311 Pelican Court. Debbie Macomber
“Does he know?” Her guess was he did, and that was the key to their current troubles.
As Olivia nodded, her hand tightened around her glass. “Do you want to know what he did?” Her brown eyes sparked with irritation. “I swear every time I think about it, I get mad.”
This sounded promising.
Olivia didn’t wait for an answer. “Jack gave me an ultimatum. He claimed Stan’s been after me for months and that I had to choose—either him or Stan.”
“Ye-es?” Grace said, dragging out the word. “And your point is?”
“My point,” Olivia said with exaggerated patience, “is that I’m not some trophy to be won. Furthermore, I’m not willing to play Jack’s silly games.”
“Games,” Grace countered. “It seems to me you’re the one playing games.”
“Me?” Olivia cried.
“Yes, you,” Grace said. “Do you expect Jack to hang around and twiddle his thumbs while Stan waltzes back into your life?”
“No, but I expect him to…to show some gumption. If I’m as important to him as he says, then the least he can do is let me know how he feels.”
Grace frowned. “You mean he hasn’t told you?”
“Told me?” Olivia repeated. “Oh, hardly. He stopped by the house at an inopportune moment about a month ago. Stan had spent the night—”
Grace couldn’t disguise her shock. “Stan…”
“Not you, too,” Olivia said, sounding utterly exasperated. “If you must know, he slept in James’s old room upstairs. It was completely innocent. I can’t believe you’d think I’d let him back in my bed….”
“I don’t know what to think,” Grace said, eager to learn what had taken place. “Go on, tell me what happened.”
“Jack and I were supposed to meet the next morning, but he showed up early with coffee and doughnuts, and there was Stan in my housecoat and fuzzy slippers. He looked ridiculous, but that’s beside the point.”
“And naturally Jack assumed the worst.” He’d jumped to conclusions, just as Grace almost had.
“Naturally,” Olivia echoed. “I went after him and tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. He said if I wanted to get back together with Stan, that was fine with him.”
Grace frowned again. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”
Olivia paused. “Maybe not in so many words, but that was his message. I have to tell you it upset me that he actually thought I’d sleep with Stan when the two of us had been seriously dating.”
A picture was beginning to take shape in Grace’s mind. “You haven’t heard from him since, have you?”
“No. Mom thinks I should phone him.” Slowly Olivia raised her eyes to meet Grace’s. “Is that what you think, too?”
Grace shrugged. If she was the one in this situation, she might, but then…
“The thing is,” Olivia said, biting her lower lip, “I want Jack to show some commitment here. Proof that he cares. If he honestly loves me, I think he should fight for me.”
“Fight for you?” The image that came to Grace’s mind, of Jack and Stan standing in the driveway, dukes raised, was comical. “You mean you want him to challenge Stan to a fistfight? Or—” she grinned, imagining them in Regency-era costumes, brandishing pistols “—a duel?”
“No, of course not,” Olivia said impatiently. “I want him to give me some indication, a sign that I’m worth more to him than his stupid male pride. That’s all.” She lowered her eyes. “He’s acting like a hurt little boy.”
“I imagine he is hurt.”
“Well, so am I. He instantly decided I’d spent the night with Stan, although we’d been seeing each other exclusively. If he really believes I’m that kind of woman, I’m better off without him.”
“Don’t give up on him so quickly.”
“It’s been almost a month, Grace.” Slowly, sadly, she shook her head. “What else am I supposed to think? He’s apparently content just to drop the relationship.”
“What about you?” Grace asked. “Are you willing to walk away from Jack?”
She didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think so,” she finally said.
This was encouraging. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she readily admitted. “Give it time, I guess.”
Grace nodded. She drained her tea, stood and set her glass in the sink. “Let’s get back to painting.”
“Just a minute,” Olivia said, stopping her. She was still seated. “While we’re on the subject of men, tell me what’s happening between you and that good-looking rancher.”
Grace wanted to groan out loud. She’d really prefer not to discuss Cliff Harding. They’d been seeing each other for nearly a year; they’d met shortly after Grace had filed for divorce. She hadn’t officially gone out with him until her divorce was final, but he’d let her know he was interested. Grace was interested in him, too; however, for some reason, their mutual attraction made her uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.
“I’m not really sure,” she murmured. “That’s part of the problem.”
“You mean a decent, wonderful man comes into your life and you can’t figure it out?”
Grace ignored the light sarcasm. “Dan and I got married so young,” she said, and because it was apparent that Olivia wasn’t going to let her escape, she reclaimed her seat. “We were just teenagers, and then Dan went off to Vietnam. But despite all that, despite the difficulties we had, I never looked at another man.”
“I know,” Olivia said, her voice low and soothing.
“Given the least bit of encouragement, Cliff would ask me to marry him.”
“He was so kind the day of Dan’s funeral.”
Grace could only agree. Cliff had showed up at the house following the wake and tenderly looked after her. She’d been exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. That afternoon, Cliff had comforted her, tucked her into bed and made her dinner. Grace had never met anyone as thoughtful as Cliff Harding, and, frankly, the way that made her feel frightened her.
“I know Cliff wants us to be serious,” she said, her voice trembling, “but I haven’t dated anyone except him since Dan disappeared.”
“You think seeing a man exclusively—any man—is the same trap you fell into during high school?” Olivia asked. “Is that it?”
“I didn’t want to be divorced or a widow, but I’m both. I guess I don’t want to limit myself to one person at this stage. I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship.” There, she’d said it, and as soon as the words were out she understood what had been happening and why.
“Grace?” Olivia was studying her closely.
“That’s it,” she breathed. The insomnia, the anxiety, it all made sense to her now. She didn’t need her bedroom repainted to help release her from the memories of her dead husband. Yes, she had concerns about some information Dan had given her in the letter he’d written just before his death, information to think about, but Dan had very little to do with what had been churning inside her these last few weeks. All this angst was tied to her relationship with Cliff. What she needed was time and space and freedom to discover who she was—who she’d become—and what she wanted out of life. She needed a chance to be