204 Rosewood Lane (35 page)

D
aniel Sherman was buried three days later in a private service with only family and a few friends in attendance. Bob Beldon, a childhood friend of Dan's, gave the eulogy. The two men had been on the highschool football team together and then following graduation they'd enlisted in the Army on the buddy plan. Maryellen hadn't realized how close Dan and Bob had once been. After Vietnam her father had let that friendship and all the others slide as he became immersed in his own hell.

Maryellen returned from the memorial, physically and emotionally exhausted. Needing time to think through the events of the past year, she parked near the gallery, then walked down to the waterfront.

The gazebo area, where the Concerts on the Cove were held each Thursday night during summer, was deserted. Sitting halfway up in the stands, Maryellen stared straight ahead as she considered the complex relationship she'd had with her father. He'd loved her, she knew now, as much as
he was capable of loving anyone. Kelly, too—perhaps more. And he'd loved their mother.

Grace had taken his death hard. Maryellen attributed her mother's intense grief to the fact that she hadn't been prepared for the shock of it. For her, it'd been easier to believe that Dan was with another woman—easier to accept, in some ways, than the knowledge that he'd taken his own life.

As to her own feelings, Maryellen was confused. This was her father, and she loved him, but she'd learned early in life to avoid Dan whenever the darkness came over him. As a five-year-old, she'd come up with that term. “The darkness.” It all made sense now. Her father had been haunted by guilt since the war, guilt he couldn't drive off and couldn't share.

Maryellen understood that, since she, too, lived with regret and pain. She, too, struggled with the past. All this time, she'd believed she had nothing in common with her father and without knowing it, they'd been more alike than she could possibly have guessed.

A tear fell onto her cheek, and then another, catching her unawares. Maryellen wasn't emotional; she refused to be. Couldn't afford to be. She'd locked away her emotions when she walked away from her marriage. Emotions were too costly.

The sound of someone approaching made her straighten and wipe the tears from her face. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to see that the intruder was Jon.

“I read about your father. I'm sorry.” He stood some distance from her, down by the gazebo, and looked out over the water. The sky was an azure cloudless blue, and the wind was still.

“Thank you.” The foot ferry that traveled between Bremerton and Cedar Cove lumbered toward the pier. Maryellen concentrated on that instead of Jon. He didn't leave and she
wanted to be alone. If she didn't pick up the conversation, maybe he'd get the hint and go away.

“I'm sorry to talk to you about this now—”

“Then don't,” she pleaded.

“You've taken that choice away from me.” To his credit, he did sound apologetic. “If you'd told me about the baby we could've—”

“We could've what?” she shouted. “Gotten rid of it?”

Her anger appeared to shock him. He stiffened and then dashed up the aisle so that he stood directly in front of her. “No, Maryellen, we could've talked this out like civilized human beings. Instead, you deceived me. You let me think everything was perfectly fine and it wasn't.”

She lowered her head and stared at her feet. “You're wrong. Everything
is
fine. I'm going to have my baby.”

“That's where you're wrong. This isn't your baby, it's
our
baby.”

“No.” A chill ran down her spine, a niggling fear.

“A father has rights, too.”

Maryellen went cold inside. “How much is this going to cost me?”

“What?” He frowned, obviously confused.

“How much money will it take for you to leave me and my—me and the baby alone?” she demanded.

He stared at her for a long, heart-stopping moment. “You want to pay me to stay out of my child's life? Is that what you're suggesting?”

She nodded.

“No way!” He sounded angry and disgusted. Then he completely bewildered her by asking, “Who told you?”

“Told me what?” There seemed to be something she could use against him.

“If you don't know, then I'll be damned before I hand you another weapon.”

Her mind raced with what she knew about him, which was little. He worked as a chef, was a talented photographer and had inherited an incredible piece of land from his grandfather. That was the sum total of everything she'd learned about him—with one small sidebar. He was a fabulous lover. This last thought made her stomach tense.

“When did you take the photo of me?”

He didn't answer, but stood his ground.

“I saw it in Seattle. That
is
me, Jon. Did you think I wouldn't recognize myself?” She wasn't the only one who'd been deceptive.

When she glanced up, she saw that he looked chagrined, as though embarrassed that she'd seen something he'd never intended her to know about. Well, she did know and she didn't like it.

“I didn't think you'd ever see that,” he admitted, his hands in his pockets.

“Of course you didn't. Did you follow me around, Jon? When did you take that photograph?”

He lowered himself onto the bench several feet away from her. He kept his eyes focused on the waterfront and the jagged peaks of Olympic Mountains in the background. “We're both adults. We should be able to come to an agreement regarding the baby.”

“If you don't want money, what
do
you want?”

“My son,” he told her. “Or my daughter.”

“Why? Why does my baby matter to you? Is it some sort of male pride? Or vengeance? Or what?”

He shook his head. “A child is a child, and that's a hell of a lot more than I ever expected out of life.” His voice was
rigid with anger. “I've given up a lot over the years, but I'm not walking away from my own flesh and blood.”

Maryellen was beginning to feel truly frightened. His interest in the child wasn't something she'd anticipated. She'd completely misread him that time before Christmas. Based on his reaction and on her own past experience, she'd believed he wouldn't want anything to do with their child.

“All right,” she said reluctantly, “let's talk about this. How involved do you expect to be?”

“I want joint custody.”

“Not on your life!” Her reaction was strong and immediate. “I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“What do you know about taking care of an infant?”

He shrugged. “About as much as you.”

“You work nights,” she argued.

“You work days. It's a perfect set-up. Our child will be with one of his or her parents at all times.”

By now Maryellen's stomach was twisted in tight knots. “That's too difficult—we'd constantly be shuffling the baby from one house to the other.”

“You asked what I want, so I'll tell you,” Jon continued. “Joint custody is number one on the list, but I also want to be at the hospital when the baby's born.”

“You want to be there? For what possible reason?”

He ignored her question. “Have you chosen a birthing partner yet?”

“My mother.”

“Fine, have your mother go in with you. But after the baby's born, I want to be the first one to hold him or her.”

“No.” This was getting far too complicated, far too unreasonable. She longed for him to simply leave her alone. She'd
already been through one traumatic experience today and she wasn't prepared to deal with another. “Anything else you want?” she asked with weary sarcasm.

“Oh, yes, there are several more items on my list.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“And your response is likely to be the same, isn't it?”

In retrospect she'd been naive to think he'd be like Clint and demand she get rid of the baby. She'd been even more naive not to consider that Jon might actually wish to be involved in the baby's life.

“Why can't you be like other men?” she muttered irritably.
Like Clint, for example.

“Me?” he challenged. “Why can't you be like other women who use a child as a meal ticket and a way to manipulate men?”

“You have a rather jaded view of the female population.”

“No more jaded than your view of men.”

He had her there. “Touché.”

He let the conversation drop a moment, and then turned to her. “Can we compromise, Maryellen? Will you voluntarily allow me to be a part of my baby's life? To be a father to my child?”

That he would ask her this on the very day she'd buried her own father was an irony she'd never forget. “Do I have to make that decision right now?”

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

“Why?”

“Because I've been to see an attorney. If we can't work this out between the two of us, then I'm going to take you to court.”

 

The day Grace laid her husband to rest, she'd stood with her daughters at the gravesite and gathered them close so the
three of them could bid Dan farewell. The nightmare was over. She had the answers she needed. What she hadn't anticipated was the aching regret that accompanied them. For three days, she'd suffered from nightmares. The questions and doubts that had plagued her constantly since his disappearance had been dispelled by his letter; she knew now that she wasn't to blame for his misery or for his final choice. But she'd discovered that the answers were as haunting as the questions.

Dan had chosen to take his own life. He'd chosen to die rather than confront the past, rather than deal with the future, rather than seek professional help. What Dan wrote in his letter explained his dark moods, but it didn't offer the expiation she sought. It didn't explain why her husband hadn't been able to turn to her. She'd failed him, failed their marriage. Dan was never the same person after Vietnam; she'd known that and she should've gotten him help.

With friends and family at her side these last few days, it had been easy to push the nagging questions out of her mind, but she was alone now. The girls were both in their own homes. They had made peace with their father and gone back to their lives. But Grace wasn't sure she could ever do that. Dan's last act had changed the way she saw her whole marriage—her whole life.

She boiled water and then left a pot of tea to steep while she changed out of her suit and into slacks and a sleeveless top. Her eyes stung from the tears she'd shed, but they were dry now. No sooner had she poured her tea than the doorbell rang. Grace half expected Olivia and would have welcomed her dearest friend. Her feelings were contradictory; she didn't want to be alone, but she didn't want company, either. Olivia would understand that.

But it was Cliff Harding who stood at her door, a bouquet of perfect yellow rosebuds in his hand.

She blinked, stunned to see him, and instantly, to her utter embarrassment, dissolved into tears. Covering her face with both hands, she wept aloud. Cliff opened the screen door and stepped inside, and immediately took her into his arms.

Grace clung to him. She felt the roses press against her back, the tiny thorns tearing the material of her blouse, and still she clung to him weeping and sobbing, her cries echoing in the empty house.

Cliff led her to the sofa. His arms encompassed her as her body shook with sobs.

She didn't know how much time had passed, but when the tears were spent, she lifted her head and between deep breaths apologized. “I didn't…mean to…do that.”

“I'm glad you did,” he said quietly.

Not understanding the comment, she raised questioning eyes to him.

“It feels good to be needed. No one's needed me in a very long time.”

Grace pressed her head to Cliff's shoulder and exhaled a wobbly breath. She gloried in his warmth, his solid strength. “I never expected it to end like this,” she whispered.

“I know you didn't.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “I'm sorry, Grace, sorrier than you'll ever know.”

“He wrote me a letter…. It helped explain. All the years I believed… I thought there was someone else, some other woman who could make him happy.”

His hand stroked her hair. “What about the friend who spotted him in town?”

“According to the sheriff, it couldn't have been Dan.”

“A case of mistaken identity?”

Grace nodded. “It must be.” She blew her nose in a tissue,
thinking she must look dreadful. “It explains the mangled Christmas gifts I found, too.” That was a sign of the depths his depression had reached. He felt unworthy of anything good in his life, to the point that he'd destroyed anything he loved, including the gifts his family gave him. His world was a bleak, black void. He felt trapped in the darkness and couldn't find his way out.

“Did you learn where he got the cash to buy the trailer?”

“That I don't know. We never had thirteen thousand dollars in all the time we were married. With Dan only working part of the year, we often went for months living on one paycheck, scrimping, going from payday to payday. We had to take out loans to pay for the girls' schooling. I don't understand how he managed to put that kind of money aside.”

“He must have planned this for years.”

Grace had thought that, too. “I don't know if he intended to kill himself right away…. I think he just wanted to escape. Dan loved the forest. He felt more at peace there than anywhere else. His moods got much worse after he lost his job as a logger. I just assumed…”

“You assumed the depression was caused by the loss of his job, which is only natural.”

“I did,” she said. “I realize now that he lost whatever sense of peace he had when he left the forest. That's why he bought the trailer. He intended to live there for a while, I think, mull over his life…” She sighed. “I'd
like
to think that, but how true it is I have no way of knowing. He returned to the house once. I'm positive of that.” Still, Grace didn't understand why he'd come home so briefly. She felt a wave of pity for him and wished again that she'd been more perceptive.