Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber
coffee and apple pie with ice cream.
“What a nice suggestion,” Charlotte said, slicing her fork into her warm pie. It was spicy with cinnamon and went perfectly with the rich vanilla taste of the ice cream. Dessert was an indulgence, but life was too short to do without the occasional treat.
“There’ve been times I wanted to stop by here, but it isn’t any fun eating by myself,” Ben confessed. Shaking his head sadly, he told her, “My wife died six years ago. I don’t know if I’ll ever get accustomed to being alone.”
“My Clyde’s been gone twenty years.”
“Then you know.”
Charlotte did understand. Even after all these years, she still felt the dull ache of a deep but long-ago grief. Clyde was her everything: her faithful friend, constant companion, her husband and lover. The empty space his death had left in her life could never be filled.
“I heard you’re retired Navy,” she said, changing the subject before they became too melancholy.
“Forty years,” Ben confirmed. “I enlisted shortly after World War II, when I was eighteen, served in Korea and Vietnam. Retired as an admiral.”
“Children?”
“Two boys. They’re both married and have families of their own. What about you?”
“You met Olivia, I believe.”
He nodded. “The judge.”
So he did remember. “I have a son, too. Will. He lives near Atlanta, Georgia. He’s a nuclear engineer,” she boasted.
“Steven, my oldest boy, lives in Georgia, too. Ever hear of St. Simons Island?”
“Clyde and I visited there one summer. Let me think—it must’ve been back in the sixties, but I still remember how lovely it was. All those giant live oaks dripping with Spanish moss.”
Ben smiled. “Joan used to love visiting the island.” At the mention of his wife’s name, his eyes grew sad. Because Charlotte understood how devastating it was to lose one’s life mate, she gently patted his hand.
“It does hurt less after a while,” she whispered. “Life is never the same, but gradually we adjust. Every year’s a little easier.” Perhaps it would help if he talked, she thought. “Tell me about her.”
Ben looked surprised. “You want me to talk about Joan?”
“Only if you’d like to.”
He did; that was soon apparent. “Joan went with me all over the world,” he said. “I was stationed in Europe and Asia and in a number of states. Never once did she complain. I promised her that when I retired we’d settle down in one place.”
“And you did?”
“California. We built a home there, had about ten years, but then Joan got sick. Cancer.”
“What brought you to Cedar Cove?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. Dusk was descending, the lights’ reflection playing on the still waters. “I couldn’t stay in that house anymore. I moved to a condo in San Diego, but it didn’t feel right. I’d been up to Washington, the Seattle area, several times. Some friends had invited me to visit after the funeral, and then I came back almost every year. I took the ferry across to Bremerton a couple of years ago. On a whim, I went to Cedar Cove and walked around a bit. I liked it. The people were friendly and I was looking for somewhere new to live.”
“What about your sons?”
“David wanted me to move closer to him—he lives in Arizona—but that didn’t appeal to me. He was planning to take care of me, but I don’t ever want to be a burden to my family.”
“I know what you mean.” Charlotte had the same concerns. She sincerely doubted that Ben would ever be a burden to anyone. He was a proud, capable man, independent by nature.
“How long have you been here?”
“Over a year now.”
That didn’t seem possible.
Ben glanced at his watch and seemed surprised by the time. “My goodness, it’s almost nine-thirty.”
“It can’t be!” Charlotte was sure he’d made a mistake. They’d come here shortly after eight, since the council meeting, which started at seven, had lasted only an hour.
“You’re an easy woman to talk to, Charlotte.”
She felt her heart flutter at his praise. “Thank you.” What she didn’t say was that Ben Rhodes was an easy man to listen to—an easy man to like.
Four
Rosie Cox hadn’t taught grade school in years. Sixteen years, to be exact. When Allison was born, Zach and Rosie had made the decision that she’d be a stay-at-home mother. For years she proudly wore her Every Mother Is A Working Mother pin. Her views about women’s role within the family had leaned toward the militant. A mother’s love and care, especially in the early stages of child development, was vital. At one time, Rosie had prided herself on being the world’s best mother, best wife and best housekeeper. Okay, the housekeeping part was a stretch, but as far as parenthood went, she read all the books, talked to the experts and attended the latest classes. She’d been determined to do everything right by her family.
When Allison and Eddie were both in school, Rosie had briefly toyed with the idea of rejoining the workforce as a teacher. She had the credentials, the hours were ideal and she could have summers off with the kids. There hadn’t been any positions available, but she’d dipped her toe in the employment pool one autumn a few years back, when she’d worked as a cashier in a drugstore. That, however, hadn’t lasted long.
When Eddie entered first grade, Rosie was already involved in a handful of volunteer jobs, which she thoroughly enjoyed. She wanted to contribute to the community and initially Zach had encouraged this. If she wanted to volunteer her services, then it was fine by him, since they’d learned to survive quite adequately on one income. Later, her husband had come to resent the hours she gave to these organizations and complained that she was gone far too many nights. In the end, it was apparent that Zach didn’t want her working, but didn’t approve of her volunteering, either. What he wanted, she realized bitterly, was an old-fashioned wife, subject to his needs and desires. A glorified housekeeper, and never mind the bedroom part because he was obviously getting that somewhere else.
Volunteering had fulfilled her, but that was then and this was now. With the divorce final and the joint custody agreement in place—even if it was the most unusual one on record—Rosie had to find a way of supporting herself.
Her options were limited. After a few refresher classes, which she took over the summer, she was hired by the school district as a substitute teacher. She’d been counting on that. She was in line for a full-time position once an opening became available. Being a substitute, fewer hours equaled less pay, and that worried her until she was assured she could have as many hours as she wanted.
Sure enough, yesterday, the first day of school, she’d been called in to teach a second-grade class at Evergreen Elementary. This was Wednesday, day two of her new working life.
By late afternoon, Rosie’s feet were throbbing and she could feel the beginnings of a migraine. Teaching wasn’t easy, but it was manageable, she told herself. Mrs. Gough, the regular teacher, had had her appendix out over the Labor Day weekend and would be out of the classroom for two to three weeks, depending on her rate of recovery. As a result, Rosie would have a steady income for much of September.
It was almost five by the time she was ready to leave the school. Most, if not all, of the other teachers had gone for the day. The janitor was pushing a broom down the deserted hallway when she walked out of her classroom.
“Good night,” she said as she strolled past him, struggling to smile.
He acknowledged