Cedar Cove Collection (Books 1-6). Debbie Macomber
because it didn’t seem you wanted to hear. You still might not, but I’m hoping you do.
April 22nd
Dear Ian,
I had to wait until the library opened to e-mail you back—that’s why the long delay. Cathy told me there are places I can go other than the library and after having to wait all weekend to contact you, I’m going to do it. I was so frustrated! Other than that, I had a good weekend.
I had my best tip night ever on Saturday. I know you don’t like me working the bar. I don’t much care for it myself, but it’s the only way I have of getting ahead financially. The tips are decent and Bobby’s around, so I don’t have to put up with harrassment from customers. Believe it or not, he’s keeping an eye on me. He even threatened to throw a guy out last week! Hardly seemed like my peace-loving father.
That’s my little confession—I wanted to tell you about staying on at the bar after you explained about the transfer from the Atlantis to the John F. Reynolds. You’re right. It would have helped if we’d communicated.
I know you love me, Ian. Through everything, I’ve always known how you felt, but sometimes loving someone just isn’t enough. You asked about the divorce. I don’t know how I feel about it anymore, but at the same time I don’t know if I want to stay married, either. One thing I’m sure of—I don’t ever want another child. This latest scare made that very clear to me. I can’t believe we took such a risk again. The most profound lesson I came away with, after Allison, is that I was never meant to be a mother.
You deserve to be a father.
Considering that, you might not want to talk to me again. The choice is yours.
Always,
Cecilia
Charlotte Jefferson waited patiently until her daughter was finished with court for the day. Twenty minutes after the last case was heard, she knocked on her chambers door.
“Come in.” Olivia sounded distracted, which meant she was probably reading briefs and preparing for her next session.
Charlotte turned the knob and peeked inside. Coming to her daughter with her own needs was not an easy thing to do. Olivia was a busy professional, and Charlotte tried very hard not to be a hindrance to her children.
“Mom.” Frowning, Olivia stood up behind her desk. “What’s wrong?”
Charlotte had hoped to disguise her tears. She’d been feeling depressed—that was the only word for it—ever since she’d heard about Tom Harding’s death. He’d been gone for more than a month now, and it hadn’t gotten any better and she didn’t feel she could delay this task any longer. Janet had already asked about the key; Charlotte knew she’d have to return it soon. But she’d already let Tom down once and she couldn’t do it again.
Dabbing at her eyes, Charlotte came into the room. Olivia walked from her desk and placed her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders. “Sit down, Mom,” she advised gently.
Charlotte complied.
“What is it?”
Blowing her nose, Charlotte took a moment to compose herself. “I need your help.” She sniffled, hating the tears that streaked her face, yet unable to keep them at bay. This emotion was difficult to explain, considering how many of her friends she’d buried.
“Does this have to do with Tom Harding?” Olivia asked, taking her own seat.
Charlotte nodded and wiped her eyes again.
“You miss him, don’t you?”
“I do, but, Olivia, it’s more than just missing him. I feel I was a sorry disappointment to Tom. We’d gotten to be such good friends. I know you probably don’t think that’s possible, with him not being able to speak….”
“I don’t have a single doubt that you meant a great deal to one another.”
“There was nothing romantic between us.” Charlotte wanted that understood. The one and only love of her life was Clyde Jefferson, the dear man who’d been her husband.
“You were friends,” Olivia said. “Good friends.”
“I’m sure that’s what Tom believed, but I fear I failed him. I got so involved with my work on the newspaper that I let myself get distracted.” What distressed her most was thinking of Tom waiting to see her, waiting and waiting, and her being so caught up with her fifteen seconds of fame that she hadn’t bothered to visit him at their usual time…or any other. She’d been too full of her own importance to spare him a couple of hours. And now it was too late.
“Mom, I’m sure Tom understood,” Olivia said with such compassion, Charlotte had to resist the urge to openly weep.
“I hope he did.” She wadded the linen handkerchief in her hand. “There wasn’t even a burial service. I never had a chance to say goodbye….”
“You said you needed my help?” Olivia reminded her.
For a moment, Charlotte had almost forgotten. “Oh, yes, the key.”
“That’s right,” Olivia said, sitting straighter in her chair. “Tom gave you a key, didn’t he?”
“It’s to a storage unit. I want you to go there with me, if you would.”
Olivia hesitated. She took her role as a duly elected judge far too seriously, in Charlotte’s opinion. She could see that her daughter was weighing the possibility of any conflict of interest. “Is it nearby?”
“Yes, right here in Cedar Cove. Apparently he’s had it for some time.” This had surprised her, since he was transferred to the convalescent center from Seattle. The poor man must’ve had some connection with the area, some reason for choosing Cedar Cove.
“When would you like to go?”
“Can you do it now?”
Olivia closed the files on her desk. “That should work out fine. Do you want me to drive or should we meet there?”
Charlotte wanted Olivia to drive. As emotional as she was about Tom, she wanted the company. Besides, she was finding it difficult to turn and look behind her when using Reverse. Lately she’d been parking in spaces that didn’t require backing up. Looking over her shoulder caused cramping in her neck. If she mentioned it to Olivia again, however, her daughter might suggest it was time to stop driving and Charlotte couldn’t give up her independence.
Olivia drove out on the highway, along the waterfront. The storage unit was off Butterfield Road on the way into Belfair, across from the drive-in theater.
“Do we need to check in?” Olivia asked, stopping in front of the office.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said. It didn’t look as though anyone was there. “I have the key and the receipt.”
“Then we’ll go directly to the unit.” Olivia pulled forward until they located the number written on the receipt.
“This must be it.” Charlotte climbed out of the car, taking her time. She didn’t move as quickly as she once did, nor did she move as gracefully as she would have liked. It was especially difficult getting in and out of cars.
Olivia was waiting for her. The unit looked much bigger than Charlotte had anticipated. Olivia took the key from her and inserted it in the lock. The door swung upward. Inside the darkened space was one large trunk surrounded by assorted furniture. A sofa and chair, a saddle and what seemed to be a painting of some sort, covered by a blanket.
The painting interested Olivia and she lifted the blanket. Charlotte glanced at it; when she saw that it was a movie poster of a 1940s cowboy film, she quickly dismissed it.
Then, almost against her will, her gaze swung back to the poster. The man, on a rearing stallion with lightning flashing in the background, looked vaguely familiar. He should, she realized when she read the name. Tom Houston