Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2 (10 page)

“O
livia! It's a girl,” Grace Harding all but shouted through her cell phone.

“Kelly had the baby?” Olivia sounded groggy, as though she'd been asleep. If so, she was awake fast enough, and seemed as excited as Grace herself. This was one of the great things about having a best friend like Olivia. You could call her at any hour of the day or night. You could share bad news or good, and she'd always know what to say.

“I woke you up. I'm sorry.” A quick glance at her watch showed that it was eleven o'clock. Tears of joy made wet tracks down her cheeks. “Kelly phoned at nine to tell me she was in labor. I got here just in time to welcome little Emma Grace into the world.”

“Emma Grace,” Olivia repeated slowly. “What a lovely name.”

“She's gorgeous.” Grace couldn't stop talking. “She's got the biggest, bluest eyes and—”

“Meet me at the Pancake Palace,” Olivia broke in with a laugh. “We should celebrate.”

It wasn't champagne Goldie would be pouring—more like decaf coffee. She'd probably bring them each a slice of coconut cream pie, as well.

For years Olivia and Grace had attended a Wednesday-night aerobics class, followed by coconut pie and coffee. This was tradition. The pie and coffee were their reward for stretching and sweating and leaping up and down. More importantly, Wednesday night was their time to catch up.

Even though they'd seen each other just the night before, it seemed right to share this moment with Olivia, who'd been a constant in her life since grade school.

“I'll be there in half an hour,” Grace told her. She felt too keyed up to drive home and try to sleep, anyway. It wasn't every day a woman had a brand-new granddaughter.

The next call she made was to Cliff; she remembered that he was in the barn, so she left a message. Then she phoned Maryellen, who of course already knew, and finally she drove from the birthing center in Silverdale back to Cedar Cove.

Grace's heart soared as she rounded the curving road that edged the Cove. The lights of her hometown welcomed her, and she smiled as she drove past the library and down Harbor Street to the Pancake Palace. This had been their hangout, hers and Olivia's, ever since high school.

Funny, those afternoons didn't seem that long ago…. They were both grandmothers now, but inside they remained the high-school girls they'd been back then, confiding secrets and gossiping about their friends.

The Pancake Palace had changed little in all those years. The menu was still the same; only the prices had increased. The booths had been reupholstered a number of times, but they were the same red vinyl as they'd been in the days of their youth.

Olivia's car was in the parking lot and Grace could see her through the restaurant window. She was in
their
booth, the very booth where Grace had whispered her dreaded secret when they were high-school seniors. Olivia was the only person who knew Grace was pregnant when they graduated. Grace hadn't found the courage to tell her parents until Dan had said he'd marry her. Then and only then had they broken the news to her family.

“You look far too young to be a grandmother,” Olivia said when Grace slid into the upholstered seat across from her.

“Five times over.” She had four of her own and was a stepgrandmother to Cliff's granddaughter, April. And yet it wasn't so long ago that she'd despaired of ever becoming a grandmother at all. That was when Maryellen was divorced and seemed to have no intention of marrying a second time. Kelly had wanted children but couldn't conceive.

Now both her daughters were mothers, each with a boy and a girl—a wealth of happiness that overwhelmed Grace whenever she thought about it.

“Tell me everything about Emma Grace,” Olivia said.

“She's a beautiful baby,” Grace began, “with lots of blond hair, those blue eyes and a scrunched-up red face.” She smiled at the memory of holding Emma. “She's got a powerful pair of lungs, too.”

Goldie, their favorite waitress, approached the table, carrying a pot of coffee in one hand and two pieces of coconut cream pie in the other.

“Didn't I see you here yesterday?” she asked as she set down the plates. “And it's later than your usual nine-fifteen.”

“I'm a grandma again,” Grace announced proudly.

“Congratulations!” Goldie poured their coffee. “The pie's on the house, girls.” She hurried off to see to another customer, one of the few so late at night.

“How's Kelly doing?” Olivia asked, reaching for her fork.

“Excited. Jubilant.”

“That's exactly how you were when you had Maryellen and Kelly.”

“And you with Justine and Jordan,” Grace reminded her, “and then later with James.”

Sadness flashed in Olivia's eyes at the mention of Jordan, the son she'd lost.

“Okay,” she said a moment later, rebounding quickly. “Now that both Drake and Emma have made their appearance, it's time.”

“Time for what?”

“Time—” Olivia pointed her fork at Grace “—to plan your wedding reception.”

Grace instantly felt guilty about putting this off. She'd been so involved with her daughters and the births of the grandchildren that she'd delayed the reception again and again. “It's been so many months now, I don't think—”

“Nonsense,” Olivia countered, cutting her off. “Your entire family needs to celebrate. All the grandkids are healthy and happy. And you're married to a wonderful man who adores you.” As if she'd suddenly realized Cliff wasn't with them, Olivia sat up and looked around. “Speaking of Cliff…”

“He's at home, or more accurately, in the barn. Sunshine decided to deliver her foal, so Cal and Vicki are both with him. It's Sunshine's first and Cliff wants to be sure everything goes okay.”

Olivia smiled softly. “A night of births…”

Grace nodded, feeling emotional. After a sip of coffee, she changed the subject. “Well, we know what my husband's doing. How's yours?”

“Jack's snoring contentedly. The phone didn't even wake him.” She shook her head.

“Your Sleeping Beauty,” Grace teased.

“Wait—we're mixing up our fairy tales.” Olivia laughed. “All I know is that we both ended up with a happily ever after. However long that might be,” she added soberly, and Grace knew she was thinking of Jack's heart attack the year before.

Grace could only hope he'd truly mended his high-cholesterol, junk-food ways. What she liked best about Jack Griffin, and there was a lot to admire, was the fact that he loved her friend. They were two of the most mismatched people she could imagine. And yet…it worked.

“Set a date for the reception,” Olivia urged her. “And I'll help as much as I can.”

Grace nodded. Olivia was right; it was time to celebrate her marriage. They were never going to find a date that suited absolutely everyone. That was why they'd gotten married during a library conference Grace was attending in San Francisco. They both had busy lives, and so did their children. But instead of fitting their schedules to everyone else's, they'd simply eloped. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, and Grace had no regrets.

Except one. She hadn't realized how upset everyone would be with her and Cliff. Even Olivia felt hurt. Cliff and Grace hadn't meant to exclude anyone; all they'd wanted was to be together as husband and wife. A wedding reception would allow their family and friends to celebrate to their hearts' content.

“How about two months from now? I'll confirm with Cliff and let you know.” Grace dug into her pie, savoring the first bite. Coconut was her favorite although it was probably a bad choice from a health point of view. On the other hand, was there a
good
choice when you were talking about pie?

Olivia set down her fork and wrapped one hand around her mug. She stared into her coffee. “I thought you should know. Will's in town. Mom called me this evening.”

Grace's heart slowed to a dull, irregular beat. “Oh.”

“He showed up at Mom and Ben's earlier today.”

“Okay.” This wasn't the most intelligent response, but she couldn't come up with anything else to say.

“Where's he staying?” she finally mumbled.

“With Mom and Ben for now.” Olivia looked down at the table. “Apparently he's going to look for an apartment.”

“You…you didn't mention my house is for rent, did you?”

Olivia's gaze shot to hers. “No way! You mean it's still vacant?”

The house felt like a weight around her neck. A young navy couple, Ian and Cecilia Randall, had rented it on a month-to-month basis; they'd barely moved in when they received word of a transfer to San Diego. The rental property had sat empty for two and a half months.

The rental agent had told her that with the
John F. Reynolds
leaving port, the market was glutted with available properties.

“He isn't planning to rent a house, thankfully.”

Grace pushed the pie away, her appetite gone. “If Will knew my house was available…” She didn't finish the thought.

“I'm not going to tell him,” Olivia assured her. “And I'm sure Mom won't, either.”

Grace leaned her elbows on the table. “My biggest fear is that Will might make trouble between Cliff and me,” she confessed.

“I'll admit that's on my mind, too,” Olivia said. “Mom doesn't seem to think so, though.”

“She's spoken to Will about it?” Charlotte wasn't one to shy away from an uncomfortable subject. Grace was grateful for the older woman's wisdom. Grateful, too, that she'd confronted her son and his sudden need to return to Cedar Cove.

“Mom told me that Will claims he has no intention of pestering you.”

Grace hoped that was true. Even after she'd broken off their relationship, Will had attempted to get in touch with her, to explain away his lies and tell her fresh ones. She'd nearly lost Cliff once because of Will; she couldn't risk that happening a second time.

“Does Cliff know?” Olivia asked as if reading her thoughts.

“I've been meaning to tell him, but I haven't done it yet.”

“Grace!”

“It's just that we're so happy and I don't want anything to upset that.”

“Knowing Cliff, he'd be far more upset if he learned Will's living in Cedar Cove and you didn't tell him.”

“I
will
tell him, I promise.” She'd do it as soon as she got home. This was too important to leave to chance. She wouldn't jeopardize her marriage over someone as deceitful and dishonorable as Will Jefferson.

They finished their coffee and stood up to go, leaving a bigger than usual tip for Goldie. As they started walking to the door, Olivia gave her a hug. “Congratulations, Grandma.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Olivia yawned. “Now let's go home and get to bed. I have to be at work in the morning.”

“Me, too.” Grace wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep. First, there was the birth of Emma Grace and now this distressing news about Will Jefferson. Olivia had warned her weeks ago, but Grace hadn't believed Will would actually do it. Hadn't believed he'd dare. Yet here he was.

The light in the barn was off when she pulled into the yard and parked in her usual spot. Grace figured Cliff must be in the house. She hoped he hadn't gone to bed.

“Is that you, Grace?” he said, coming to meet her in the entryway, accompanied by the dog.

“It's me.” She stooped to pet Buttercup, then walked into her husband's arms. After a lengthy hug, she asked, “How's Sunshine?”

“Fabulous. She has a handsome son and she's doing well. How's Kelly?”

“She has a beautiful daughter and she's doing well, too.”

He chuckled and hugged her again. “Little Emma Grace—she couldn't have a nicer name.”

Grace smiled. “Olivia and I celebrated with pie and coffee at the Pancake Palace.”

“That's what your message said.”

“Olivia insisted we set a date for our wedding reception so I suggested mid-October. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure—as long as this is something you want to do.”

She nodded. “I want the world to know I've got the best husband in the world.”

Cliff kissed the top of her head. “I'm the lucky one.”

“You think so, do you?” Try as she might, Grace was unable to stifle a yawn.

Slipping his arm around her waist, Cliff led her down the hallway to their bedroom. “You must be exhausted.”

“I thought I'd be too keyed up to sleep, but…”

Cliff yawned, too. “I thought the same thing. Come on, honey, let's go to bed.”

She should tell him now, Grace realized. But because they had so much to celebrate, she decided she couldn't. Not then. Perhaps in the morning. Right now they were both too tired. They were happy. To destroy the evening with news of Will Jefferson just seemed wrong.

All she could do was pray that Cliff didn't learn it from anyone else.

“C
an Rachel take me shopping?” Jolene asked for the sixth time.

“I said that would be fine,” Bruce muttered, leafing through the
Cedar Cove Chronicle.
He worked hard at his computer support business and needed this quiet time in the evenings. Just half an hour to regroup; that was all. Since Stephanie's death he'd developed a routine with their daughter. He got home from work, watched the news and read the paper while Jolene entertained herself with a book or a jigsaw puzzle. Afterward they prepared dinner together. Their meals weren't always the meat-and-potatoes variety, either. Some nights it was bacon, eggs and waffles. More than once they'd had cookies and milk with popcorn for dessert, but he didn't make a habit of that.

“You didn't phone her,” Jolene whined.

“Why don't you?” he said. She'd called Rachel Pendergast often enough in the past. Rachel had stepped in as a surrogate mother after Stephanie's death and spent many evenings and Saturdays with them both.

At age seven, Jolene had decided she needed a mother and she'd chosen Rachel. Bruce smiled as he recalled the day they'd met Rachel at the beauty salon—and how embarrassed he'd been by his daughter's pronouncement. But Bruce gratefully accepted Rachel's involvement in their lives, as long as nothing was required of him. He wasn't interested in a romantic relationship, he told himself again. He was a one-woman man, and Stephanie was that woman. Now that she was gone he had no intention of marrying again. Rachel understood that, although most women didn't. Since he was what people considered prime marriage material, various friends had taken it upon themselves to find him a wife. Bruce had been in more than his share of uncomfortable social situations with women whose objectives were explicit—if not explicitly stated. Sooner or later, they all learned that he wasn't interested.

“I want
you
to phone Rachel,” Jolene said.

Bruce lowered the newspaper. “Why?”

“Because then she'll know you approve.”

Bruce could see that the peacefulness of the evening was already shattered. Jolene talked to Rachel on a regular basis; the two of them seemed to get together at least once a week for one reason or another. More often now that Lover Boy had departed for San Diego. Nate Olsen was no loss as far as Bruce was concerned, although he hadn't said that to Rachel. She could date whomever she wanted.

“Here.” Jolene handed him the portable phone.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered. If he was truthful, he'd admit he wasn't opposed to contacting Rachel. He considered her a friend—a good enough friend to be on speed dial.

“Hi,” he said when she picked up. “Are you doing anything special this Saturday?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Jolene needs to go school shopping and she'd like you to take her.”

“Count me in.”

Bruce grinned at her enthusiasm. He didn't understand this thing about women and shopping. He didn't know a single one who wouldn't leap at the opportunity to dash to a mall. A sale on bedsheets, some kind of giveaway, a makeup demonstration—any excuse would do.

“What's so funny?”

“You women and your shopping.”

“Listen, Bruce, you don't want to go there. Men have their own preferences. I'll bet you're sitting in front of the television right now with the remote control on the arm rest. I'll bet you're reading the paper at the same time as you're watching the TV news.”

How did she know this much about his evening routine? He supposed it shouldn't surprise him. Rachel had often been to his house over the past few years and he'd been to hers. She was the only woman who'd breached his defenses. Suddenly he wondered if she was right about other men's routines being the same as his. And if she was, how had she found out?

“What do you hear from Lover Boy?” he asked.

“I wish you'd stop calling Nate that,” she said, the humor leaving her voice.

“Okay, your Sailor Man,” he revised. The truth was, Bruce had never much cared for Rachel's navy boyfriend. For one thing, he couldn't imagine them as a couple. For another, Nate seemed to resent the time Rachel spent with Jolene. In fact he'd tried on more than one occasion to come between them. So far, that hadn't worked; Rachel wouldn't allow it.

“We talk almost every day. He misses me.”

“Do you miss him?” Bruce asked, although he already knew what she'd say.

“Like crazy. I'm going to fly down to California to visit him soon. Or he'll fly up here for a weekend. We're miserable without each other.”

Bruce had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sarcastic remark. He wasn't sure why he'd bothered to ask. Thinking about Nate Olsen and Rachel invariably put him in a bad mood, although he refused to delve any further into the reasons for that.

“What's new in town?” Rachel asked, abruptly changing the subject. “You're reading the paper, aren't you? Give me an update.”

“All right,” he said, looking at the front page. “The school board's bringing a new bond issue to the ballot in September. You'll vote for it, won't you?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“There's an article here by Jack Griffin about the Harbor Street Art Gallery. Apparently the owners are closing it, at least for the winter months, and maybe for good.”

“Oh, no,” Rachel murmured. “Maryellen Bowman's going to feel awful about that. She's the one who built it up. A lot of local artists depend on that extra income.”

“There's also a short piece about a farewell party for Linnette McAfee,” Bruce went on. “Apparently her last day at the Medical Clinic is next week.”

“I'm sorry she's moving away,” Rachel said. “If anyone should move, it's Cal,” she added indignantly.

“Who's Cal?”

She launched into a rather involved explanation of Linnette and Cal Washburn and their relationship, ending with, “He broke her heart and now
she's
leaving town?”

“Why?” That didn't make sense to Bruce, either, but then he was the last person who'd understand the whys and wherefores of a relationship. Rachel explained why
she
thought Linnette had decided to move. It still didn't make sense to him. So Linnette and this Cal broke up. So what? This wasn't junior high. Everyone should be able to coexist and behave like the adults they were.

“Martha Evans's funeral was this week,” Rachel said next. “Anything in the paper about that?”

“Who's she?”

“She was an elderly woman. Around ninety. I did her hair for the funeral.”

He didn't like thinking about it. “That's something you do?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course. She was a lovely woman. I'll miss her.”

“But why—”

“The funeral home occasionally hires me. And I was very fond of Martha so I wanted to do it.”

They chatted for another while, joking back and forth, filling each other in on what was happening at work. When he replaced the phone, Bruce was shocked to realize they'd talked for more than an hour.

“What did Rachel say?” Jolene asked. She'd been waiting patiently, completing a jigsaw puzzle of horses grazing in a field. Five hundred pieces! He was impressed.

“She said she'd be by to pick you up at nine-thirty on Saturday morning,” he said absently. An
hour.
He'd spent an entire hour on the phone with Rachel?

Something was wrong.

Bruce didn't even like talking on the phone. Five minutes, tops. Say what's necessary and hang up. He could barely remember a conversation in his entire adult life that had lasted more than fifteen minutes.

“Dad?” Jolene cut into his musings.

“What?”

“You're standing up but you're not going anywhere.”

“I am?” He hadn't been aware that he was on his feet until Jolene pointed it out.

“Are you okay?” his daughter asked.

Bruce sat back down. “I—I don't know.” He felt dizzy, and that was unusual for him. In fact, his head was spinning. Maybe he had the flu.
Yeah, a flu named Rachel.
Where did
that
thought come from? Squinting at his daughter, he noticed she was looking at him strangely.

“Should I call 911?”

“No.” He forced a laugh. “I'm fine. I do have a question for you, though.”

“Sure.” She knelt in front of him, her hand on his knee. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”

“No, no, it's nothing.” His heart felt like an oil-rig pump that had gone berserk, but he chose to ignore that. “You like Rachel, don't you?” But Jolene didn't need to answer. Rachel had taken Stephanie's place in her life. His own parents lived in Connecticut, and Jolene had only seen them two or three times. Stephanie's parents had divorced when she was young and she'd never had a good relationship with her father. Her mother had died within two years of Stephanie; she'd never recovered from the loss of her only child. So it'd always been just Bruce and his daughter. Except for Rachel…

“Dad,
of course
I like Rachel,” Jolene said. “You like her, too, don't you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

“You're not mad at her or anything?”

“No, no, everything's…fine.”

The relief in his daughter's eyes quickly turned to fear. “She's not marrying Nate and moving to San Diego, is she?”

Not if I can help it,
his mind shouted. With Jolene studying him intently, he shook his head and pretended nothing was amiss.

Together they made dinner. Jolene prepared a green salad while Bruce fixed tuna sandwiches. Dinnertime had been important to Stephanie. Because he knew this was something his wife would've wanted, Bruce had continued the practice of having dinner with Jolene every evening. While she described her day, he did his best to pay attention. During the summer she attended a church day camp, which she loved. She launched into a long, complicated story about a little play she was in, and he forced himself to nod and exclaim in the right places.

Summer bedtime was nine-thirty and Jolene went without an argument. He cleaned up the kitchen, then thought about going to bed himself, only he wasn't tired. After washing a load of laundry and dumping it in the dryer, he cleaned the bathroom. This burst of nervous energy wasn't a bad thing, he decided. Rare and surprising, perhaps, but nothing to be alarmed by.

Once in bed, he tossed and turned for another hour, then realized he wouldn't sleep until he'd talked to Rachel again. Her phone rang four times before she answered.

“Hello.” Her voice was soft with sleep.

“It's me,” he said, feeling a bit unnerved when he glanced at the clock on his nightstand and saw that it was after midnight.

“Bruce? Do you know what
time
it is?” She sounded more awake now—and annoyed.

“Sorry…”

“What's wrong?”

“When we talked earlier,” he began, not knowing where to go from there.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“We were on the phone for over an hour.”

His announcement was met with silence, so he forged ahead. “There's something happening between us, Rachel.”

She sighed, or it could have been a suppressed yawn. “No, there isn't.”

“I've never talked to a woman for that long in my whole life.” He hesitated, then added, “Someone other than Stephanie, I mean.”

“You woke me out of a dead sleep to tell me that?” Now her voice was incredulous.

“Yes.”

“Bruce, listen, we're friends. We've been friends for years. Friends talk.”

“I don't chitchat on the phone,” he said forcefully. “I just don't. I never have.”

“You're making too much of this, okay? It's not a big deal.”

“Jolene's worried.” He said the next thing that came to mind.

“About you?”

“No,” he told her swiftly. “She's worried about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. She's afraid you're going to marry Nate and leave.” He was worried, too, but he couldn't tell Rachel that. He'd already revealed far too much of his confusion. His feelings for Rachel were changing—or perhaps he simply hadn't recognized them for what they were.

“Bruce, Jolene and I have discussed this at length. If she mentions it to you again, tell her the person she needs to talk to is me.”

“What did you say to her?” he asked. They were talking about his daughter here and he had a right to know.

Rachel yawned before answering. “I promised her she'd always be part of my life.”

“So you've decided to marry Lover Boy, after all.”

“Would you stop it,” she chastised none too gently.

“Now I'm worried about Jolene,” he whispered. It felt like he was about to lose his best friend, and depression settled heavily on his shoulders. If Rachel did marry Nate, that was exactly what would happen. She'd move away and leave them both.

“Can I go back to sleep now?” she asked.

“I feel like talking,” he murmured, lying down again, the pillow nestling his head.

“Bruce, it's almost one in the morning!”

“I know. But you're awake now, aren't you?”

“Yes, thanks to you. What would you like to talk about—other than Nate and me?”

“You want to go out for dinner on Saturday night? After shopping?”

“Bruce!”

“What?”

“I want to go back to sleep. That's what I want to do.”

“Oh.”

“Take two aspirin and call me in the morning.”

Despite himself, he grinned. “Good night, Rachel.”

“Good night, Bruce,” she said pointedly.

He was smiling as he replaced the receiver—even though he didn't have anything to smile about. Because Rachel might very well marry Nate Olsen, and then the emptiness she'd filled would be deeper than ever before.