Rose Harbor in Bloom (15 page)

“We’re known for our pies, too, if I could tempt you with that,” the waitress added. Without waiting to be asked, she listed several mouthwatering suggestions.

“Fruit of the forest,” George said automatically, and then gestured toward Mary.

“None for me, thanks,” she said, looking up at the waitress.

“She’ll have a slice of the chocolate cream,” George said, contradicting her.

“Oh, George, honestly.”

Dianna didn’t stay long enough to listen to her objection.

“You love chocolate cream,” George reminded her.

How he remembered that, she would never know. It would do no good to argue, and so she gave in. To please him she would take a bite.

George reached across the table and took hold of her hand. His eyes held hers, and in them she read such tenderness and caring that she couldn’t meet his gaze. She looked down at the table for fear she would tear up again and embarrass them both.

“How long?” he asked.

Mary didn’t need him to elaborate. He was asking what her prognosis was. How long did she have to live?

“The verdict is still out; it’s too soon to tell. A great deal depends on how I respond to the treatments.” She paused, wanting to give him the basic details he seemed to need. But she hadn’t met him to discuss her cancer. “My life is a constant round of tests these days. None of us have any guarantees, you know. I could get hit by a bus and die tomorrow,” she added, and forced a smile.

His hand tightened on hers. “What did the doctors say?”

“George, please. I don’t want my cancer to be the focus of our conversation. Let’s not talk about me, okay? Tell me about you.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“Another time,” she whispered. “Bring me up to date on you.”

He seemed at a loss as to where he should start. “I’ll admit I didn’t handle it well when you broke it off.”

“It wasn’t the best of circumstances,” she agreed with some reluctance.

“If it’s the cancer that brought you back, then I’m grateful.”

“George,” she warned. “We aren’t going to talk about that, remember?”

It looked as if he was about to argue when their waitress returned with their tea and two slices of pie. She set the pot down on the table and then served the pie. Mary had to admit the slice of chocolate pie, piled high with whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate syrup, did look mighty tempting.

George filled their cups. “You were saying …”

“It’s nothing.” Mary would rather not go back to their former conversation. “You’ve done well.”

“Relatively,” he agreed. Reaching for his fork, he cut into the mixed-berry pie and sampled it.

Mary followed suit and was surprised by how tasty the chocolate cream pie was. The flavors were rich and silky on her tongue. She savored them for a moment and then reached for her tea.

George set his fork aside. “I’ve done a bit of research, and I think I might be able to help you.”

“Help me?” Mary asked, frowning. “With what?”

“Your cancer.”

“George, please, don’t.” She hadn’t seen him in more than nineteen years and she really didn’t want their first conversation to result in a battle of wills.

“Hear me out,” he insisted. “There’s a revolutionary treatment clinic in Europe that’s said to perform miracles. I have a few connections, and I can get us an appointment.”

Mary wasn’t up to traveling to a foreign country. “I appreciate the fact that you looked this up, but …”

“You can’t give up, Mary.”

“I’m a fighter, George; I always have been. You know me probably better than anyone. I’m not giving up.”

“I’ll travel with you. I’ll be …”

She held up her hand, stopping him. “Quit. Please.”

Frustration showed on his dear face, and it was all she could do not to stretch her arm across the table and cup his chin and comfort him. “I’m going to be fine. Now, stop with all these drastic measures. I’m not dead yet. I’m going to get well, just wait and see.”

“I would think you’d know by now that I am not a patient man.”

“I disagree.” She’d never known anyone with more staying power than George.

“I gave up hope of ever seeing you again,” he said, with such feeling that it nearly brought renewed tears to her eyes. “I waited nearly twenty years for that phone call from you.”

To hide her emotion, Mary took a second bite of her pie. Once she felt she could speak without her voice giving her away, she said, “I know.”

Silence stretched between them. George sipped his tea, and she did, too. They were both afraid, she realized, to discuss the subject they most needed to talk about. He didn’t ask about the abortion, and she didn’t tell him. Mary, who was fearless when it came to business transactions, found herself reluctant to discuss it. She could stare down a board of directors, but she couldn’t tell the man she loved what he had every right to know, what was only fair he did know.

“How’s the pie?” she asked instead.

“Delicious. Yours?”

“Good.” How silly it was that they could discuss pie but not each other.

Mary cleared her throat and forged ahead. “I’m sorry to hear about your marriage.”

George nodded. “It wasn’t either of our faults. Kathleen and I simply weren’t suited.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t have children.”

“I am, too.” He hesitated and gripped his tea cup with both hands. His eyes briefly hardened. “I’d like to think I would have been a good father.”

“The best,” she whispered, and when her voice cracked, she bit into her lower lip to keep it from trembling. After taking several moments to compose herself, she took another taste of her tea.

“I know you chose to book a hotel in Cedar Cove to maintain an emotional distance from me, but …”

She relaxed. “But …” she prompted when he didn’t finish his thought.

“It didn’t work, though, did it?”

“No,” she had to agree, and smiled. “Knowing you were so close made it impossible. I shouldn’t have phoned, but I’m grateful I did.”

“I am grateful, too.” His disappointment was gone, and now his eyes seemed to caress her. He couldn’t seem to look away. He made her feel as if he was viewing a work of art, a museum masterpiece, such as a van Gogh or a Rembrandt. To him she remained beautiful despite her gaunt features, her paleness, and her lack of hair. To George, she was a beauty.

“When is your flight back?”

“Monday, a little after noon,” she told him.

He tensed. “So soon?”

She nodded.

“You can’t stay longer?” He looked devastated, as if it was unfair to have found her only to lose her again so quickly.

“No.” As it was, she’d gone against her doctor’s advice. She had more tests to undergo, and endless appointments.

“Then we only have a few days.”

“George, I didn’t come to disrupt your life,” she insisted.

“I’ve already cleared my schedule for all of next week.”

“George!” She wished he hadn’t done that.

“Have dinner with me tonight?” His eyes pleaded with her.

Refusing him would have been impossible. Mary had assumed that this would be the only time she would see George, the only chance they would have to talk. The thought of spending more time with him filled her with happy expectations, with joy. By all that was right she should turn him down, but she couldn’t. “Okay.”

“Good. We’ll drive to Seattle. My car is here.”

Mary could already feel her strength leaving her. She tired so easily these days. “Would you mind if we ate locally?”

“Of course, if that’s what you want, but I don’t know any of the restaurants in the area. Do you?”

“Not really.”

George motioned to the waitress and brought her to their table. “Can you recommend a good restaurant for dinner?” he asked.

Dianna smiled and seemed eager to make a few suggestions. “Oh, yes, there are two especially good ones. DD’s on the Cove down on Harbor Street, and also the Lighthouse. Both are excellent. Seafood is the best at DD’s, and steaks at the Lighthouse.”

George glanced at his wrist. “Will we need a reservation?”

Dianna laughed. “In Cedar Cove? No way.”

“Thank you,” he said, and the young woman left.

“It would be best if I rested awhile before dinner,” Mary said. She hated that it was necessary, but a few minutes with her eyes closed would do her a world of good.

“By all means. I have some emails to answer. I’ll drive you to wherever you’re staying and then find an Internet café, have coffee, and do a bit of work. What time would you like me to pick you up?”

Mary hesitated. She’d taken a taxi to the tearoom and intended to take one back. “You’re sure about this?”

“Positive.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we waited until tomorrow.”

“No,” George objected. “We have limited time as it is. I don’t intend to waste a single minute.”

Limited time
. How true that was. “Six o’clock, then?” she asked.

“Six it is.” His smile lit up his entire face, as if her agreeing to have dinner with him was the most wonderful thing to happen to him in a very long while. In many ways George was like a child. He appreciated small pleasures, savored the simple joys in life.

The waitress returned with their check, which George paid. He left a more-than-generous tip.

“Will you let me drive you back to your hotel?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He helped her up and then tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow as they left the tearoom. His car was one of only a few in the parking lot, and Mary picked it out immediately. It was a luxury model with a vanity license plate: GGH. Mary didn’t need to be reminded that his middle name was Gair, which had been his mother’s maiden name. George Gair Hudson.

He opened the passenger door and then waited until she was seated and comfortable before walking around to the driver’s side.

Mary looked over at him and smiled. “I’m not an invalid, you know.” Despite how weak she was physically, there was plenty of life left in her, plenty of fight, too.

His smile faded. “I want to take care of you, Mary. Let me do what I can, okay?”

His words touched her deeply, and rather than respond verbally and risk showing how profoundly his comment had affected her, Mary nodded. Although her body was weak, she felt inspired and invigorated being with George.

She directed him to the inn, and he parked and came around to help her out.

“Tonight,” he said, and then hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Can we talk over dinner about what happened years ago?”

Her spirits plummeted. She owed him that much, but she didn’t know if she had the courage to confront their past quite so soon. “Not yet,” she whispered.

“But we will talk of it.”

“Yes,” she promised.

And they would.

All my guests were out for the evening. I wasn’t sure where Annie and her family had gone, as I wasn’t at the inn when they returned from lunch. I did remember hearing that the Shivers were meeting friends. That left Annie and Oliver to their own devices. Seeing that the house was empty, I could only assume that the two of them had gone out for dinner themselves.

Mary had left a few minutes earlier with a distinguished-looking man. She hadn’t said where she was headed, but I had to believe they, too, were going out to eat.

I was on my own for the evening meal, which happened most nights. Rummaging through the refrigerator, looking for ideas, I saw I had shrimp and some hard-boiled eggs left over from breakfast. I’m terribly fond of blue cheese and thought I’d make myself
a seafood Cobb salad. The bacon was already cooked, and I had plenty of lettuce.

Humming, I mixed it all together and then was ready to sit down and eat when Rover came into the kitchen and gazed up at me with his incredible deep brown eyes. He had that imploring look as if to say it was a travesty that I would enjoy such a wonderful meal and not include him.

“You have food in your dish,” I reminded him.

My words didn’t faze him.

“You don’t like lettuce,” I felt obliged to tell him.

He trotted into the laundry room, and I assumed he was going to his own food dish, but I was wrong. Instead he sat on his haunches and looked up at his leash. I was getting smarter now, and realized he was telling me he wanted to go for another walk.

“Rover, no,” I insisted. “We’ve already been out twice today, and that’s enough.”

I did my best to ignore him and sat down at the table with my delicious-looking salad. I spread a bright yellow linen napkin across my lap and was ready to dig in when I saw Rover fix his gaze in the direction of Mark’s house.

“You know Mark wasn’t in the best of moods when I left him,” I reminded Rover. The handyman had practically tossed me out of his house. When we’d returned from the hospital I’d helped him up the steps and into his home. We were barely inside the front door when he’d insisted he was fine and he didn’t need any further help from me. In other words, he was asking me to leave and he hadn’t been the least bit subtle about it.

I stabbed my first bite and made sure I got one of the small Oregon shrimp I enjoyed so much. Rover gave me a mournful look as if I was taking the food right out of Mark’s mouth.

“I don’t have that many shrimp left,” I told Rover.

He lay down on the kitchen floor with his chin resting on his paws and kept his gaze focused on me.

After a couple more bites I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Oh, all right,” I muttered, but I wasn’t happy about it.

Taking everything out of the refrigerator that I had so recently returned, I quickly made up a second salad. To be on the safe side, I added a container of soup that I’d frozen earlier in the week. It was one of my all-time favorites, squash soup made with just a hint of ginger.

After packing everything up and tucking it inside a bag, I begrudgingly made my way to Mark’s. I took Rover with me, seeing that this was his idea in the first place. Perhaps if I arrived bearing gifts, Mark wouldn’t look at me like an intruder ready to invade his private domain. My heavens, this man was hard to figure out.

Rover strained against the leash as he led the way to Mark’s, urging me forward but not with the same urgency he’d used earlier in the day. I walked up the steps to Mark’s front door and rang the doorbell.