311 Pelican Court (27 page)

“Sheriff Davis said sometimes it’s the minutest detail that leads to an answer,” Peggy added.

There was a brief silence after this remark.

“Would you mind answering a few questions I have?” Roy asked Hannah.

“I will if I can.”

Sheriff Davis frowned, but he didn’t intrude.

“I understand your father was injured in a car accident that also killed your mother?”

Hannah’s face was troubled. “He never forgave himself for that.”

“What caused the accident?”

Her eyes widened. “The investigation determined that my father was at fault.”

“I read the accident report,” Roy said slowly, “and your father claimed the steering failed.”

“He did say that,” Hannah agreed, “but the accident investigators couldn’t find anything wrong with the steering system. The only thing they could suggest is the tube leading to the automatic steering system had an air pocket in it. Apparently that sometimes happens, but it’s rare, and without any conclusive evidence, my father was found to be at fault.” She paused and looked at Sheriff Davis. “I think in some ways it might’ve been easier on my dad if he’d died that night.”

“The guilt?” Troy asked.

“That,” she said, “and month upon month of surgery and physical therapy.”

“What about your father’s friends?” Roy asked next.

Hannah glanced down at her hands. “Dad was pretty much a loner. He didn’t have a lot of friends. Oh—there was one old army buddy who helped him get into the VA hospital where he was treated. But other than that…” She shook her head. “Mom told me he was a different man before the war. They were just dating back then, and she saved all his
letters. Some days after they’d had an argument, she would sit on their bed and read them. She said they reminded her of what Dad was like before the war.”

“Do you still have those letters?” Roy asked.

“I’d like to see them if you do,” Sheriff Davis said before Roy could ask.

“Yes, but I’d want them back.”

“Of course,” Troy Davis assured her.

“I understand you knew my father.” Hannah’s question was directed at Bob.

He nodded. “We spent a year together in Nam.”

“Can you tell me what he was like then?”

Bob leaned back in his chair and took a moment to compose his thoughts. “What I remember most about Max is his guitar. At the end of the day, we’d sit around and he’d bring it out and strum a few songs. You can’t imagine how much music can do to take the edge off, especially in the situation your dad and I were in.”

“I didn’t know my father played the guitar.”

“He didn’t after—” Bob stopped abruptly and faltered. “Something happened in the war that affected both your father and me. War is like that. It can destroy your soul.”

“He never spoke of the war,” she said softly.

Bob didn’t, either. When he’d first returned from Nam, Peggy had thought it would help if her husband talked about his experiences. He’d refused. Had she known what demons hounded him, she would’ve suggested counseling, but he kept many of his experiences hidden from her. It wasn’t until he’d just about drowned in a bottle that she understood why, and by then it was almost too late.

“Is there anything else you’d like to ask us?” Peggy inquired. Hannah shook her head. “I appreciate that you let me
come. I wondered, you know. Anyone would. He’s gone… both he and my mom. I just wondered….”

Like Hannah, Peggy wondered if she and Bob would ever find peace.

Rosie tried not to dwell on Zach’s confession that he’d relied emotionally on his personal assistant. In essence, Zach had admitted to falling in love with the other woman. She’d known in her heart that he’d been unfaithful, and he’d proved her at least partially right. Rosie could only speculate about what had happened, but—as he’d admitted—eventually Zach would have become Janice’s lover.

Their divorce had been final for months, and by now she should be ready to move on. Instead, she felt as if she was falling deeper and deeper into an abyss, a place of uncertainty and sadness.

Sunday afternoon she waited until she was sure Zach would be out of the house before she arrived. Her entrance didn’t cause much of a stir. Eddie was reading one of the Harry Potter books and Allison was in her bedroom with the door closed.

“What’s for dinner?” Eddie asked, glancing up when she came in, carrying two plastic grocery bags.

“How about spaghetti?” she asked, knowing it was her son’s favorite.

“We had that last night, and I like Dad’s spaghetti sauce better than yours.”

“Thank you so much,” she muttered under her breath. Her son was nothing if not honest.

When Rosie walked into the kitchen, she set the groceries on the counter and stared around her in complete awe. The room was meticulously clean. The floor had been washed and waxed to such a bright sheen she could see her
own reflection. Not only that, the countertops were cleared off and wiped down. The stove had a shine to it that had been sadly absent since the day they’d moved into the house. Rosie walked over to the wall-mounted oven and opened it. Sure enough, that, too, was spotless.

“Who cleaned the kitchen?” Rosie called out to her son.

“Dad.”

It hurt like hell to admit that her ex-husband was a better housekeeper and cook than she’d ever been. Rosie tried not to feel sorry for herself. She should be counting her blessings instead of complaining. The kitchen was immaculate. She’d wanted to clean it for weeks, but even in her heyday as a wife and mother, she’d never have managed anything close to the perfection that lay before her now.

“Hi, Mom,” Allison said, wandering into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and took out a can of soda.

Even without looking, Rosie knew it had been cleaned, too.

“Sloppy joes okay with you for dinner?”

“I guess.”

Such enthusiasm. “Do you think Dad’s a better cook than I am?” Rosie wasn’t sure why she bothered to ask. Her daughter was bound to heap salt onto her already bleeding wounds.

“Do you want me to be honest?” Allison said, pulling the tab on the soda can.

That, on its own, was answer enough. Rosie crossed her arms and mentally prepared herself for the answer. “Go ahead.”

Allison took a deep swallow of her soda. “At first Dad cooked the same things you did, but then he really seemed to get into it. He doesn’t have a lot of time, you know, so he does fun things like chicken salad with grapes and pineapple and lettuce. I sometimes help him,” she added proudly.

“We use bottled sauce—the gourmet stuff. It’s really yummy. I’ll give you the recipe if you want.”

“No, thanks.”

“His spaghetti’s really good, too. He adds sliced olives, and last night he threw in a can of jalapeños. It was great. Dad said that’s called fusion cooking.”

“It’s what?”

“Fusion. Come on, Mom, get with it.”

For reasons she didn’t want to examine too closely, tears filled Rosie’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She tried to hide them from her daughter but should have known better.

“Mom, are you crying?”

Rosie shrugged and turned her back to Allison.

“You’d better tell me what’s wrong,” Allison said.

“I don’t know—I’m just so glad to have you back.” She turned around and hugged her daughter. The girl was taller than Rosie—when had that happened?

“I didn’t go anywhere,” Allison protested.

“But you did,” Rosie said, and cupped her daughter’s beautiful face. “I thought I’d lost you. I’m so grateful you’re back.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “It’s nothing to cry about.”

“I know.” It didn’t escape Rosie’s notice that she wasn’t the one her daughter had reached out to. Instead, a woman who was virtually a stranger had stepped into the role of mentor. Rosie could now add another failing to her list: besides being a bad wife and an inadequate housekeeper, she was a terrible mother.

It was suddenly too much for her, and pulling out a chair, Rosie buried her face in her hands.

“Are you all right?” Allison asked.

“Fine…sorry, just give me a minute.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Allison insisted.

How could she? Rosie kept her face covered and continued
to cry into her hands. She could hear Allison and Eddie whispering in the background, but she was too upset to pay attention.

After about ten minutes, she stood, unloaded her grocery bags and set a pan on the stove top. She wasn’t hungry, but in all likelihood the children were. She was enough of a failure without adding that to her list of sins.

The front door opened, and Rosie quickly wiped her cheeks and reached for a tissue to blow her nose. When she looked up, she discovered Zach standing in the kitchen doorway.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Allison and Eddie crowded around their father. “Don’t be mad, Mom. We called Dad.”

“Why would you do that?” she demanded, knowing she sounded defensive. At this point she didn’t care.

Allison took a step forward. “Because you wouldn’t stop crying.”

“Your father—”

Zach’s jaw tightened. “I’m right here, Rosie. There’s no need to talk about me as if I wasn’t in the room.”

She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “This is
my
time with the kids.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll just turn around and leave.”

“No.” It was Eddie who spoke first.

Allison echoed him. “No. Dad, Mom needs you.”

“I don’t,” Rosie muttered.

“You do, Mom,” Allison said. “Now, talk, both of you, and Eddie and I’ll cook dinner.”

Eddie seemed ready to protest, but at a glance from his sister, he closed his mouth.

Rosie and Zach frowned at each other for a moment before Zach gestured toward the family room. “It looks like we have our orders.”

Rosie grabbed a second tissue and reluctantly followed her ex-husband.

They sat as far apart from each other as possible. Rosie took one end of the sofa and Zach sat on the edge of the recliner. Neither said anything for several tense minutes.

“I wanted to explain about my comment the other day,” Zach said.

Rosie wasn’t up to hearing another confession. She raised her hand, stopping him. “Please don’t. Frankly, I don’t want to hear it.”

Zach ignored her request. “I felt it was only fair to tell you—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she said, losing patience.

“The least you can do is let me explain.”

“Why, so you can drag my self-esteem through the gutter again? Fine, you had an
emotional
affair. I heard you the first time. I got the message.”

Zach hung his head. “But I was never physically involved with Janice.”

“That’s not the point. You were in love with her.”

“No,” he corrected quickly. “I had an emotional relationship with her, and there’s a difference.”

Rosie wasn’t sure that was true. All she knew was that her husband, the man she loved, had wanted another woman.

“When I look back on everything that led up to the divorce,” Zach continued, “I understand how you must have felt. Instead of answering your concerns, I saw you as a jealous shrew.”

“I was,” Rosie admitted softly. She closed her eyes in shame as she remembered the things she’d said, the way she’d behaved toward her husband.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. I couldn’t regret what happened any more than I already do. I hurt you, I hurt our children and in the process I hurt myself.”

She sniffled loudly. “I’m sorry, too, but that isn’t the only reason I’m crying. Oh, Zach,” she wailed, “the kitchen is so
beautiful
.”

“You noticed,” he said, and there was a note of satisfaction in his voice. “I wanted to do something for you and that was the only thing I could think of.”

“You’re a better housekeeper than I’ll ever be,” she sobbed.

“Hey, we each have our strengths and weaknesses.”

“And a better cook.”

He shrugged, teasing her with a sexy grin. “I disagree with you there.”

Rosie blew her nose. “The kids don’t think so. Eddie said your spaghetti sauce is better than mine.”

“You use the stuff in jars. I make it fresh.”

“See what I mean?”

“Okay,” Zach conceded, “I make better spaghetti than you do, but no one bakes an orange cake as good as yours.”

She gave him a hopeless look. “The recipe’s from a boxed cake mix.”

“Do you think anyone cares so long as it tastes good?”

He smiled at her again and this time Rosie smiled shyly back.

Allison and Eddie marched into the room.

“Feel better, Mom?” Her teenage daughter was far too pleased with herself.

Rosie nodded. “Much better, thank you both.” She glanced over at Zach. “Thank you, too.”

Her ex-husband stood up, obviously ready to leave.

“Dad,” Eddie said in a stage whisper. “Ask her.”

“Ask her what?” Zach whispered back.

“On a date.”

“What?” Rosie stared at her son.

“I think Dad should ask you on a date,” Eddie explained.

Zach frowned, not meeting Rosie’s eyes. “Your mother’s going out with that widower now.”

Allison shook her head. “No, she isn’t.”

“You aren’t?” Zach turned to Rosie.

“No. We only went out once and it was…not a success. Neither of us is ready for another relationship.”

“Well, then.” Zach smiled. “Are you game for dinner?”

“Dad!” Allison groaned. “You’ve got to be more romantic than
that
. Ask Mom again and this time do it right.”

With a mock-serious expression, Zach bowed. “Rosie, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me on Thursday evening?”

“She can’t,” Eddie answered. “That’s Scouting night.”

“Right,” Zach muttered.

“Take Mom out tonight,” Allison urged. “I’ll cook dinner for me and Eddie. You two talk. Okay?”

Rosie looked at Zach and he looked at her. A slow grin came over his face as he extended his hand. With barely a pause, she placed her own hand in his.

G
race sat with her morning cup of coffee. It was early Saturday, and the kitchen light caused shadows to flicker across the wall, heightening the impression of a dark and gloomy day. More than three weeks had gone by since she’d taken Buttercup to the vet. More than three weeks since she’d seen Cliff.

The dog was only now beginning to recover from cancer. Fortunately, all the tumors had been successfully removed. For a while, her prognosis had been poor and Grace had worried endlessly that she would lose her faithful companion. If Buttercup had died, Grace would’ve been to blame, and she would have had a hard time forgiving herself. Cliff had warned her that Buttercup didn’t look well; she’d ignored him, just as she’d ignored everything else these last few months during her obsession with Will.

In retrospect, Grace saw how easily she’d fallen into this. It made her ill to think how low she’d sunk in her Internet relationship with Will Jefferson. She berated herself for being swayed by his compliments and his admiration. In truth, though, it hadn’t been as one-sided as that. She knew
he’d derived comfort and gratification from Grace’s feelings for him; his marriage was in trouble—that much she believed—and he’d used her to salvage his ego, to bask in another woman’s adoration. Caught in this web of mutual fascination, Grace had ignored one very important fact: Will Jefferson was a married man.

Her face burned with humiliation. Will had purchased her plane ticket to New Orleans, and she knew very well that he’d only booked one hotel room. She also knew what would’ve happened when she joined him.

Adding to her humiliation was the memory of how angry she’d been with Stan, Olivia’s ex-husband, when they’d learned that he’d moved in with Marge. The divorce wasn’t even final and already he was sleeping with another woman, involved in an affair. Grace realized now that she was no better than Stan. No better than the men she’d reviled for being unfaithful.

Cliff had guessed what she’d been doing and had ended their relationship. She’d been such a fool. No one had ever treated her better or showed her as much love and consideration as Cliff Harding.

Maybe her problem was that Cliff was simply
too
good. Something inside her rejected his genuine warmth and love. Was it because she felt unworthy? All Grace knew was that she’d done the very thing she’d promised Cliff’s daughter she’d never do, and that was hurt Cliff.

She prayed it wasn’t too late. She spent at least an hour gathering her courage to visit Cliff. She’d considered phoning ahead, then decided against it. If he wasn’t at the ranch house, she’d just return another time.

She had to face him, had to confess. She wanted Cliff to understand how sincerely sorry she was. Although she didn’t deserve his forgiveness, she needed it.

Grace dressed carefully. She chose a jeans jumper and blouse Cliff especially liked. As she got ready to leave the house, Buttercup lifted her head from her pillowed dog bed and watched her every move. Maybe it was a fanciful thought, but she felt as if her golden retriever knew Grace was going to see Cliff. Knew and approved. While friendly, Buttercup was a discerning dog and wasn’t prone to accepting strangers, but she’d loved Cliff from the very first.

“I’ll be sure to tell Cliff you’re feeling better,” she said, bending over to stroke her dog’s silky ears. She’d given Buttercup lots of attention during the last few weeks, pampering her in an effort to make up for the neglect.

By the time she walked outside, it’d started to drizzle. Typical March weather. The windshield wipers made lazy swishes as Grace drove the twenty minutes to Olalla and Cliff’s ranch.

Although Grace had often visited his ranch, she hadn’t been there in at least six months. Turning into his long driveway she was immediately surprised by the number of apparent changes. A dozen horses grazed in the pasture, far more than she recalled from her last visit. A freshly painted white fence bordered the drive; it made for a striking entrance to the ranch. A large two-story red barn had replaced the smaller one.

When she pulled into the yard and parked near the barn, a man she didn’t recognize walked out. Raising the hood of her raincoat, she left her car.

“Hello,” she said, smiling. “I’m Grace Sherman. Is Cliff available?”

The dark-haired man hesitated, then nodded. “C-Cal Washburn,” he said with a slight stutter. He was attractive—solid and squarely built, with an aura of competence. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but it was always difficult
for Grace to judge age. His eyes, an intense shade of blue, seemed to look straight through her. It made Grace wonder if Cliff had mentioned her name—and whether or not Cal was going to answer her question.

The front door opened and Cliff stepped out.

“Cliff!” Grace hurried across the yard. Cliff moved aside and held the door for her.

“I hope you don’t mind my coming by like this,” she said. The warmth in the house enveloped her.

“Of course I don’t mind.” Cliff took her coat from her shoulders and hung it in the foyer.

Grace rubbed her arms. “It’s colder than I expected.”

“Why don’t I get us a cup of coffee,” Cliff suggested.

This was going well and Grace began to relax. She followed him into the kitchen, noting improvements in the house as well as the yard.

“How long has Cal been around?” she asked.

“Couple months now,” Cliff said as he stood in front of the cupboard and selected two mugs. He seemed pleased to see her, cordial and polite, but…reserved. She had the impression that her visit had prompted mixed feelings. Which was only natural under the circumstances, she acknowledged.

Cliff poured them each a cup and set hers on the kitchen counter. Grace slipped onto a stool, while he stood across from her, on the other side of the counter.

“How’s Buttercup?” he asked.

“Much better. I was terrified when they discovered the tumors. For a while, I thought I might lose her.”

Cliff nodded. “I’m glad to hear she’s on the mend.”

“You and me both.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Cliff didn’t make any effort to fill it, so Grace forged ahead. “I know my
visit must be something of a surprise,” she said. She gestured around. “You’ve done a lot of work since I was last here.”

“Yes,” he murmured. But he offered no further comment.

Grace stared down at her coffee, wishing she’d thought about what she wanted to say. She stared out the window at the expansive structure. “When did you build the barn?”

“The contractor started construction the beginning of December.”

“I didn’t realize you intended to make such major improvements to the property.”

Now it was Cliff who stared down at his coffee. “I mentioned a new barn a couple of times.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right, you did.” Of course he’d talked about it. She had a vague recollection of it. Anytime they were together she’d been preoccupied, wondering when she could get back home and onto the computer. Grace could only guess how much else she’d missed.

“I mentioned hiring Cal, too.”

“I do remember that.” What she recalled was Cliff’s saying he might hire a full-time trainer. She’d obviously been mentally absent during subsequent conversations.

He glanced at his watch—an unmistakable signal that her time was almost up.

“I came because I wanted to apologize, Cliff,” she said quickly. This was difficult. Painful. Embarrassing. But she had to do it. “You were right—I was involved with someone else.”

His eyes narrowed. “Married?”

Her face was flushed as she nodded. “He lives out of state—we only spoke online.”

Cliff sipped his coffee and didn’t comment.

She nodded again. “It’s over. Thank God I came to my senses before…before anything happened.” She didn’t mention how close it had been. Or that it was only by chance
she’d learned the truth about Will. If it hadn’t been for Olivia, Grace would have sunk deeper and deeper until she’d been completely swallowed up in the deception. She blinked back tears as she thought about the people she’d deceived—Cliff, first of all, and Georgia. Olivia. Her own daughters. Herself…

“I misled you,” Grace murmured, struggling with remorse. “You’ve been nothing but kind, and I abused that. Oh, Cliff, can you ever forgive me?”

“Of course I can,” he said without emotion. After a moment, he added, “But, unfortunately, I can’t undo the past.”

Grace didn’t understand what he was telling her. “I realize that.”

“Do you?” he asked, looking doubtful. He set his coffee mug in the sink, standing there for a moment with his back to her.

“Explain it to me.”

Cliff turned to face her. “I think I told you this before. I know what it’s like to be betrayed. I recognized the signs.”

She hung her head, aware she’d hurt him badly. With everything in her, she wanted to erase the pain she’d caused him.

“Susan had quite a few affairs over the years,” he continued. “It was a sickness with her, I think. At first I wondered if there was something missing in me, something I wasn’t giving her. She was constantly seeking admiration and approval from men. The only way she seemed capable of getting what she needed was through these affairs. Yet she repeatedly told me how much she loved me.”

He smiled then, and it was the saddest smile Grace had ever seen.

“The irony is that I believe Susan
did
love me. For most of our marriage I looked the other way and tried to pretend her indiscretions didn’t matter, but I was wrong. They mattered
a lot. I held on to the marriage for Lisa’s sake. Then before I knew it, my daughter was grown-up, and all at once I realized I was trapped in a relationship that was nothing more than a pretence.”

Grace knew how painful it was for Cliff to discuss the details of his marriage. She also knew what that felt like. Her own marriage had been difficult. For years she’d believed it was something lacking in her that had brought on Dan’s dark moods. Only after his death did she learn she wasn’t to blame, although she’d accepted responsibility for Dan’s unhappiness. Cliff’s situation had been quite different, but Grace identified with his emotions.

“I was hoping the two of us could start over again,” she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. She so badly wanted to put this behind them and pick up where they’d left off.

He stared at her for the longest moment of her life and then reluctantly looked away. In that movement she read his answer.

“I can’t,” Cliff said in a voice so low Grace had to strain to hear him.

“But…” She wanted to argue, but even before she could get the words out she knew it would do no good. His mind was made up and nothing she said or did now would change that.

“I can’t go back, Grace. I lived that life once.”

“But I wouldn’t—I was faithful to Dan for thirty-five years. I’m not anything like Susan.”

Cliff crossed his arms. He was shutting her out, she thought. He’d rather be anyplace except with her. Still, she held her ground, unwilling to give up on them so easily.

“I’m not saying you’re like Susan,” he told her. “I’m simply saying I can’t deal with the feelings I associate with her. The last time I saw you, it was as though every doubt, every negative emotion from my marriage, came flying at me. I
don’t want to live like that. I can’t. I don’t want to deal with those emotions anymore.” Lowering his head, he murmured, “For a while I believed we had something special.”

“We did,” she said. And she’d ruined it.

“Perhaps,” he agreed quietly, “but I don’t feel that way now.” His expression was full of regret. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to see each other again. I’m sorry, Grace.”

Her heart felt as though it had leapt to her throat and was pounding its way out. Rather than risk speaking and having her voice crack, Grace nodded. She finished her coffee, then slipped off the kitchen stool.

“I guess this is goodbye.” That was all she could manage.

Cliff nodded.

With only pride holding her together, Grace left the kitchen.

Cliff accompanied her into the foyer and retrieved her coat. He held it for her and she blindly shoved her arms into the sleeves.

Then he placed his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her in his arms. As if he couldn’t stop himself, he kissed her. A final kiss. His mouth was moist and warm as it covered hers.

Grace came into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him as she gave herself to the kiss. She sensed his hunger, his desire—and his regret. All too soon, long before she was ready, he pulled away.

He refused to meet her eyes. “Goodbye,” he said, and opened the door for her.