“I’ll change,” Olivia offered quickly, and left the room before Jack could protest. So much for a hot date. She’d been thinking they’d linger over wine and candlelight, and he’d envisioned tacos and margaritas. Fortunately she was a flexible person.
When she returned, Olivia had changed into blue-green plaid wool slacks and a matching green turtleneck sweater. “That’s better,” she said, hoping to put him at ease.
“You don’t mind?”
“I love the Taco Shack,” she assured him, and it was the truth. She should’ve known better than to expect fine French dining. Jack was a taco kind of guy.
He looked vastly relieved as he led the way to his vehicle. She could tell he’d made an effort to clean off the front seat of his car; he’d tossed everything in the back, which was littered with wadded-up bags from fast-food establishments, old newspapers, books and a variety of other junk she didn’t get a chance to see.
Jack seemed oblivious to it all. By nature, Olivia was neat and orderly. One look at his Ford Taurus told her Jack Griffin was her exact opposite.
Olivia had to fumble with her seat belt before she managed to secure it. It was obvious he didn’t often have anyone riding with him.
“Have you ever had the stir-fried jalapeños at the Shack?” he asked as they headed out of town.
“You can stir-fry them?” Olivia asked, thinking that sounded more like Chinese cooking than Mexican.
“Sure. Just until the skins start to blister. Then they squeeze lime juice over top, sprinkle on seasoned salt—and serve them with plenty of water.”
“You eat whole jalapeños?”
“You don’t?”
Olivia enjoyed a bit of spice now and then, but she wasn’t interested in experiencing pain as part of her meal. “Food isn’t supposed to hurt.”
Jack laughed. “You have a sense of humor. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Olivia liked him, too.
He pulled into the gravel parking lot outside the Taco Shack and hurried around to help her out. Not until he slammed the car door did she notice that it was dented and didn’t close properly.
Ever the gentleman, he held the door to the roadhouse for her. They walked up to the counter, and stood in line; the place was deservedly popular. Olivia studied the menu, hand-printed on a large board suspended from the ceiling. She ordered the combination plate, which included a cheese enchilada and a bean burrito, and iced tea. Jack ordered something she’d never heard of, plus a side of the stir-fried jalapeños. That suggested he wasn’t planning to kiss her—definitely a disappointment.
She found them a seat by the window, vacated by another couple barely a minute before. When she climbed over the bench of the red-painted picnic table, Olivia was grateful she’d changed out of her dress. She hadn’t been here in ages and had forgotten just how rustic it was. The window was decorated with what resembled red Christmas lights, but on closer examination, she saw they were shiny plastic peppers. She found that an amusing detail.
Jack brought napkins and plastic forks to the table and a large container of fresh salsa. When their order was ready, he collected both plates, then went back for their drinks. The food smelled delicious and she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of Jack’s peppers and the mixture of salsa and coriander.
They talked comfortably about a variety of topics: town politics, the paper, the play they’d both seen. She felt as though she’d known him for years. She wouldn’t have said he was her type, but she was beginning to believe she didn’t have one. Stan was an engineer, and like her, a highly organized person.
“Did I mention my son recently got married?” she said casually.
“No.” Jack grinned widely. “That’s great!”
“He’s about to make me a grandmother.”
He gave her an engaging grin. “You’re the most beautiful grandmother I’ve ever seen.”
Her ego thanked him. “Both the marriage and the pregnancy came as a surprise, but I don’t mind.” Well, she did…a little. “James sounded happy and although I haven’t met his wife, she seems very nice.” Olivia had her fears, but she wouldn’t second-guess her son and his decisions. This was his life, not hers.
“Stan and I were on the phone, discussing the prospect of becoming grandparents when you arrived. That’s why it took me so long to answer the door.”
“You must have a good relationship with your ex.”
“I wish we’d gotten along this well while we were married,” she joked. “Now his second wife’s getting the benefit of all my training.”
“Stan’s remarried?”
Olivia nodded.
Jack studied his dinner for a moment, then said, “Because of the treatments Eric underwent for the cancer, he’ll never father children.”
Which meant there was no possibility of Jack’s ever being a grandfather, Olivia realized. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be.” It seemed he wanted to change the subject. “Do you speak to Stan often?” he asked.
“Only in matters having to do with the children,” she told him. “They’re both adults now, so there isn’t much reason for phone calls and so forth. I suppose we’ll be in touch a little more often once James’s baby is born. What about you and your ex?”
Jack tore his paper napkin in half, then looked horrified by what he’d done. “I haven’t spoken to Vicki in years. Unfortunately, our divorce was bitter.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again because she could see that talking about his ex-wife distressed him.
“What’s the matter with couples these days?” he asked. “Doesn’t anyone stay together anymore?”
“The Beldons have been married since shortly after high school,” Olivia said, leading into the subject of how he knew Bob.
“Ah, yes, Bob and Peggy.”
“I went to high school with both of them,” Olivia explained.
“They were boyfriend and girlfriend back then?” Jack asked.
“From tenth grade on.” Those two had been together practically as long as she could remember.
“Bob was in Vietnam,” Jack said.
“Is that how you know him?” Olivia asked.
Jack shook his head. “I met him later. About ten years ago.”
Olivia waited, wondering if he’d tell her how they’d come to meet. He didn’t.
“Bob’s the one who suggested I apply for the job here in Cedar Cove. I was looking for a slower pace and decided to take him up on his offer to visit the bed-and-breakfast. I immediately fell in love with the area.”
“And so you uprooted your whole life.”
She met his gaze and they shared a smile.
“I’m glad I did,” he said, offering her a jalapeño.
She shook her head vigorously. “I’m glad you made the move, too.”
Very glad!
In the wee hours of Sunday morning, Cecilia poured herself a soothing glass of milk and sat at the small table in her tiny kitchen. She rested her bare legs on the second chair and leaned back, closing her eyes.
After a night on her feet, her toes throbbed. It’d been much worse when she was pregnant. She remembered how badly her ankles had swollen nearly every night. From the first, the pregnancy had been hard on her. She hoped subsequent pregnancies wouldn’t be as difficult, then realized there wouldn’t be any more. Never again did she plan to risk that kind of emotional pain.
She sipped the milk, hoping it would help her sleep. The John F. Reynolds had pulled back into the naval shipyard earlier in the day, just as predicted, leaving Cecilia to wonder if she’d hear from Ian.
Probably not. She was mentally reviewing the reasons they should stay away from each other when the phone rang.
Startled by the unexpectedness of it, Cecilia grabbed the receiver.
“Hello.”
Silence.
Great, a prank call. If she could afford caller ID, she would’ve phoned right back and given the pervert a piece of her mind.
> “Hi.”
Ian.
She was too breathless to respond.
“I tried calling you earlier, but you weren’t home,” he said.
“I was at work.”
“I know. I thought of stopping by The Captain’s Galley, but I promised you I wouldn’t.”
She supposed he was letting her know he’d kept his word. “I just got home a little while ago.”
“That’s what I figured. I didn’t wake you or anything, did I?”
“No.”
“How are you?” he asked.
Cecilia could hear background traffic and supposed he was calling from a pay phone. “I’m okay.” Nothing had changed in the week since she’d seen him.
“You heard the John F. Reynolds had to turn back, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t mention that news had drifted into town on Wednesday—four days ago.
“I don’t know how long we’re going to be in port, but probably not long.” He paused, then added, “I’d like to see you. Would you be willing to meet?”
Cecilia squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t thinking clearly enough to answer him. Her heart leapt at the offer, but her head told her it would be a big mistake.
“I was at the college this week,” she told him, avoiding his question for the moment.
“Olympic College?”
“I signed up for two classes.”
“Cecilia, that’s great!” At least Ian was willing to encourage her, even if her father wasn’t. “What else is new?”
“I’ve been working in the bar on weekends, to help pay off the credit card bills.” And all the attorney-related expenses, too. “I got paid on Friday and since I’m current with everything, I thought I’d put the extra money in the bank.”
“Good idea.”
“That’s what I thought, until I went window shopping.” It’d been almost a year since she’d gotten anything new—a few maternity outfits she’d recently given to charity. Last week, the temptation to spend her extra cash had been overwhelming. The spring clothes looked so appealing. There were new books she wanted. Cosmetics. A gorgeous pair of shoes. She sighed. “Everything started calling my name.”
“So you decided if you were going to spend it, you’d make sure it was on something productive.”
Ian did know her. “Yes.”
“Good for you. When are your classes?”
“Early mornings, three days a week.” She was lucky to get in, since school had already started. The early classes meant she wasn’t going to have a lot of time for sleeping in. That was all right, though. The months after she’d buried Allison, all she’d done was sleep. She’d welcomed the oblivion it offered, the release from pain.
“Are you driving to school?”
Cecilia laughed. “Of course I am.”
“You don’t have the most reliable car.”
Her 1993 Ford Tempo had almost a hundred-and-fifty-thousand miles on it. “I’ll be fine,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive. “If I run into problems, I can always take the bus.” It wouldn’t be a short trip nor would it be convenient, but it was manageable.
Ian paused, as if silently debating with himself. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You want to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Do I need a reason? You’re my wife.”
“We’re separated.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered.
Cecilia’s hand tightened around the receiver. “We didn’t speak for months. Remember? Why is it so important that we see each other now?”
“I have something I want to ask you,” he said.
“Ask me now.”
“No.” He was adamant about that. “I’d rather do it in person.”
“When?” She knew all these questions of hers were nothing more than a delaying tactic.
“Soon. Listen, Cecilia, I don’t know how long I’ll have before I’m deployed. I’ve got a proposition for you.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Okay, okay, you’re right, we are separated, but you’re the one who wanted that.”
By the time he’d moved out of the apartment, Ian had been in full agreement. Now he’d decided to heap all the blame for the separation on her shoulders.
“Fine, you don’t want to see me,” he said shortly.
Cecilia sighed. “It isn’t that.” The truth of it was she did want to see him. More than anything.
“Then set the day and time.”
Cecilia closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her brow as she tried to think.
“Do you want my attorney to contact your attorney?” he asked.
“No!” she flared, angry he’d even suggest such a thing.
“Then tell me when I should come over.”
“You want to come here?” That put a whole new slant on the invitation.
“Fine, we can go somewhere else,” he said. “Anytime, anyplace. You just tell me. I’m not asking again, Cecilia.” His voice held an edge that hadn’t been there earlier.
“All right,” she whispered. “How about next week? Someplace in Bremerton? You choose.”
His relief was palpable, even over the phone. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
But it was, damn hard, and Ian knew it.
“When are you free to meet?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.
“I’ll let you know. All right? It depends on what’s happening with the John F. Reynolds, but it’ll be soon.”
This wasn’t exactly anytime or anyplace, but then he was in the Navy, and the military ruled his life—and consequently hers.
Six
Thursday afternoon was the monthly potluck at the Jackson Senior Center, named after longtime Washington State senator Henry M. Jackson. Charlotte looked forward to these get-togethers with her dearest friends. It was a time to visit, catch up on each other’s lives, share a fabulous lunch and listen to a speaker. Generally it was someone from the community. A local politician had spoken in January—a real windbag, as far as Charlotte was concerned. In December, the sheriff had discussed safety tips for seniors, and his talk was one of the best received in months. He’d been both interesting and informative.
It just so happened that the speaker for the first week in February was Jack Griffin. Charlotte wouldn’t have missed it for the world. She arrived early, secured a table for her knitting friends and made sure the spot next to her was saved for Jack.
“Yoo-hoo, Laura,” Charlotte called, waving her hand so her friend could see where she was sitting. The ladies in the knitting group always ate together at these functions. As the unofficial head of the group, Charlotte was expected to arrive early and claim the table—not that she minded.
Laura nodded in her direction and carried her dish of deviled eggs to the buffet table. Her friend made the most incredible deviled eggs. She didn’t fill them with the standard yolk-and-mayonnaise mixture. Instead, Laura stuffed hardboiled egg whites with a crabmeat-and-shrimp salad. Every month, her platter was among the first to empty.
Charlotte had brought the broccoli lasagna recipe she’d picked up at Lloyd Iverson’s wake. She’d experimented with it and added her own personal touch—mushrooms to the crumbled bacon, and cheddar cheese as well as mozzarella. She hadn’t been sure what to bring, seeing that she’d collected several excellent recipes lately. That was what happened when she attended three funerals in as many weeks. The dessert recipe she’d gotten last Monday, made with lemon pudding and cream cheese, was worth sitting through the two-hour wake, even if she hadn’t been all that fond of Kathleen O’Hara’s husband.
Laura joined her, and Evelyn and Helen followed. As soon as they were seated, they reached for their dessert plates, headed for the buffet table and took their pick. Everyone did. Charlotte disapproved of the practice, but choosing your dessert early was the only way to guarantee you’d get one.
“There’s Jack now,” Charlotte said, hurrying down the narrow
aisle between the tables.
“Jack!” she called out. It was important after all the bragging she’d done that her friends know the newspaperman considered her his personal friend. She made a show of hugging him and was gratified when he returned the gesture.
Mary Berger, president of the Senior Center, joined them and held out her hand. “I’m so pleased you could be with us today, Mr. Griffin,” she said formally, frowning at Charlotte.
“The pleasure’s all mine.” His gaze met Charlotte’s over the top of Mary’s head and he winked.
Charlotte couldn’t help it; she blushed. Oh, that young man could melt a heart or two. Her own included. Now if only Olivia would wake up and realize what a catch he was. She did hope this was the man for her daughter. Charlotte had liked Jack the instant they met, and it wasn’t often she felt such complete rapport with a man. It seemed to be happening more and more these days. First Tom Harding and then Jack Griffin, both newcomers to the community.
“I saved you a place at my table,” Charlotte told Jack, eager for her friends to meet him.
“I’ve arranged a seat for Jack at the head table,” Mary countered, glaring at Charlotte.
“But Jack and I are friends,” Charlotte said, certain that he’d prefer her company to the stuffed shirts who ran the Senior Center.
“Why don’t we leave it up to Jack?” Mary offered and stepped back, crossing her arms. Her expression was confident, as if to suggest there was no contest.
Jack was smiling. “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve had two lovely women fighting over me.”
Mary cast Charlotte a saccharine-sweet smile, and it was all Charlotte could do not to throw up.
“Why don’t I sit with Charlotte and her friends for the buffet,” Jack suggested, “and join Mary and her friends for dessert?”
“An excellent suggestion,” Charlotte said, firmly taking his arm. Without giving anyone an opportunity to sidetrack him, she led Jack to the table where her friends were waiting.
Evelyn and Helen were dying to talk to Jack, Charlotte knew. They both had article ideas they wanted to discuss with him. Her friends felt that the community had long ignored the contribution of its senior citizens. With Jack as editor, Charlotte believed this was about to change.