that night.”

She closed her eyes, not wanting to hear it. “Haven't we already discussed it to death?”

“I didn't plan what happened.”

“So you said.” She didn't dare look at him.