6 Rainier Drive (4 page)

“Sure!” Maryellen felt good about giving to someone in need—especially since she'd received so much herself. “That's a wonderful idea.”

A few minutes later, Teri switched on the television to check the weekend weather. “Hey,” she said, stepping back from the screen as the local news broadcast concluded. “There's a big chess championship coming to Seattle.”

“Do you like chess?” Maryellen asked.

Teri shrugged. “I don't know much about it. It's a lot like checkers, isn't it?”

Rachel and Maryellen exchanged looks.

“Well, not really,” Rachel answered. “It's a little more complicated.”

Soon after the two women finished, packed up their supplies and left, Jon and Katie got home. He seemed exhausted and Katie did, too. When Jon saw Maryellen, he did a double take.

“Do you like it?” she asked tentatively, putting
her hand to her head. Then she went on to explain how this change in her appearance had come about—mentioning her satisfaction at donating her hair for a cancer wig.

Jon nodded. “That's great,” he said. “And I love your new look. I've always liked your hair long but this is…nice. Nice,” he repeated. “It suits you and I can see that it's much more practical.”

Maryellen was pleased at his response, which seemed exactly right to her. Katie crawled into her lap then and laid her head against Maryellen's shoulder. Within minutes, the little girl was fast asleep. Maryellen settled Katie on the sofa beside her.

She didn't ask Jon how his day had gone. His weary expression told her everything she needed to know. He'd spent the day doing errands—getting groceries, film, visiting the library.

“Sit with me awhile,” she urged, sitting upright.

“I've got stuff I have to do.”

She patted the empty space next to her. “Jon,” she whispered. “Please.”

He hesitated, and she knew he felt torn between the need to work while Katie napped and his desire to be with his wife. Her smile must have won him over because he sank down at her side and slipped one arm around her shoulders.

“I love you so much,” she said.

Jon kissed her forehead. “I love you, too.”

“In a few months, this will all be over.”

“It feels like it's gone on forever,” he murmured.

“Getting through these last few weeks of the pregnancy… That'll be the most difficult. Things will get worse before they get better.”

He released a deep, pent-up sigh. “We'll be fine.”

“I think so, too.” She turned her head in order to meet his gaze. “Your stepmother phoned this afternoon,” she said, not bothering with a preamble.

Jon stiffened but said nothing. Then he asked. “Did
she
call or did you?”

“She phoned,” Maryellen assured him, refusing to take offense at the question. “They read about the fire at The Lighthouse because they get the
Chronicle.
She called to see if everything was all right with us.”

He didn't respond for a long moment. “So they know I'm not working?” he finally asked. “At a job, I mean?”

“They know,” she said. “I told her about the problems with the pregnancy, too.”

He wasn't happy about that, she could tell, but he didn't say anything.

“I didn't ask her to do it, I want you to understand that.”

“Do what?”

“Come here and help. Ellen insisted. She said these are her grandchildren and we need help.”

Still Jon refused to comment.

“Say something,” she said, fearing his reaction. On top of everything else, she couldn't bear his anger. It would break her.

“They can't stay here.”

She nodded.

“I don't want them around the house when I'm here.” The arm that cradled her lay heavily on her shoulders.

“I'll make sure they understand that.”

He sighed. “I don't like this, but I'll do it for you and Katie and for the baby.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“It doesn't change anything, Maryellen.”

“I know.” She pressed her head against him. A minute later, she felt him relax again.

“Love does that to a man, doesn't it?”

“Hmm?” she murmured.

“Makes you do things you don't want to for the people you love. Things you never thought you'd do.”

Maryellen knew what he was saying. Jon had vowed that he would not allow his family back in his life after what they'd done to him. Yet here he was, setting aside his deepest convictions because Ellen and Joseph were willing to help in this impossible situation. He'd agreed to let them into the fringes of his life for Maryellen's sake and Katie's.
There might be no forgiveness in his heart, but he'd set aside his anger to serve his wife's needs.

“Love makes us put other people first,” she said. “Isn't that what you mean?”
Isn't that what love is?

J
ustine could barely stand to look at the burned-out husk that had once been The Lighthouse. Most of the structure had collapsed and the charred remains were a blight against the vivid blue backdrop of the cove. Yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the parking lot. Even now, two weeks after the fire, the acrid smell of burned wood and smoke hung oppressively in the air.

Seth stood at her side and Robert Beckman, the insurance claims adjuster, was with them. He made notes on a clipboard as they surveyed the site together. Leif, thank goodness, was in preschool. As much as she could, Justine wanted to protect her son from all this.

Her panic attack the week before had shaken her. She hadn't told Seth about meeting Warren. There seemed no reason to do so. Knowing she'd been
anywhere close to the other man would only upset him, although her husband had nothing to worry about. Her love for Seth and their family was rock-solid. Warren had been kind to her, and for that she was grateful. He'd asked her to join him for lunch; she'd declined and hadn't talked to him since.

“How much longer will the investigation take?” Seth asked, keeping pace with the adjuster.

Justine wrapped her hand around his arm in silent entreaty. Seth was still bitter and impatient, yearning to move forward after the fire and resentful of every delay. Already he was talking about rebuilding, eager to get their business and their lives back on track. More than eager, he'd become obsessive. Every drawback, every question, frustrated him. He couldn't sleep and the stress had begun to affect his emotional health.

“I know it seems to be taking a long time,” Robert said in a soothing voice. “But—”

“It's already been over two weeks,” Seth snapped. “What else is there to investigate?”

“You'll have to forgive my husband, Mr. Beckman,” Justine said quietly. “As you can imagine, this fire has been very difficult for us.”

“I completely understand,” the older man assured her. “As I was saying, I know it seems like a long time, but I do promise you that we're working as quickly and efficiently as we can.”

“I didn't mean to snap.” Seth gave a helpless shrug. “It's just that every day we're not open for business we lose customers and staff.” Word had come that morning that their head waiter had taken a job in Tacoma. Dion wouldn't be easily replaced. It was inevitable that the rest of their staff would find other employment, as well. No one could go without a paycheck for long.

“The company recognizes that, but we can't do anything until the fire marshal gives us an opportunity to survey the damage thoroughly. And because this is a criminal investigation, it's simply going to require more time.”

Justine knew that Seth had made numerous phone calls to the fire marshal in an effort to get the investigation moving.

“I've contacted an architect,” Seth explained, and Justine barely managed to conceal her shock. She'd had no idea. “We've been discussing design plans,” he went on, “and I'd like to set up a construction schedule. I can't do that until the fire marshal releases the property.”

“Well…you may have to wait a while.”

“When can we rebuild?” Seth demanded.

Robert Beckman slowly shook his head. “Since the fire appears to have been arson, the company would like to bring in a ‘Cause and Origin' investi
gator.” He paused. “This is in addition to what your local people are doing.”

“What will he do?” Justine wanted to know. “Your investigator, I mean.”

“His—or her—primary purpose is to confirm the preliminary finding of arson. Our investigators do that by looking at flame patterns to see where the fire started.”

“How could anyone tell anything from a heap of ashes?” Impatience rang in Seth's voice.

“It's astonishing the information they can derive from the site. They're able to distinguish exactly where the fire originated. They can determine the accelerant. Sometimes there are other clues they can find by sifting through the debris. There are certainly cases in which their investigations have led to the apprehension and conviction of arsonists. I remember one instance in which—”

“That's all well and good, but what should I tell the architect?” Seth broke in. He ran his fingers forcefully through his hair.

Justine was horrified that Seth had already spoken to an architect and wondered when he'd done this. He'd been gone a couple of afternoons but hadn't mentioned where he was or with whom. Nor had Justine questioned him. The truth was, it had been a relief to have him out of the house. Seth found it impossible to remain in any one place.
When he was home, he stalked from room to room, unable to work at anything or even read for more than a few minutes. Unable to relax.

“Your policy covers loss of income for a year,” Robert Beckman continued, flipping a page on his clipboard. “If construction time goes over that, we can request an extension.”

“So the sooner we get started, the better, don't you agree?” Seth asked. “For the company
and
for us.”

Robert gave another of his soothing replies, and, unwilling to listen to any more, Justine walked across the parking lot to stand at the farthest edge, which over-looked the cove. The wind carried a briny scent on this overcast day, shrouding the pungent smell of smoke.

The view of the cove always calmed her. She absorbed that peace now, needing it to settle her pounding heart. Seth had taken matters into his own hands; without so much as talking to her, he'd held discussions with an architect. When they'd first conceived the idea of The Lighthouse, Justine had been involved in every aspect of the planning. Now Seth had excluded her.

The fire and its aftermath were so much worse than she would ever have believed. Her husband had turned into a stranger, a man Justine neither knew nor liked. The temptation to escape, to pack a suitcase and disappear, grew stronger every day.
Warren had offered her the use of a summer cottage on Hood Canal. It sounded so peaceful there. Leif would love to walk along the beach, exploring, wading in the water. She could picture him now, digging for clams with his small shovel, his laughter spilling out into the wind. Not once since Leif was born had they taken a family vacation. The Lighthouse had filled every waking minute. Only in the absence of the restaurant and its demands was she beginning to see how completely it had taken over their lives.

“Justine.” Seth placed his hand on her shoulder as he came up behind her. “Everything's going to be all right, sweetheart,” he said, his voice conciliatory.

“I know.” The fire, the destruction of the restaurant, was no longer her main concern. What worried her was the effect it'd had on her husband.

“I realize I've been a little cranky lately.”

She smiled and pressed her hand on top of his. To say he'd been “a little cranky” was an understatement of major proportions.

“Everything will be all right,” he said again, “once we find out who did this to us.”

“Will it?” she asked, but apparently Seth didn't hear her because he didn't respond.

Justine tilted her head to one side so her cheek could rest against his hand. “You're already talking about rebuilding,” she murmured.

“Of course. I want to get started as soon as possible. Don't you?”

She shrugged. “I don't know anymore.”

“What do you mean, you don't know?” He laughed and seemed to assume she was joking. “We're in the restaurant business. This is how we make our living. Unless we rebuild, we won't have an income.”

“Yes, but…”

Her husband went still for a moment. “I can't go back to fishing, Justine.”

Being a professional fisherman was a hard, dangerous life, and they'd agreed that Seth would give it up for good. His father had encouraged him in that decision.

“I wouldn't want you to fish,” she said, turning so she could slip her arms around his middle. “I'm just not sure I want to be a restaurant owner anymore.”

Seth gripped her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You
don't
mean that. You don't know what you're saying.”

“I…I do,” she countered. “At least I think I do. We went into this business with absolutely no knowledge of what we were letting ourselves in for. We were totally naive about what owning a restaurant takes out of you.”

According to statistics, eight out of ten new busi
nesses fail, and restaurants headed the list. The only reason theirs had been successful was the sheer force of their combined efforts—and a degree of luck.

“We made a few mistakes,” Seth said, then added with a wry grin, “okay, we made a
lot
of mistakes in the beginning, but we learned quickly and we've come a long way.”

“We hardly spend any time together, as a family.” This was the one thing that distressed Justine the most.

Seth didn't agree or disagree with her.

“You were at the restaurant all hours of the day and night, and so was I.” She supposed that now wasn't a particularly opportune moment to broach her concerns, not while Seth was still so upset.

“I
had
to be there. You know that.”

“I'm not blaming you for any of this,” Justine told him, gazing into his intensely blue eyes. He was frowning at her and in him she read confusion and pain.

“Are you suggesting I haven't been a good husband?” he asked.

“No! That isn't what I meant at all. I love you and you love me. I could never doubt that.” Then, reluctantly, she said, “I'm afraid, Seth.”

“Afraid? Afraid of what?”

“I'm not sure. I had a panic attack last week. I
didn't know what it was at first. I felt like I wasn't getting enough air and that I was going to pass out.”

Concern darkened his eyes. “When? Why didn't you mention this earlier?”

“How could I? You've been so angry, so restless. I didn't want to add to your worries.”

He slid his arms around her, drawing her close. “I'm sorry, my love. So sorry.”

“I am, too. About everything.”

He lifted his head. “What do you have to apologize for?”

“Because I don't think I can go back to the way things were before, with you gone so many hours. With me at the restaurant virtually every day. I don't want our son spending every night with babysitters. I don't want to go back to the constant worries over money and meeting payroll. It was always something, wasn't it?” Once she started listing her concerns, she couldn't seem to stop. “This was never our plan, remember? I was going to do the books and fill in occasionally, but occasionally became every day. Leif is being raised by strangers and you have less and less time for us.”

Seth frowned at her. “You never said any of this before.”

“That's because I hardly ever saw you, and when I did, we were usually talking about the restaurant. We wanted to have a second child and kept putting it off.”

“But—”

“We've had practically no time to be a family. It doesn't make sense to have a second baby.” She stared at him. “I know what you're thinking.”

“I doubt that.”

“You're thinking that you aren't about to let all this hard work go to waste. That you didn't slave away for the last five years to end up with nothing more than a pile of rubble.”

He looked startled, as though her observation had surprised him.

“We both need to decide what's really important,” she said, nearly choking on her words. “Is working thirteen- and fourteen-hour days worth what it's doing to us, to our son and to our marriage?”

“Yes,” he stated without question. “You're exaggerating, Justine. It isn't all bad.”

“I agree, but for me, the bad outweighs the good. I'm no longer sure the sacrifice is worth it. I love you so much,” she whispered, bringing her hands to his face, blinking back tears. “I want my husband back—the man I married. The man who proved to me I could love and be loved. I want to find what we once shared and I'm so afraid it might be too late.”

Seth crushed her to him then and held her tight. She felt him shudder, and he didn't speak for a moment.

“I had no idea you felt this way,” he finally said.

“I didn't know it myself until the fire,” she admitted.

“What
do
you want?”

“That's a mystery to me, too,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I guess I want us both to think long and hard before we decide whether or not to rebuild The Lighthouse.”

She could tell from his sudden tension that he'd prefer not to reconsider but to go ahead with his plans to rebuild. Justine swallowed, wondering if anything she'd said had gotten through to him.

“I'm not making any promises,” Seth told her.

“But we can talk?” she asked.

“All right,” her husband agreed. “We can talk.”