16 Lighthouse Road (24 page)

“That's great, Mom.”

“I thought so, too.” She finished her wine, and then, because it was obvious that her daughter wasn't in the mood for more company, Charlotte decided it was time to leave.

After a quick peek at the pictures, she gathered her things. Olivia made a token protest, then escorted her to the door.

“I'm glad you had a good trip. And I'm thrilled about James.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Olivia hugged her. “Did you feel this elation when you first became a grandmother?”

It hadn't been so long ago that Charlotte had forgotten. “Twins, no less. That was one of the happiest days of my life.”

“And mine,” Olivia told her, but a sadness came over her, a sadness Charlotte felt, too, as they remembered Jordan and the happy, carefree boy he'd been.

On her drive home, she thought about Cliff Harding. He would certainly have received her letter but for some reason had either put off answering, or—worse—decided not to answer at all.

Perhaps she should have called, instead.

Yes, that was what she should've done, all right.

Unable to resist, as soon as she walked into the house, Charlotte located his number, which Roy had given her.

The phone rang four times before the receiver was abruptly lifted.

“Harding,” said a gruff male voice.

“Jefferson,” she returned in the same clipped tones. “Charlotte Jefferson.”

Silence.

“I'm phoning to see if you got my letter,” she explained. She knew he most likely had but that seemed the easiest way to introduce her subject.

“I got it.”

Charlotte paused, wishing she'd thought this through more carefully. “Perhaps right now is a bad time?”

“It's as good a time as any. Basically, I'm not interested in anything to do with my grandfather.”

Charlotte frowned in disapproval. “I'm sure you're going to reconsider when you see what I have.”

“Listen, Mrs. Jefferson, I realize you mean well, but—”

“Were you aware that your grandfather recently died right here in Cedar Cove?”

“Your letter said as much.”

“Mr. Harding, I have risked a great deal to find you.”

“I'm not ungrateful, but—”

“I could do jail time for what I've done and at seventy-two, I don't intend to spend the rest of my life rooming with someone named Big Bertha.”

He howled with laughter. How dared this young man be amused when she was dead serious?

“What exactly did you do to risk facing Big Bertha?”

Charlotte told him, sparing none of the details. “I have everything under my bed.”

“That's probably the first place the sheriff will look, don't you think?”

Charlotte suspected he was still mocking her—a little bit, anyway—but she gave him a straightforward reply. “I did think of that, but my knees are too tired to be traipsing up and down the basement stairs.”

“My suggestion is that you give it all back to the state. Let the authorities sell it and recoup whatever expense they put out on my grandfather's behalf.”

“You can't mean that!” Charlotte was outraged. “My dear boy, this was your
grandfather.
”

“He was as much a grandfather to me as he was a father to my dad. In other words, not at all. Dad saw him a grand total of three times in his entire life. I never had the pleasure nor would I have cared to.”

“All the more reason to learn what you can about him now,” Charlotte argued.

“Frankly, I don't care. So what if he was a movie and TV cowboy from the forties and fifties. The ‘Yodeling Cowboy,'” he added scornfully. “Well, my dear Mrs. Jefferson, I don't give a damn.”

“It's his blood that runs through your veins.”

“I'd rather it didn't. Like I said, he wasn't any kind of a father or grandfather, and I sincerely doubt he cared about me in the slightest.”

“I beg to differ.” Normally Charlotte wasn't this argumentative. But she refused to let this…this arrogant whelp turn his back on his heritage. “You have a great deal in common with your grandfather, young man.”

Cliff snickered softly. “I doubt that. And I'm not so young.”

“Don't you raise quarter horses?” This was part of the information Roy had given her. “Where do you think that interest in horses came from?” she asked grandly.

He didn't answer her question. “I'm sorry to disappoint you.”

“Mr. Harding, please. Considering the risk I've taken, the least you can do is look at what I've rescued. There just might be something here you'd want.”

“You mean like a Yodeling Cowboy lunch bucket? No, thank you.”

“I mean like his saddle and his six-shooter.”

“You have a saddle?”

“Yes, I do.” Charlotte suspected that was probably the one thing that might interest Tom's grandson.

“I understand it's a federal crime to steal a gun.”

Charlotte bristled. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

He chuckled in response. “All right, listen,” he said as if making a big concession. “I'm willing to look over all this junk.”

“It most certainly is not junk.” She could think of several museums that would leap at the opportunity to display some of the items she had under her bed.

“That's a matter of opinion.”

“Will you come into Cedar Cove or do you want me to find you?”

“I avoid inviting known burglars into my home.”

Charlotte was not amused. “Then you'll just have to drive to Cedar Cove.”

“All right, Mrs. Jefferson. I can see you're not a woman who takes no for an answer.”

“In this instance, you're right.”

 

Grace enjoyed her job as head librarian. Per capita, there were more library cards issued in Cedar Cove than in any other city or town in the entire state. She took real pride in that.

The Cedar Cove Library, with the mural painted on the outside of the old brick building, was one of the most attractive structures in town. For the one-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the township, the Chamber of Commerce had commissioned several murals to be painted on civic buildings around town. The waterfront library had been among those chosen; the artists had created an 1800s scene of a waterfront park with people in period dress enjoying a summer's afternoon—children and dogs cavorting, families picnicking and, of course, people reading.

The downtown community was a lot like a family, Grace often thought. The business owners looked out for one another and encouraged the Cedar Cove population to shop locally. These days, when large conglomerates were moving into small towns and destroying independent businesses, Cedar Cove's downtown thrived. This was thanks in part to the library, the marina and the brand-new city hall, which was the most prominent building in Cedar Cove, rising from the steep hill above the waterfront like a protective angel standing guard over the town. The bells chimed on the hour; some people loved them and others cursed the constant interruption.

With Dan missing for almost two months now, Grace was more grateful than ever for her job. Aside from financial reasons, she valued the fact that it helped distract her, helped keep her mind from the constant wondering and worrying about her missing husband. At least it did for eight hours a day.

“Hello, Mrs. Sherman.” Jazmine Jones, a five-year-old with a precocious wit and two missing front teeth, stepped up to the front desk and placed both hands on the counter.

“I'll bet you're here for storytime,” Grace said.

Jazmine nodded. “Are you reading today or is Mrs. Bailey?”

“Mrs. Bailey.”

“That's all right, but…” Then, as if she didn't want to hurt Loretta Bailey's feelings, little Jazmine glanced over her shoulder and whispered, “You're a better reader.”

“Thank you,” Grace whispered back conspiratorially.

Tuesday afternoons were often slow, and while Loretta entertained the children, Grace handled the front desk. She was busy doing some paperwork concerning interlibrary loans when the glass door slammed open and Maryellen rushed in.

At the unexpected noise, Grace glanced up from the desk and discovered her daughter flushed and breathless.

“What's wrong?” The first thing that came to Grace's mind was Kelly and the baby.

Breathing hard, Maryellen staggered toward the desk. She placed her hand over her chest as though her heart needed to be held firmly in place.

“Dad,” she managed, barely able to speak.

“What?” Grace had already come out from behind the counter.

“He's here.”

“Here?” This was unbelievable. “Where?”

“The marina.”

Grace was halfway out the door, with Maryellen stumbling behind her.

“You saw him?”

Maryellen shook her head. “John Malcom did.”

Even as she raced out the library parking lot toward the waterfront, Grace was trying to remember who John Malcom was. Then she remembered. John and Dan had worked together years ago. John was another logger whose career had been wiped out in the controversy involving the spotted owl. Entire forests had been closed to cutting in an effort to save the endangered species, destroying the livelihood of certain communities in the shadow of the Olympic rainforest.

“Where is he?” Grace cried.

“Down by the foot ferry.”

“Did he get on the ferry?” Panting, she could hardly get the question out.

“No,” Maryellen shouted, gaining on Grace. As luck would have it, Grace had worn high heels that morning and they made running nearly impossible. Maryellen had on flats and was much faster, but Grace wasn't any slouch. She took that aerobics class precisely to experience the benefits. Her adrenaline surging, she pounded down the sidewalk, putting everything she had into reaching Dan before he disappeared again. Suddenly she stumbled, then tripped over a water hose. She went down hard on the sidewalk, scraping her knees. Grace didn't give herself the luxury of checking her injuries.

“Mom!”

“I'm all right. Go! Go!” Ignoring the pain, she picked herself up, paused only long enough to remove her shoes and then started running again, limping as she went. By the time she reached the foot ferry, Grace felt as though her legs were about to collapse.

John was there, pacing back and forth. He came toward them as soon as he heard Maryellen's shout. “He's gone.”

“Gone?” Maryellen cried. “You said you'd stop him.”

“I tried.” John's sober gaze refused to meet Grace's. “I'm sorry, really sorry. He was here, and I kept an eye on him like you asked me to. About five minutes ago, a pickup drove to the curb and he climbed in and there was no way I could stop him.”

Grace fell onto a park bench, her knees throbbing and her legs trembling.

“Start at the beginning,” she pleaded, barely able to talk. The frustration and anger were almost more than she could stand. Dan was
that
close, taunting her, daring her to find him, mortifying her in front of the entire town.

“You're
sure
it was my dad?” Maryellen asked.

John nodded. “I'm positive. I worked with him for years. I know what Dan Sherman looks like, all right.”

“How'd you get involved in this?” Grace asked her daughter.

“I just happened to take a late lunch today. I closed the gallery and decided to walk down to Java and Juice for a latte,” Maryellen said.

“I heard about Dan turning up missing and all,” John went on. “There's been a lot of talk down at the Pelican's Nest about what might've happened to him.”

The local watering hole was one of the most popular drinking spots in town. “Have you been drinking, John?”

“No, Grace! I swear it was Dan.”

“He didn't know what to do,” Maryellen interjected, “and he was halfway to the library to get you.”

“I thought you'd want to know,” John said, looking miserable. He shoved his hands in his coverall pockets and stared at the pavement.

“That was when he saw me,” Maryellen explained.

“Your daughter said she'd get you and sent me back to keep an eye on Dan.”

“Mom, your knee!”

Blood trickled down Grace's leg; the nylons were already soaked.

“Are you all right?” John asked.

“I'm fine. Tell me about the pickup.” Grace wanted as much information about Dan as she could get. She'd take care of her knees later.

John hung his head. “I should've gotten the license plate number, but it happened so fast I didn't think to look.”

“Did you see who the driver was?” Maryellen asked.

“Sorry, no.”

Maryellen sat down next to Grace, both hands over her face, and hunched forward.

Grace placed a comforting arm on Maryellen's back. Caught up in her own misery, she'd failed to see how upset her oldest daughter was by Dan's disappearance. Kelly had been much more forthcoming about her emotions, and Grace had assumed Maryellen was taking the situation in stride. As far as anyone could…

“I can't tell you how sorry I am about all this,” John Malcom said again.

“You didn't see who was driving?” Grace asked one final time.

John shook his head. “It wasn't anyone I recognized. Not from around here, leastways.”

“Male or female?”

John hesitated and looked away. “Female.”

Grace bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. John wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know.

C
ecilia would forever be grateful that she hadn't given in to the impulse to drop out of her community college classes. The day of her wedding anniversary, she'd been feeling depressed and regretful. She thought now that her desire to quit was a way of punishing herself—by taking away the very thing in life that brought her joy. She couldn't understand why she'd wanted to do such a thing. Thankfully, Mr. Cavanaugh had been kind enough to reason with her. He hadn't tried to pressure her or talk her out of it, but he'd been sensible and matter-of-fact.

She loved her classes, especially advanced algebra. On a Sunday afternoon when she was free to go anywhere and do anything she wanted, Cecilia chose to work on problems in her textbook. Problems that hadn't even been assigned. That said a lot. Recently one of the other students had flippantly called Cecilia the teacher's pet. She didn't believe it since Mr.
Cavanaugh wasn't the sort of teacher who played favorites. But afterward Cecilia had smiled all day. Never in her life had she experienced anything like this sense of approval and success.

She enjoyed telling Ian how well she was doing. They were back to e-mailing and writing. Yesterday, she'd received a postcard from Australia. He hadn't chosen one with a picture of the famous opera house, the outback or even the Barrier Reef. No koalas or kangaroos, either. Instead, Ian had mailed her a photograph of the night sky. It showed the Milky Way and what looked like millions upon millions of stars. His message on the back was full of praise for her high marks and the promise of a celebration once he got home.

Cathy was still keeping the news of her pregnancy from Andrew. It was all Cecilia could do not to tell Ian. Every day that Cathy remained pregnant was a triumph. She'd miscarried the first pregnancy at eight weeks, and the second at twelve. Already this pregnancy had lasted longer than the first two, but Cathy couldn't trust that all was well—not yet, anyway. Cecilia was the only person she'd told. Not even her mother knew, and Cecilia regarded the news as sacred information.

At a little after one, she decided it was time for lunch. With the radio on in the background, she was opening a can of soup, when a news bulletin interrupted the Top 40 song that was playing.

“This is a KVI news bulletin. There's been an explosion aboard the
John F. Reynolds,
the Bremerton-based aircraft carrier. Details are just coming into our newsroom now. At this early hour we have no idea as to the cause of the explosion. The possibility exists that this is the work of a terrorist group. There has been loss of life, but how many casualties
and the extent of damage to the aircraft carrier is unknown at this point. We'll keep you updated.”

Cecilia gasped and dropped the soup can. The contents spilled out over the counter, dripping onto the floor. Unrolling some paper towels, she started wiping it up when the phone rang.

“Hello,” she nearly shouted as she grabbed the receiver.

“Did you hear?” It was Cathy.

“Just now. What do you know?”

“Nothing…just about the explosion. I called the ombudsman, but she'd just heard it herself. The Navy has set up a meeting area on base for husbands, wives and family members to wait for news. We'll get information there more quickly than we will at home.”

“I'm on my way.” Cecilia didn't waste time worrying about the appropriateness of being on base. Although she hadn't lived with Ian in many months, she was still his wife.

“That's one of the reasons I phoned,” Cathy said, her voice faltering. “Could you swing by for me?”

“I'll be there as fast as I can.” Then it hit her. “Cathy, is everything all right?”

Cathy released a sob. “I think so…I don't know.”

“Cath? You'd better tell me.”

Cecilia heard her friend struggle not to cry. “I…I've started spotting.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“How bad is it?” It might be more important to drive Cathy to the hospital first.

“Not bad—much lighter than the first two miscarriages.”
Cathy made it sound like a foregone conclusion that she would lose this baby, too.

“I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Oh, Cecilia, I don't know what I'd do without you.” The tears were back in her voice.

Dumping everything in the sink, Cecilia didn't change clothes or bother with her hair or makeup. She refused to think of what might be happening to her husband half a world away. If there was one thing she'd learned this past year, it was that she couldn't take anything for granted. She could only hope for the best.

Cathy was sitting on the front porch steps outside her rental house, waiting for her. As soon as Cecilia approached, Cathy stood. She looked shaken and deathly pale.

“Did you hear anything else?” Cecilia asked.

“No. You?”

Cecilia had turned on the all-news radio station on the drive over. “Just what was on the local news.”

“A number of…deaths have been reported.”

Cecilia couldn't bear to think about that. “I'm taking you to the hospital.”

“No, I have to find out what I can about Andrew first,” Cathy said. “If we go to the hospital, it'll take hours and they might keep me. I need to know if Andrew's all right. Then I'll go, I promise.”

“Are you still bleeding?”

Cathy shook her head. “No, thank God.”

Cecilia headed toward the Bremerton Navy base and joined the cars streaming toward the checkpoint at the entrance. It seemed that every spouse, parent and sibling of each enlisted
man and woman sought information. A large hangar was set aside for the purpose; hundreds of chairs had been brought in, along with drinks and snacks.

Women, older men and children gathered together in small groups. Cecilia was astonished by the speed with which rumors started to circulate. By three that afternoon, word arrived of five confirmed deaths. Then Cecilia heard ten had died and with every hour the number grew. The truth remained unknown, lost amid all the speculation.

An officer announced that the explosion had been due to human error and was not a terrorist attack as first suspected. Terrorists were prominent in everyone's fears, Cecilia suspected, especially after what had happened to the USS
Cole.
Australia was a friendly port, but one could never be sure.

Next, they learned that the explosion had occurred in the munitions area, which sent gasps of horror rippling through the room. Three known dead, the officer said, but in such a volatile spot on the ship, that left a lot of uncertainty regarding the number of injuries.

By nightfall they were told that everything was under control. The fires were out; the aircraft carrier was secure. At last came the moment they'd all been waiting for. The base commander moved to the front of the room to read a list of those who'd been injured. “Lieutenant Wayne Van Buskirk. Ensign Jeremiah Smith. Chief Petty Officer Alfred Hussey. First Class Gunner's Mate Gerald Frederickson. Third Class Gunner's Mate Charles Washington. Seaman Janet Lewis…” Cathy and Cecilia clung to one another. Each name echoed through the room like a bombshell, followed by a gasp or a
cry of alarm. And then Ian's name was called out. Cecilia heard her own shout of panic; her legs went slack and she slumped into a chair.

“Ian.” She wasn't prepared, wasn't ready to deal with this. Cathy gripped her hand and Cecilia squeezed so hard, her fingers lost feeling.

“I'll wait for you here,” Cathy told her.

Until that instant, Cecilia didn't realize any other instructions had been given. Cathy hugged her and explained that she was to proceed to the front of the room and speak to the Information Officer.

Weaving her way through the crowd of Navy family and friends, Cecilia seemed to be walking in slow motion. She heard the sounds of conversation and weeping and occasional nervous laughter as though from a great distance.

“I'm Cecilia Randall,” she told the officer. She gave him Ian's name and rank, and showed her military identification card.

He directed her to another officer. By then, Cecilia was nearly at the point of passing out. This all seemed so unreal. It
couldn't
be happening. Not to Ian. Not to her. She'd already lost her daughter. Surely life wouldn't be so cruel as to claim her husband, too. Clenching her hands at her sides, Cecilia held her breath and waited.

“Mrs. Randall?”

“Yes.” Instantly alert, Cecilia stepped forward. “I'm the wife of Ian Randall.”

The officer smiled reassuringly. “Your husband has sustained cuts and bruises.”

“Is—Is he hospitalized?”

“No.” He tore off a sheet and handed it to her. “The reason
we ask to speak to all the relatives of those injured is to inform you that you can talk to your loved one.”

“Talk?” She didn't understand.

“We have a bank of phones in the other room. If you'll go over there, your name will be called shortly. Give the officer this sheet.”

She was going to be able to talk directly with Ian. Cecilia resisted the urge to sob with joy and relief. Waiting in the inner room with several other wives, she realized how fortunate she was that her husband had only minor injuries.

It wasn't long 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.