.
of May first to distract her. She headed for her advanced algebra class early that morning, driving her own car, determined to make the best of the day. This was the next level of algebra and far more challenging than her first course. It helped that Mr. Cavanaugh was teaching this one, too. She liked him a great deal.
Despite her efforts to concentrate during class, her mind drifted in various unsettling directions, finally landing on the very subjects she’d wanted to avoid. Ian, her dead baby and the hopelessness of ever getting an education one course at a time. When she finally graduated with any kind of useful degree, she’d be old enough to collect Social Security.
Feeling depressed, she waited to talk to Mr. Cavanaugh after class. Holding her books tightly against her, she walked to the front of the room.
“Yes, Cecilia,” he said, giving her his attention.
“I…I thought you should know I’ve decided to drop out of class.”
He didn’t reveal any overt disappointment. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there a particular reason?”
Several, but none she could mention. Hanging her head, she shrugged. “I’m not sure where I’ll use this knowledge. I’m a restaurant hostess, not some brainy type who’ll have a career in math.”
“Knowledge is never wasted. You’re right, of course, you might never again have the opportunity to use the quadratic formula, but there’s a certain satisfaction in being able to do so. Don’t you agree?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see.” He reached for his books and placed them inside his briefcase, then left the room.
Cecilia walked with him. Part of her had hoped he’d try to talk her out of quitting. “I did want to thank you.”
“What about your other class? What was it again?”
“Business English,” she supplied.
“Do you intend to drop out of that, too?”
She nodded, clutching her books tighter than ever. The school would refund a portion of the course fees if she pulled out before the end of this week.
“I’m sorry, Cecilia,” he said again.
“I am, too,” she whispered, even more miserable now.
“Give it to the end of the week, all right?”
“Okay,” she agreed, but her mind was made up. She would use the money from the classes to pay for another appointment with Allan Harris. She’d ask him to try to get the prenuptial agreement overturned. He’d mentioned that they could appeal Judge Lockhart’s decree, and with Ian out at sea, that was her only option.
After her classes, Cecilia drove her clunker back to the apartment, hoping to nap before work. Normally she started in on her homework, tackling it with enthusiasm, but not today. Not when there was a very real possibility she wouldn’t be returning to Olympic College after Friday.
The light on the answering machine was blinking. Reluctantly Cecilia pushed the button.
“It’s Cathy,” came the cheerful voice of her friend. “A bunch of us are getting together tonight for dinner. Are you interested? It’s a potluck at my place. I hope you’ll come. Give me a call either way. I’d really love to have you here.” Cathy had become a friend, a good friend, and they made a point of seeing each other every week. Sometimes with the other Navy wives, more often not. They’d scouted out garage sales, gone to an occasional movie, met for Sunday brunch.
But Cecilia couldn’t go tonight, not when she was working the dinner shift at the restaurant. Cathy knew her hours and had invited her anyway, making a point of including her. Cecilia hated having to explain, since it should’ve been obvious that she couldn’t get away.
Cathy answered immediately. “Cecilia,” she cried, sounding really pleased to hear from her. “Say you’ll come.”
“I can’t.”
“But it won’t be the same without you.”
“I’m working and it’s far too late to find a replacement.” That was true enough.
Cathy heaved a sigh of disappointment. “Maybe we should all come down and see you. You know that old saying—if Mohammed won’t come to the mountain…” She didn’t finish the statement, but laughed as though she’d said something clever.
Cecilia didn’t join in. “Maybe next time,” she said in a dull voice.
Cathy hesitated. “Is everything all right? No, don’t answer that. I can tell it isn’t. What’s wrong?”
Rather than tell Cathy the whole truth, she opted for the abridged version. “I’m dropping out of school.”
“You can’t! You love your classes.”
“I need the money.”
“I’ll give you a loan.”
Cecilia was shocked that a friend of such short acquaintance would make an offer like that. “You don’t have any money, either.”
“No, but I can get some…I think. Don’t worry, if worse comes to worst, I’ll take up a collection when I see the rest of the women tonight. We need to stick together, you know? If we can’t give one another emotional support, who will? With our men at sea, all we have is each other.”
Cecilia’s spirits rose, but that was unavoidable with Cathy, whose optimism and generosity always made life seem more promising, somehow.
“I’ll get back to you,” Cecilia told her. Then, despite her mood, she sat down with the algebra book and began working on her assignment. When she looked up, it was past time to leave for work. She tore around the apartment, changing her clothes, and rushed out the door, arriving at The Captain’s Galley just as her shift was starting.
As usual, Cecilia poked her head into the lounge to say hello to her father.
He raised his hand and called out “How’s it goin’?” when he saw her.
“Fine.” No use explaining her depression to him. He wouldn’t know what to say if she did.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered under her breath.
Cecilia hadn’t been at work more than an hour when a deliveryman arrived with a huge bouquet of fresh flowers. Yellow daisies, her favorite, and big pink tulips and a variety of others. “I’m looking for Cecilia Randall,” he said, reading the tag.
Taken aback, Cecilia said nothing for a moment.
“Is there a Ms. Randall here?” he asked, frowning.
“I’m Cecilia Randall,” she told him.
The young man, probably a high-school student, thrust the vase filled with flowers into her arms and left. She didn’t need to unwrap the cellophane and read the card to know they were from Ian. This was exactly the kind of low, underhanded thing he did just so she’d feel guilty. Well, dammit, that wasn’t going to work. She refused to let it.
Setting the flowers down next to the cash register, she removed the plastic and dropped it into the nearby trash can. Then she reached for the card.
Happy First Anniversary. I love you. Ian
Her stomach cramped, and Cecilia feared she was about to be sick. Biting into her lower lip, she waited for the sensation to pass.
“Who are the flowers for?” her father asked curiously, walking into the restaurant.
She didn’t answer right away. “Me, from Ian,” she whispered.
“Really. Any special reason?”
She nodded. “It’s…supposed to be our anniversary.”
“Oh.”