Ultimate Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber
before her name was called. She reached for the telephone and cried out, “Ian?”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m fine. I really am.” He briefly relayed what had happened and said it looked like he had a couple of cracked ribs. “I’m tough, you know that.”
“Yeah, right,” she joked through her tears.
“How did you hear about the accident?” he asked.
“I had the radio on while I was studying—”
“Algebra, I’ll bet,” he interrupted.
She smiled. “Yeah. Guess what?” she added. “Mr. Cavanaugh suggested I take an accounting course next quarter. I’d never thought about doing any bookkeeping.”
“Does that interest you?”
“I’m not sure yet.” But the more she thought about it, the better she liked the idea.
“I’ve only got a couple of minutes,” Ian said. Obviously someone had told him to hurry it up.
“I know.” She’d been warned about the time limitations. “I’m glad you weren’t badly hurt.” An understatement if ever there was one.
“I am, too. I’m missing you something fierce. Don’t stop writing me, okay?”
“I won’t,” she promised. She looked forward to hearing from him, too. It felt almost as though they were dating again, only this time their dates came in the form of e-mails and postcards. Their communication was comfortable and yet intimate and helped remind her of all the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.
A minute or so later, it was time to end the conversation, long before Cecilia was ready.
“I love you,” her husband told her.
“I love you, too.”
Her words were followed by a short silence. Then, “Say it again, Cecilia. I need to hear it.”
“I love you, Ian Randall.”
Cecilia was feeling warm and safe when she returned to the main room, where Cathy waited for her. Her friend watched her anxiously. “He’s got two cracked ribs and is in a lot of pain, but he’s okay.” Even though Ian had done a good job of disguising his discomfort, she knew he was hurting.
“You ready to head to the hospital?” Cecilia asked.
Cathy nodded. She wore a look of serenity. “We can go,” she said, “but I have a strong feeling that everything’s just fine. Somehow, I had this sense, when I found out Andrew wasn’t one of the injured, that I had nothing to fear.”
Cecilia sincerely hoped her friend was right.
Grace wasn’t sure why she looked inside the drawer on Dan’s nightstand. She sat up in bed reading and for no obvious reason she found herself staring at it.
Moving slowly, she set aside the latest John Lescroart hard-cover and stretched across the bed. Dan’s nightstand was exactly as he’d left it. A crossword puzzle book lay open, the spine bent. The glass jar where he tossed his loose change was untouched.
She frowned, pulling open the drawer. Inside were a deck of cards, some receipts and a paperback novel he hadn’t finished. Then she saw it. There in the corner. His wedding band.
He hadn’t worn it in years. After he started working in the forests, he’d removed it and worn it only on special occasions. The last time he’d put it on, the ring had been tight; it had barely fit. She picked it up and held it with two fingers. She gazed at the ring as though this inanimate object could reveal her husband’s secrets.
Why had he come back to Cedar Cove? Why risk being seen? Then again, perhaps that was what he wanted. To taunt her, to humiliate her. So he’d come here with another woman.
Grace gritted her teeth and studied the wedding band, comparing it to her own, which was thin and worn. After all these years his ring still looked brand-new, as if when he accepted it, he’d had no intention of honoring his vows.
Anger boiled up inside her. Suddenly, she rolled onto her back and with every bit of strength she possessed, hurled the ring across the room. It hit the wall and tumbled across the carpet. Her labored breathing continued for several moments as the rage held her in its grip. Finally she managed to calm down.
Reaching for the novel, she repositioned herself against the pillows, but quickly realized she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on her book. The fierce anger returned. She struggled to regain her composure, but it was like trying to avert a wind-storm by holding out her arms.
Not knowing what to do, she slid off the bed and stood barefoot in the middle of the bedroom. Her hands were so tightly clenched her nails bit into the soft flesh of her palms.
“How dare you show up in Cedar Cove with her,” she hissed.
Her daughters refused to believe Dan had another woman, but Grace knew. She’d known for months. There was someone else and, she thought now, that someone else had been in his life for a very long time.
Kelly had insisted there’d be some evidence, but Grace had all the evidence she needed. It’d started years ago. The emotional distance and the wild mood swings had been going on for so long, she couldn’t remember when they’d begun. Evidence, she realized, of someone dealing with guilt and remorse.
By God, she’d prove it. Not to her daughters but herself. Dan had left some evidence; he must have. It was right here in this room—where else could it be? After years of reading mysteries, she should’ve thought of this sooner. The evidence she sought was probably something ordinary, something right in front of her eyes. Something tangible… Proof that Dan was living with another woman.
She banged open the sliding closet door and jerked a shirt free of its hanger. The force of her rage left the wire hanger swinging like a pendulum. She checked the pocket, tossed the shirt aside and reached for another one.
Nothing.
He’d been too smart for her, or so he thought, destroying all the evidence. But Grace wouldn’t be foiled, not this time.
The second shirt joined the first one on the carpet. Soon the floor was heaped with Dan’s clothes. Her shoulders heaving, she grabbed as many as her arms could carry and hauled them through the house, dumping everything at the front door. Staring at the heap, she unlocked the dead bolt and threw open the door with a fury that made it crash against the opposite wall. Then, standing on the top step, she flung her husband’s clothes into the night. Trip after trip, she repeated the action, until his half of the closet had been stripped bare and every bit of clothing Dan owned was sprawled across the porch and the sidewalk.
Then, nearly tripping over her cotton nightgown, she kicked a dress shirt on the top step, and sent it soaring into the darkness. A pair of work pants went next as she got caught up in a frenzy of kicking, hurling his clothes one piece at a time.
Sobbing now, she sank onto the porch step and covered her face with both hands.
“Dan!” she screamed. “Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?”
Only silence answered. Her rage hadn’t brought him back, nor had her love. All that was left were her tears. The emotion poured out of her until she was spent and weak.
Wiping the tears from her face, she staggered back into the house, not bothering to lock the door. If someone wanted to break in and kill her, she’d welcome death. It was better than this nightmare that had become her life, better than having to walk into an empty house every night and acknowledge that the man she’d loved no longer wanted to be with her.
What was it Dan had told her? His idea of hell was spending the last thirty-five years living with her. Right to her face he’d said such a thing, not caring how that made her feel. Not caring that his words were as brutal as any weapon.
“I hate you…” she whispered as she crawled back into the bed. “Oh, God, I hate you.”