1022 Evergreen Place (5 page)

Will had viewed Olivia with fresh eyes after seeing her so ill. The surge of love and protectiveness he'd felt had taken him by surprise. He hadn't realized how deeply he loved his little sister.

Will wasn't aware that he was blocking the doorway until someone politely asked to step past.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he went farther into the room.

Waiters moved among the throng hoisting trays with champagne flutes and tiny hors d'oeuvres. It occurred to Will that he might need a ticket. He saw a woman at a table collecting money and hurried toward her. While he waited in line, he glanced around, hoping to find Shirley. A moment later he did. She stood talking to Grace; the woman beside her must be Miranda.

As if Shirley's friend felt his gaze she turned in his
direction. Her eyes locked on him and then ever so slowly narrowed. Will stared back.

Miranda said something to Shirley, who instantly looked at him. Then she nodded.

So Miranda had asked about him. That was interesting, he thought, as he surreptitiously observed Shirley's friend. She stood nearly a head taller than Shirley. Will suspected Miranda was close to six feet; he was six-one. By contrast, Shirley was petite, delicate, fine-boned. Miranda was none of those things.

He paid for his ticket and decided to approach Shirley. Perhaps they could mingle for a while and then ditch her friend and go to dinner. He didn't see any need to waste a beautiful evening. On his way over to Shirley, he grabbed a flute and took a sip. Not real champagne, but a decent sparkling wine, probably a California label.

Shirley gave a small wave and started toward him. Miranda came with her. Both women held half-full flutes that they balanced carefully as they walked.

“Will,” Shirley said, smiling up at him warmly. “I didn't expect to see you here. Weren't you going to the theater?”

“Last-minute change of plans,” he said, returning her smile. He flicked a glance at her friend.

As if suddenly realizing she needed to make introductions, Shirley said, “This is the friend I mentioned. Miranda Sullivan, Will Jefferson.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Miranda said, sounding anything but.

Her attitude annoyed him. “Same here,” he responded, matching her tone. What was this woman's problem, anyway? She seemed to disapprove of him for some reason, even though she knew next to nothing about him.

Shirley appeared to notice because she looked quickly from one to the other.

“I was just telling Miranda how grateful I am for all your help with Tanni and Shaw.”

He bowed his head. “I was happy to be of assistance. Shaw is a talented young artist who deserved a hand up.”

Miranda smiled cynically but didn't comment.

“Speaking of Tanni, I see she came, after all,” Shirley said breathlessly. “If you'll both excuse me for a moment, I think I should check on her.” She headed toward the door, leaving Will alone with Miranda.

He didn't usually take an immediate dislike to anyone, especially a woman. He supposed he was reacting, at least partially, to
her
dislike of him. He couldn't understand it, unless she'd heard rumors…. Perhaps his reputation had preceded him. However, he wasn't particularly worried. Instead, he made up his mind to treat her as a challenge. She was Shirley's friend, and if he could make her an ally, his chances with Shirley might improve.

“So you're a good friend of Shirley's?” he asked.

“A very good friend,” she told him, and brought the flute to her lips. “What makes you ask?”

She was direct and, as he'd guessed, didn't seem too fond of him. Switching tactics, Will decided to be equally direct. “The look you gave me.”

Her dark eyebrows arched slightly. “I gave you a look?”

“Didn't you?” he asked.

“No.”

He smiled softly and had to admit he was rather amused by this silly game. “Liar.”

She laughed. “The fact is, Mr. Jefferson, I don't think I like you.”

He should've asked why, but the truth was, he didn't really care. He met her eyes. “Actually, the feeling is
mutual, but we do have one thing in common—our high regard for Shirley.”

Miranda answered with a short nod.

“So that gives us common ground, agreed?”

She studied the bubbly liquid in her glass. “Agreed,” she finally said.

“Don't you feel it would be easier on Shirley if we made an effort to get along?”

This required more consideration on her part. “Perhaps.”

“On a different but related matter, I'm looking for someone who's knowledgeable about the local art community to pitch in at the gallery when I need it.” He remembered what Shirley had told him about Miranda's husband. “I gather from Shirley that you're eminently qualified,” he said. A stretch, perhaps, but whatever worked… “Would you be willing to consider doing that?” He really could use the help, she could probably handle the work and, with her at the gallery, he might be able to gain information about Shirley. In fact, this idea might be impetuous but it was a stroke of genius.

“My husband was an artist,” she murmured.

“Hugh Sullivan, the landscape painter.” He made a mental note to do some quick research on Hugh.

She smiled, a smile he found a trifle condescending. “I'll think about it, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Good.” He seemed to be winning her over and that pleased him. Now he had the larger task of working his way into Shirley Bliss's affections.

With—he hoped—the blessing of her friend Miranda.

S
unday afternoon—more glorious weather. As Mack worked in the yard, Mary Jo diligently washed the outside windows. She'd gone to church earlier that morning while Mack was finishing his overnight shift at the fire station. He got home at about the time she returned from services and they'd decided to spend this beautiful afternoon outdoors.

Mack reveled in the sense of peace and companionship he felt as they both worked quietly; he seeded bare portions of the lawn and she cleaned every window and wiped down every sill. Since Noelle was asleep inside the house, Mary Jo kept her front and back doors ajar so she could hear the baby. When they were done, she and Mack made small talk, complimenting each other's work, then put away their supplies. The windows gleamed from their washing, the lawn was greening and the garden—vegetables and flowers—now
looked
like a real garden. The lettuce leaves had started to sprout and Mary Jo had planted pole beans, corn and peas earlier in the week. The bulb flowers had sprung up in vivid color.

“I need to go to Wal-Mart,” Mary Jo announced at about four o'clock.

“Do you want company?” There was nothing he needed himself, but he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than spend time with Mary Jo.

“Sure, if you want. I have to get diapers and a few other things. I won't be long.”

“I can take you out to eat afterward, if you'd like.” He spoke casually, but his heart pounded with anticipation. It seemed that whenever he was making headway in this relationship, something would set the whole thing back. He knew he had to tread lightly with Mary Jo.

“You don't have to take me out, Mack, but thanks.”

“It's the least I can do,” he argued. “To pay you back for all the dinners you've made me.”

“No, really, I'm happy to have your company. Besides, I'm used to cooking for my brothers. I always make far more than one person could eat, anyway. You're actually doing
me
a favor.”

That was exactly what he'd told himself earlier in the week, but he didn't like hearing it now.

He shrugged, smiling, as if her comment amused him, although what he felt was frustration. How was it that he could fall in love with the one woman in the world who was determined not to venture into romance again? He could only hope she'd eventually start to trust him, eventually return his feelings….

Noelle was awake and cheerful when Mack, having showered and changed, joined them in the driveway. He picked up the baby seat and made silly noises that delighted Noelle as he fastened the carrier in Mary Jo's car. She'd suggested they take her vehicle; he offered to drive and she accepted.

On the way to Wal-Mart, they said very little.

“Have you found out any more about the letters?” she asked after a while.

“I thought of something that might help us,” he said.

“What?” Her interest was immediate.

“In one of the letters, the one where Jacob mentions eating fish and chips, he wrote about being raised in the Pacific Northwest.”

“Yes, I remember,” Mary Jo murmured. “So he wasn't just at a base in this area, it was also his home.”

“Right. So, it should be easy enough to check local high school records from that time—say, the mid-thirties through early forties. Her surname might have changed, but not his.”

“Maybe we can learn his family's address that way,” she said excitedly. “I'll start checking them out tomorrow. Also, could you talk to your friend?”

“My friend?”

“Yes, our landlord. Maybe he can tell us about the previous owners, or at least the most recent ones.”

“Ah…” Mack quickly recognized that this was a troubled path, one he didn't want to follow. Lying didn't come naturally to him but he was afraid to tell her the truth, afraid that if she knew, she'd pack up and move out, angry about being manipulated.

“Yeah, I will,” he promised.

“Soon?”

“Soon,” he agreed, trying to change the subject.

“It's just that I'm so curious about those letters,” she burbled on. “Oh, Mack, I wish you'd read more of them. They're
so
beautiful.

“I was thinking,” Mary Jo continued, “that if anyone could tell us about the previous owner it would be Charlotte Rhodes. Maybe she even knew the Manrys.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He'd ask her, but he'd do it when Mary Jo wasn't around. He was worried that his mother might have told her friend that he'd bought the duplex.

“She knows everyone in town,” Mary Jo was saying.

“Right,” he said curtly.

Mary Jo sent him an odd look, which he chose to ignore. He pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot and heaved a sigh of relief, grateful for an opportunity to direct the conversation away from the duplex, the letters and talking to Charlotte Rhodes. He found an empty space not far from the entrance and turned off the engine.

When Mary Jo had retrieved Noelle from the backseat, the three of them went into the store. Mack grabbed a cart and Mary Jo set Noelle safely inside.

“Do you want me to push?” he asked.

“Please.”

This felt good to Mack, almost as if they were a young married couple. Maybe it was foolish, but he liked to pretend they were and hoped to make that vision a reality one day.

Mary Jo walked toward the baby department with Mack and the cart behind her. He was making
vroom-vroom
noises, his attention on Noelle, when he suddenly heard Mary Jo say, “Look! There's Charlotte and Ben.” She pointed at the book and magazine section.

Mack's head snapped up. Great. Just his luck. He wondered what Charlotte might know regarding the letters, but he was worried she'd reveal more than he was ready to divulge.

“Maybe she's in a hurry….”

“Don't be silly.” Mary Jo bustled after Charlotte, and Mack had no choice but to follow, pushing Noelle in the cart.

“Charlotte!” Mary Jo called loudly, and the older woman turned around.

Charlotte was with her husband, Ben Rhodes, Noelle's grandfather. Her eyes brightened as soon as she saw Mary Jo, Mack and Noelle. “Oh, my, this is a pleasant surprise,” she said, moving toward them with her hands extended. After hugging Mary Jo and Mack, she smiled
down at Noelle. “I can't believe how much she's changed since we last saw her.”

“It wasn't that long ago,” Ben said mildly. He was leaning forward, chucking Noelle under the chin.

Ben was still distinguished-looking, and Mack had no difficulty picturing him as an admiral. He knew Ben Rhodes was an honorable man who took his responsibilities seriously. His son David had deeply hurt him by his actions.

“If you like, I could bring Noelle by once a week for a short visit,” Mary Jo offered. “You're the only grandparents she has.”

Charlotte and Ben exchanged a glance. “We'd love that,” Charlotte said enthusiastically. “Thank you, Mary Jo. That would mean so much to us.”

“Wednesdays would be best for me if that's okay with you? I can come by when I've picked her up from Kelly's.”

Kelly Jordan was Noelle's day-care provider.

Again, the older couple conferred with a single glance. “That would be perfect,” Ben assured her.

“I'll stop by after work, then. I won't stay long, I promise.”

“You stay as long as you like. Ben and I will look forward to seeing our granddaughter—and you, too, of course.”

“Actually, Mack and I were just talking about you,” Mary Jo told Charlotte.

“Oh?”

“We discovered the oddest thing in the duplex. I found a box of old letters under the floorboards of my bedroom closet.”

Mack moved closer to Mary Jo.

“They've been there for years,” Mary Jo said. “The
letters were written in the early 1940s to a woman named Joan Manry, who lived in the house.”

“Joan Manry.” Charlotte slowly repeated the name.

“Does that sound the least bit familiar?” she asked hopefully.

Charlotte's forehead wrinkled. “I can't say it does. I was a young bride myself back then. Clyde and I had just married, against the wishes of my parents, mind you. I was far too young, but these were desperate times and Clyde was about to go off to war.”

“From what I've been able to decipher, Joan lived at 1022 Evergreen with her sister and worked in the shipyard.”

“As I did,” Charlotte said. “I'm sorry, but the name doesn't ring a bell. Let me think about it, though.”

“Who wrote the letters?” Ben asked. “A soldier?”

“Yes. His name was Dennison,” Mack supplied. “Jacob Dennison.”

“Jacob Dennison.” Charlotte frowned thoughtfully. “His name does sound familiar but I can't recall why.”

“I'd love to find out what happened to those two,” Mary Jo said, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I want to know if Dennison survived the war and if he and Joan ever got married. If so, I'll bet their children and grandchildren would treasure these letters. They're beautifully written and very moving.”

“Hidden away like that, too,” Charlotte commented.

“Yes, I can't imagine why she'd do that. The only thing I've come up with is that, for some reason, Joan's sister didn't like Jacob.”

“Maybe,” Charlotte murmured. “I'll see what I can learn about those names for you,” she said.

“That would be great.” Mack felt some of the tension ease from between his shoulder blades.

Mary Jo turned to Charlotte again. “You don't happen to know who lived in the duplex in the forties, do you?”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, sorry, but I do know it wasn't originally a duplex.”

“When did it become one?”

“Oh, heavens, I'm not sure. It must've been twenty years ago. The previous owner hadn't kept up the place, but that all changed when Mack bought it. He's made such a difference.”

Mack's heart sank all the way to his feet. He glanced covertly at Mary Jo and was surprised she didn't react to the news.

“Mack's made improvements, then?” she asked without letting anything slip.

“The difference is like night and day,” Charlotte said.

Mack stayed quiet, for fear that any remark he made would damn him all the more in Mary Jo's eyes.

“I've kept you long enough,” Mary Jo said after a moment. “I'll come by on Wednesday with Noelle.”

“Ben and I will see you then.” Ben started to push the cart away when Charlotte turned back. “I'll find out whatever I can about Joan Manry and Jacob Dennison in the next couple of days and tell you what I learn on Wednesday.”

“Oh, thank you. I can't wait.”

Mary Jo yanked the cart away from him and steered it back to the diaper aisle at a clipped pace. Mack had to hurry to keep up with her. The anger and betrayal she felt seemed to radiate from her rigid back and stiff shoulders. Unsure how best to proceed, Mack trailed silently behind her.

Not a word passed between them as Mary Jo finished her shopping. He stood, still silent, as she paid for her purchases and exchanged pleasantries with the friendly
cashier. The woman's name tag said Christie Levitt. He thought he'd seen her before, but troubled as he was, Mack couldn't remember where.

Mary Jo seemed quite cheerful—until he caught her eye. Her gaze narrowed and Mack knew there'd be no reprieve for him. She was upset and she wasn't going to forgive his deception easily.

Once she'd paid and collected her bags, Mack dashed ahead of her and unlocked the car, opening Mary Jo's door. Usually he put Noelle in her infant seat but this time Mary Jo did it, not giving him a chance. With nothing more to do, Mack slid into the driver's seat, and simply waited until Mary Jo got in. His hand on the ignition key, he looked at her.

“Can we talk about this?”

“No.”

Her voice was stark.

“Uh, can you let me know when we
can
talk about it?”

She didn't answer.

“I guess that means it won't be anytime soon?” he asked, attempting a bit of levity.

“Probably not.” She stared out the passenger-side window.

Mack exhaled slowly, then backed out of the parking space. He drove in silence.

“Just when I thought I'd met a man I could actually trust,” Mary Jo blurted out five minutes later, “I discover that not only did you outright
lie
to me but you continued with the fabrication when you had every opportunity to set the record straight. Were we not discussing this very matter no more than thirty minutes ago?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Can I trust
anything
you have to say?”

“Yes,” he insisted.

“I doubt it.” She looked pointedly out the passenger window again, her arms crossed.

“Would it help to say I'm sorry?” he asked. And he was. But once he'd told her someone else owned the duplex, he couldn't ever find a way to introduce the truth. He wished now that he'd tried harder.

“No.”

“That's pretty harsh, don't you think? Okay, I screwed up. I admit it.”

“Fine, apology accepted.”

Despite what she said, it certainly didn't sound as if she meant it. “Thank you.”

“Why did you lie?” she demanded.

“Okay, good question. I was afraid—”

“Of what?”

“Afraid you wouldn't agree to the lower rent payment if you knew I owned the duplex.”

She threw him an angry look. “You're right, I wouldn't have. What I want to know is why you felt it was so important for me to move next door to you.”

“Because.” He didn't have an answer that would satisfy her. He couldn't very well say he'd fallen completely and totally in love with her and that he couldn't stand the thought of losing Noelle. Not that she was really his to lose…

“‘Because'? Oh,
that
explains everything.”