Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber
of value in life involves risk.”
Her daughter pressed her forehead against Olivia’s shoulder. “Oh, Mom, I wish I knew what to do.”
“Follow your heart.”
“I can’t,” she whispered brokenly.
“Why not?”
“I’m afraid it’ll lead me straight to Seth.”
Olivia patted her back gently, but found it impossible not to smile.
June 25th
Dearest Cecilia,
I know it’s probably a shock to get a letter from me. I’ve gotten into the habit of sending e-mails because they’re convenient and easy, and so much faster. Today, however, e-mail just seems too impersonal. It doesn’t feel right to sit down at a computer. Not today, June 25th.
You didn’t say anything, but I’m sure Allison Marie has been on your mind. If she’d lived, we’d be celebrating her first birthday. And this year, just like last year, her daddy’s out at sea.
I don’t know if there are words enough to tell you how much I regret not being with you when Allison was born. I would’ve done anything, given everything I possess or ever will, to have the opportunity to hold my little girl just once. There’s an ache inside me that will never go away, knowing that not only could I not be with you, but I was denied the one opportunity I had to see my daughter.
Your getting pregnant when you did last year wasn’t a real surprise. A part of me was looking for it to happen, I think. I was crazy about you from the moment we met, and despite the separation, that hasn’t changed. Allison Marie was a gift from God. I don’t know why she had to die or what purpose her life served, but I do know I have no regrets about us marrying. Not a single one. Together we created a beautiful baby and together we loved our child. We still love her. The key word here is together, Cecilia. And that’s the way I want us to stay.
After the accident on the John F. Reynolds, you told me you love me. Oh, honey, you don’t know how good it was to hear you say it. My ribs hurt like hell, otherwise I would’ve been shouting loud enough for you to hear me all the way in Cedar Cove.
Let’s not do anything foolish—like get that divorce. When the John F. Reynolds pulls into Bremerton shipyard, I hope you’ll be there with all the other wives, waiting for their husbands. I don’t want this to be the end of our marriage, but the beginning of our lives together. I think Allison would approve of her mommy and daddy celebrating her birthday, don’t you? After all, she brought us together, didn’t she? It’s time we put away the pain and celebrated her life, short as it was. Because of Allison, you’re my wife and I’m your husband and that’s how we should remain.
I love you so much.
Ian
Seventeen
Charlotte was fast losing patience with Cliff Harding. He’d assured her he’d come to town to look over the things she’d taken from Tom’s storage unit, but that was more than a month ago. Cliff continued to delay the meeting. Although his excuses sounded plausible, Charlotte could see that this simply wasn’t a high priority for him.
That distressed her, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“I’d drive out and see him myself,” her friend Laura told her on the Monday following her birthday.
Charlotte was with her knitting friends at the Senior Center. A few weeks ago she’d casually mentioned talking to Tom’s grandson, but hadn’t told them everything involved. She wasn’t about to admit, even to her nearest and dearest friends, that she’d committed a felony.
“I would, too,” Evelyn added. “From what you said, it isn’t that far.”
“It’ll mean driving on the highway.” Any road with more than two lanes terrified Charlotte. Cars whizzed past, and no matter what lane she was in, she seemed to annoy the other drivers, especially if she followed the posted speed. What did these people think the speed limit was, anyway? A suggestion? Everyone seemed to be in such an all-fired hurry these days. She’d drive over to see him if she had to, but she wouldn’t like it and she’d make darn sure Cliff Harding heard about it.
“I don’t know what it is with young people today,” Helen muttered, jerking on her yarn with unnecessary force. “They don’t respect their elders the way we were taught to.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” This came from Bess, who nodded emphatically.
“You were his grandfather’s friend. One would think he’d welcome the opportunity to thank you.”
“It didn’t escape my notice,” Helen said, leaning toward Bess, “that he didn’t visit his grandfather, either.”
“I’m going to phone him again,” Charlotte said, decision made. “And I’ll let him know when he can expect me.” She’d put it off for nearly five weeks already. Cliff Harding always had an excuse. There had been that business trip, and last week there was a brief message on her answering machine—one of his horses was about to foal and he couldn’t leave. Charlotte could only imagine what his excuse would be this week. And the next. No, Laura was right, it was time to take matters into her own hands.
When Charlotte returned home, she tucked away her knitting, made a fuss over Harry, and then, filled with determination, headed toward her phone.
Tom’s grandson answered, sounding far more congenial than he ever had before.
“This is Charlotte Jefferson,” she announced.
“Yes, Mrs. Jefferson, I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you.”
Charlotte just bet he had. Probably with another of his lame excuses. “I’m sorry to trouble you again, but seeing that you’ve been unable to keep your appointment with me—”
“That was what I planned to discuss with you. Would this afternoon be convenient?”
The indignation that had been bolstered by her friends’ well-meaning advice was suddenly unnecessary. “This afternoon would be fine,” she muttered, feeling deflated and, truth to tell, a little disappointed. She’d been ready to blast him; she’d even worked out some very effective remarks about family duty on the drive home. Now she wouldn’t be able to use them.
“I imagine it’s a bit disconcerting to be sleeping with a gun under your bed.”
Charlotte heard the teasing in his voice and decided to ignore it. “Actually, I moved the gun to my underwear drawer.” She didn’t mention that she’d wrapped it in an old girdle.
“Your underwear drawer?” he repeated.
Again, she’d amused him, but this time she couldn’t fathom why. That was a clever hiding place in her opinion. No one breaking into the house, if they got past her overprotective cat, would think to search for anything of significance in a drawer of cotton panties. Anything that was the least bit important in Charlotte’s house invariably ended up there. Her savings passbook was tucked inside her support panty hose. No thief was going to catch her off guard.
“What time will you be here?” she wanted to know.
“Is around four okay?”
“That would be perfect.” Charlotte gave him directions to her home and they ended the conversation. Then, because she wanted to be hospitable, she baked cookies. The recipe had been given to her three years ago at a seniors’ potluck and it always went over well. Men, especially, seemed to like these cookies, which were thick with chocolate chips, coconut and pecans.
She’d just finished scraping the last of the batch from the cookie sheet when the doorbell rang. Charlotte hurried toward the front door, picking up Harry to keep him from escaping. Her cat purred in her ear as she turned open the three locks. The last one had been installed only recently. Charlotte wasn’t going to make a