16 Lighthouse Road. Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ won’t happen again,” she said in a deadened voice, consciously echoing his earlier words.

      Ian shook his head. “I don’t even know why I mentioned that. I’m sorry.”

      She ignored him. Her lack of response should be answer enough.

      “You do this every time,” he said, sounding exasperated. “I try to talk to you, get things into the open and you clam up on me like I’m not even here.”

      Her arms remained buried deep in her pockets, her head down. “Every penny I charged was so I could bury our daughter,” she repeated dully. “And the three-hundred-dollar phone bill… I know it upset you, but—”

      Suddenly she could no longer control her voice—or her emotions.

      “But that was for me!” she cried, shouting the words at him, hurling them in her anger and pain. “So there wouldn’t be two funerals that day instead of one. I’m sorry, Ian, for being so weak, but I’m not like you. I needed my mother…I needed to talk to someone. My dad couldn’t deal with it and you weren’t here. My mother…” Unwilling to have him witness her tears, she whirled around and started searching frantically through her purse.

      “Cecilia?”

      She found what she was looking for and tore open the small plastic holder. “Here,” she choked, taking out the VISA card and throwing it at him. The card landed on the wet green grass. “Take it! I don’t want it….”

      He hesitated before picking it up. “You might need it for emergencies.”

      As though the death of their daughter hadn’t been one.

      She shook her head vehemently. She’d rot in hell before she’d use any credit card with his name on it again. She’d get one with her own name. Her maiden name.

      Ian examined the card, and ran his thumb over the raised letters that spelled out Cecilia Randall.

      “I didn’t come here to get your credit card.”

      “Well, you have it now,” she returned flippantly, refusing to look at him.

      Ian said nothing. A long moment passed. “I’m sorry, Cecilia,” he finally whispered.

      “What for this time?”

      There was another pause. “I’m going away for six months,” he murmured. “I wish we’d been able to settle this divorce business before I left, but…”

      They’d been over this too many times already.

      “I’d like to leave without bad feelings between us. I know you’d rather not be married to me anymore, but we can’t do anything about that right now.”

      “And your point is?” she asked, deliberately sarcastic.

      “Dammit, Cecilia, would you listen to us? Is this what you want? Is this how you want things to be? I don’t. I followed you here because I thought…I hoped there’d be a chance for us to end this on a friendly note.”

      “Divorces aren’t friendly.”

      “You’re right, but does that give you any pleasure?”

      It didn’t. She knew why he’d come. Ian would leave for sea in a few days, and when he left he wanted to go without a huge knot in his gut over her.

      “Goodbye, Ian,” she said softly. “Have a good tour.”

      He frowned, as though he wasn’t sure he should trust her. “Do you mean it?”

      She nodded. “I don’t want to fight, I never did. Go with a clear conscience. When you get back, we’ll settle all the legal stuff.”

      “Thank you.” His relief was evident and his eyes softened as he turned away. Cecilia watched him disappear into the fog, watched until she could no longer see his dark shape.

      She closed her eyes. She pictured how their parting might have been if Allison had lived. She’d be standing on the pier with all the other Navy wives and Ian would kiss her goodbye, kiss Allison and then her again, one last time. Then he’d run toward the aircraft carrier and she’d hold the baby in her arms, raise Allison’s tiny arm so she could send her daddy off with a wave. Instead, they bade each other farewell standing over their daughter’s grave.

      Justine had avoided her mother all weekend, and with good reason. The minute they were together, Olivia would start to criticize Warren. Not openly, but she’d insinuate things. For instance, she’d mention some piece of gossip she’d supposedly heard about one of his ex-wives. Or she’d refer to problems with one or other of the homes his company constructed.

      In Justine’s opinion, the fact that she was seeing Warren was none of her mother’s business. Okay, he was a few years older. And she’d concede that his reputation wasn’t the greatest. But there were things about Warren that her mother and most other people didn’t know and never would. Warren trusted her and his confidence meant a great deal to her.

      The second reason Justine had been avoiding her mother had to do with her brother James. A year earlier, without warning, he’d joined the Navy and as a result, was away from home for the first time. He missed his family, and their mother fretted about him. Now her younger brother had made another life-altering decision and had left it to Justine to announce to their family.

      “Tell her for me,” he’d pleaded, and because she loved him she’d foolishly agreed.

      Now a confrontation was inevitable. Monday morning, she’d half decided to call her grandmother and let Charlotte deliver the news. She went as far as picking up the phone and actually dialing the number. At the first ring, she’d replaced the receiver, berating herself as a coward.

      All afternoon, she’d had difficulty concentrating on loan applications and staff meetings—she was the manager of the Cedar Cove branch of First National Bank and had plenty of responsibilities to occupy her. Justine sighed; she knew she had to tell her mother in person and as soon as possible.

      After work, she drove straight from the bank to the family home at 16 Lighthouse Road. She’d lived here until she left for college ten years ago; she’d returned for short periods in the intervening years. It was home in a way no other place had ever been. Every time she took the curve in the road and came upon it, Justine experienced a sensation that had been impossible to reproduce anywhere she’d lived since.

      She parked out front. Her mother must have been looking out the window when she drove up, because she opened the door as Justine climbed the steps to the porch.

      “Sweetheart,” Olivia said, holding out her arms for a hug. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

      Justine forced a smile.

      “You’re just in time for dinner.”

      Justine could never figure out why her mother insisted on feeding her. It was the same with her grandmother. A maternal need to nurture, she supposed. Not that she needed nurturing anymore. Well, not that kind. “Great,” she said, without enthusiasm. Her stomach was in knots already.

      Olivia СКАЧАТЬ