311 Pelican Court

“How about a glass of iced tea?” Grace was more than ready for a break herself. The two of them had been painting for what seemed like forever but was probably only an hour or two. Still, they’d had to move the furniture and do the prep work first—laying a drop cloth on the floor and taping the windows.

Olivia set aside her roller. “You don’t need to ask twice.”

Grace wrapped both paint-coated rollers in a plastic bag, then headed into the kitchen. By the time Olivia finished washing her hands, Grace had poured the iced tea into tall glasses. Buttercup, her golden retriever, scratched at the screen door and Grace absently let her inside. Panting, the dog lumbered into the house and stretched out under the table, resting her chin on the cool tile floor.

Grace slumped into the chair and released the kerchief tied at the base of her neck, shaking her damp hair free. She wore it shorter these days, since she no longer needed to worry about her husband’s likes and dislikes.

After witnessing Olivia’s pain years before, Grace had never wanted to go through a divorce, but when Dan disappeared she wasn’t left with any options. For financial reasons, it was the only practical choice.

That had been months ago now. Afterward, even learning Dan’s fate was anticlimactic. She was relieved that his body had been discovered, but she’d already endured the worst of the grief and guilt: the not knowing, the doubts, the recriminations—all of which had befallen her after Dan’s disappearance. So this sudden bout of insomnia didn’t make sense to her.

“This was the best idea you’ve had all day,” Olivia said, sinking down on the chair. “Besides putting on a Credence Clearwater Revival CD,” she added. They’d both gotten caught up in the music of their youth and hadn’t realized how hot and uncomfortable they were until the last song on the CD ended.

“We may not have the moves we did thirty years ago, but we aren’t ready for walkers just yet,” Grace said, and Olivia agreed with an easy smile.

“I heard about your latest decree,” Grace said, smiling across the table at her friend. They’d been working together all afternoon, but with the music playing they’d barely had a chance to talk.

“You mean the joint custody case?” Olivia asked.

Grace nodded. “It’s all over town.” This wasn’t the first time Olivia had made a controversial decision in the courtroom.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “At least Jack didn’t write about it in his column.”

So Olivia was going to bring Jack Griffin into the conversation. Good. Grace had been looking for a way to introduce the subject. He and Olivia had been seeing each other for more than a year, and Grace loved Jack for the simple reason that he’d made her friend happy. Once Olivia had started dating Jack, the local newspaper editor, she’d been…more relaxed. More lighthearted. Then, a few weeks ago, Jack and Olivia had a falling out, a difference of opinion, really—and they hadn’t spoken since. Olivia was miserable, although she wasn’t willing to admit it.

“Speaking of Jack,” Grace asked brightly, “what’s new with the two of you?” In her opinion Jack was exactly right for her friend. He was witty and funny and just outrageous enough to be interesting.

Olivia looked up. “I don’t want to talk about Jack.”

“Then don’t. Tell me about Stan.”

Stan was Olivia’s ex-husband, who now lived in Seattle with his second wife, but he’d been making regular appearances in Cedar Cove lately. Something must be up; however, Olivia had kept suspiciously quiet about it.

“You heard about Stan and Marge?” Olivia asked, her eyes rounding with surprise. “Who told you? Mom or Justine?”

“Neither one told me anything. I’m waiting for you to enlighten me.”

Olivia took a deep swallow of her iced tea, then glanced up, an uncertain expression on her face.

“Something’s bothering you,” Grace pressed.

“Stan and Marge are getting a divorce.”

Shock waves went through Grace. This was news. Big news. No wonder Stan had been coming to Cedar Cove more frequently. His visits were often under the guise of seeing his daughter, Justine, and his grandson, who’d been born a little more than two weeks ago. Grace found his sudden interest in family somewhat suspect. Especially since Stan had deserted his wife and children back in the summer of 1986. Jordan, a bright, lively thirteen-year-old, had gone swimming with friends one hot August afternoon and drowned. Justine, his twin sister, had held his lifeless body in her arms until the paramedics arrived. Everything in Olivia’s life was marked by that day; it was the dividing point, the boundary between believing the world was a safe place and knowing it could be a treacherous one.

Olivia and Stan’s marriage fell apart after Jordan drowned, but Grace had always wondered if Stan had been involved with Marge before Jordan’s death. She’d never said this to Olivia’s face, but she had her suspicions.

“You haven’t got anything to say?” Olivia asked.

Grace was almost surprised that Stan and Marge’s marriage had lasted this many years. The ink on the divorce papers was hardly dry when Stan had married the other woman. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she mumbled, which was slightly stretching the truth.

“I am, too,” Olivia said, looking melancholy and tired.

Then it came to her. Grace should’ve connected the dots much sooner. She felt like slapping her palm against her forehead in cartoon fashion. “Stan wants you back, doesn’t he?”

For a moment it seemed as if Olivia wasn’t going to answer, then she did with a nod of her head.

Outrage filled Grace. How dare he! How dare Stan walk back into Olivia’s life after all these years and expect her to welcome him with open arms. Of all the nerve! His timing was impeccable, too, she thought wryly. Naturally Stan would reappear just when Olivia had met Jack. He must hate the idea of his ex-wife seeing anyone else.

“I didn’t tell you about Stan for exactly this reason,” Olivia muttered. “You’re so angry your eyes are about to pop out.”

“I can’t help it,” Grace cried.

It occurred to her that Olivia might actually be considering a reconciliation with Stan. That was the worst thing she could do—and if Olivia didn’t know it, Grace wasn’t too shy to tell her. Stan had never appreciated his wife. He’d never seemed too concerned about what his leaving would do to her or to their remaining children. All Stan had ever cared about was himself and his needs, his wants.

“I know how you feel about Stan,” Olivia murmured.

“You’re not going back to him, are you? You wouldn’t really consider it, would you?” The thought was so repugnant Grace had difficulty getting the words out.

The perplexed uncertainty that came over Olivia was so unlike her that Grace had to make a conscious effort not to get up and hug her.

“I don’t know,” Olivia whispered.

Grace merely nodded, arranging her features in as neutral an expression as possible.

“The day Leif was born,” Olivia said, studying the inside of her glass as if it held the answers she needed, “Stan and I had the most wonderful time reminiscing.”

“You had three children with him,” Grace said, trying to suppress her own negative view of the situation.

“We were happy for a lot of years.”

Grace couldn’t deny that, but Stan had nearly crippled her friend emotionally. She above all others knew how long it had taken Olivia to recover her equilibrium following Jordan’s death and the demise of her marriage.

“What about Jack?” It was probably a mistake to introduce his name just then, but she was genuinely curious. “Does he know?” Her guess was he did, and that was the key to their current troubles.

As Olivia nodded, her hand tightened around her glass. “Do you want to know what he did?” Her brown eyes sparked with irritation. “I swear every time I think about it, I get mad.”

This sounded promising.

Olivia didn’t wait for an answer. “Jack gave me an ultimatum. He claimed Stan’s been after me for months and that I had to choose—either him or Stan.”

“Ye-es?” Grace said, dragging out the word. “And your point is?”

“My point,” Olivia said with exaggerated patience, “is that I’m not some trophy to be won. Furthermore, I’m not willing to play Jack’s silly games.”

“Games,” Grace countered. “It seems to me you’re the one playing games.”

“Me?” Olivia cried.

“Yes, you,” Grace said. “Do you expect Jack to hang around and twiddle his thumbs while Stan waltzes back into your life?”

“No, but I expect him to…to show some gumption. If I’m as important to him as he says, then the least he can do is let me know how he feels.”

Grace frowned. “You mean he hasn’t told you?”

“Told me?” Olivia repeated. “Oh, hardly. He stopped by the house at an inopportune moment about a month ago. Stan had spent the night—”

Grace couldn’t disguise her shock. “Stan…”

“Not you, too,” Olivia said, sounding utterly exasperated. “If you must know, he slept in James’s old room upstairs. It was completely innocent. I can’t believe you’d think I’d let him back in my bed….”

“I don’t know what to think,” Grace said, eager to learn what had taken place. “Go on, tell me what happened.”

“Jack and I were supposed to meet the next morning, but he showed up early with coffee and doughnuts, and there was Stan in my housecoat and fuzzy slippers. He looked ridiculous, but that’s beside the point.”

“And naturally Jack assumed the worst.” He’d jumped to conclusions, just as Grace almost had.

“Naturally,” Olivia echoed. “I went after him and tried to explain, but he wouldn’t listen. He said if I wanted to get back together with Stan, that was fine with him.”

Grace frowned again. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

Olivia paused. “Maybe not in so many words, but that was his message. I have to tell you it upset me that he actually thought I’d sleep with Stan when the two of us had been seriously dating.”

A picture was beginning to take shape in Grace’s mind. “You haven’t heard from him since, have you?”

“No. Mom thinks I should phone him.” Slowly Olivia raised her eyes to meet Grace’s. “Is that what you think, too?”

Grace shrugged. If she was the one in this situation, she might, but then…

“The thing is,” Olivia said, biting her lower lip, “I want Jack to show some commitment here. Proof that he cares. If he honestly loves me, I think he should fight for me.”

“Fight for you?” The image that came to Grace’s mind, of Jack and Stan standing in the driveway, dukes raised, was comical. “You mean you want him to challenge Stan to a fistfight? Or—” she grinned, imagining them in Regency-era costumes, brandishing pistols “—a duel?”

“No, of course not,” Olivia said impatiently. “I want him to give me some indication, a sign that I’m worth more to him than his stupid male pride. That’s all.” She lowered her eyes. “He’s acting like a hurt little boy.”

“I imagine he is hurt.”

“Well, so am I. He instantly decided I’d spent the night with Stan, although we’d been seeing each other exclusively. If he really believes I’m that kind of woman, I’m better off without him.”

“Don’t give up on him so quickly.”

“It’s been almost a month, Grace.” Slowly, sadly, she shook her head. “What else am I supposed to think? He’s apparently content just to drop the relationship.”

“What about you?” Grace asked. “Are you willing to walk away from Jack?”

She didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think so,” she finally said.

This was encouraging. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” she readily admitted. “Give it time, I guess.”

Grace nodded. She drained her tea, stood and set her glass in the sink. “Let’s get back to painting.”

“Just a minute,” Olivia said, stopping her. She was still seated. “While we’re on the subject of men, tell me what’s happening between you and that good-looking rancher.”

Grace wanted to groan out loud. She’d really prefer not to discuss Cliff Harding. They’d been seeing each other for nearly a year; they’d met shortly after Grace had filed for divorce. She hadn’t officially gone out with him until her divorce was final, but he’d let her know he was interested. Grace was interested in him, too; however, for some reason, their mutual attraction made her uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.

“I’m not really sure,” she murmured. “That’s part of the problem.”

“You mean a decent, wonderful man comes into your life and you can’t figure it out?”

Grace ignored the light sarcasm. “Dan and I got married so young,” she said, and because it was apparent that Olivia wasn’t going to let her escape, she reclaimed her seat. “We were just teenagers, and then Dan went off to Vietnam. But despite all that, despite the difficulties we had, I never looked at another man.”

“I know,” Olivia said, her voice low and soothing.

“Given the least bit of encouragement, Cliff would ask me to marry him.”

“He was so kind the day of Dan’s funeral.”

Grace could only agree. Cliff had showed up at the house following the wake and tenderly looked after her. She’d been exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. That afternoon, Cliff had comforted her, tucked her into bed and made her dinner. Grace had never met anyone as thoughtful as Cliff Harding, and, frankly, the way that made her feel frightened her.

“I know Cliff wants us to be serious,” she said, her voice trembling, “but I haven’t dated anyone except him since Dan disappeared.”

“You think seeing a man exclusively—any man—is the same trap you fell into during high school?” Olivia asked. “Is that it?”

“I didn’t want to be divorced or a widow, but I’m both. I guess I don’t want to limit myself to one person at this stage. I don’t think I’m ready to be in a relationship.” There, she’d said it, and as soon as the words were out she understood what had been happening and why.

“Grace?” Olivia was studying her closely.

“That’s it,” she breathed. The insomnia, the anxiety, it all made sense to her now. She didn’t need her bedroom repainted to help release her from the memories of her dead husband. Yes, she had concerns about some information Dan had given her in the letter he’d written just before his death, information to think about, but Dan had very little to do with what had been churning inside her these last few weeks. All this angst was tied to her relationship with Cliff. What she needed was time and space and freedom to discover who she was—who she’d become—and what she wanted out of life. She needed a chance to be herself, by herself.

“Grace?”

“I adore Cliff,” she whispered. “I truly do, but I’m not ready to be as serious as he is. Not yet… I just can’t.” Although she was almost in tears, Grace experienced an incredible feeling of relief, and for the first time since Dan’s funeral, she knew she’d sleep through the night.

“You have to tell Cliff,” Olivia said urgently.

“I know.” She had to find a way to explain without offending him or losing his friendship. “I’d like to continue seeing him, but I want the freedom to see other men, too.” Said out loud, it seemed so unfair and selfish, but it was the truth and that was something Grace often had a difficult time admitting, especially to herself.

Three

As the morning light cascaded into her bedroom, Maryellen Sherman rolled carefully onto her back, astounded at the determined effort it took to shift her “nine-months-andcounting” pregnant body.

Her sister had warned her there’d be days she’d feel as big as the Goodyear blimp, and there were, but Maryellen couldn’t remember a time she’d been happier.

“Any day now,” she said, rubbing her hand over her tight, round abdomen. Catherine “Katie” Grace kicked and stretched, and Maryellen marveled as she watched her stomach extend and move. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was eight-thirty, time to get up. She struggled to sit, and with her palms braced against one side of the bed, Maryellen stared down at her feet and realized they were no longer visible. In fact, it’d been weeks since she’d last seen her toes.

She stood awkwardly and supported her back with both hands. It’d begun to ache, which was no surprise. That was what she got for sleeping on a worn-out old mattress. Once she started moving around, she’d feel better. On bare feet, she padded into the kitchen and put on water to make herself a pot of herbal tea; while she waited for it to boil, she sorted through the four maternity tops that were still decent enough to wear outside the house.

This pregnancy hadn’t been planned, and she’d tried to hide the fact that she was pregnant from the father—not a smart move on her part but a desperate one. Jon Bowman, an artist whose work had been displayed at the gallery she managed, had learned about the baby on his own. He’d been adamant about having a role in his daughter’s life. Maryellen didn’t like it, but she didn’t have any choice. It was either grant Jon visitation rights or fight him in court, something she’d rather avoid.

Maryellen was fond of him and respected his considerable talent. What she disliked most about Jon wasn’t his fault at all. With barely any effort, he’d managed to awaken her sensual nature. Until that November night last year, she’d assumed the sexual part of herself had been buried for good, along with her failed marriage. Jon had deftly proved otherwise.

The biggest regret in her life had come when she was a college student. Maryellen had experienced another unplanned pregnancy. She’d allowed her boyfriend, soon-tobe husband, to manipulate her, and at his insistence had aborted her baby. She hadn’t wanted to, and she’d never been able to forgive herself for doing it.

This time around, she was determined to protect her unborn child. This time she refused to listen to anyone or anything other than her own heart. She wanted this child, loved this child. What had begun as a terrifying mistake had become a valued second chance.

It had been a shock to find out that Jon intended to be part of Katie’s life. So much so, he’d threatened to take Maryellen to court if she excluded him from seeing his daughter. Maryellen had no grounds on which to keep him away, so she’d reluctantly agreed to his terms.

The kettle whistled as she finished laying out her clothes. Massaging her back with one hand, Maryellen poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot. “You don’t have any idea how happy I’m going to be to drink coffee again,” she muttered to her unborn daughter.

Maryellen showered and dressed, and because she was only working half days, she had a leisurely breakfast of toast and yogurt and tea. She didn’t need to be at the Harbor Street Art Gallery until shortly before noon. She loved her job, and enjoyed the friendships she had with many of the local artists. Jon was a photographer, and his work, mostly nature photography, was both breathtaking and insightful. After she’d rejected him, he’d decided to take his photographs elsewhere. At the time, his decision had seemed for the best, but the truth of it was, she missed seeing him and the gallery certainly missed the revenue his work had provided.

Jon’s talent was what had first attracted her, but she found the man himself intriguing. He was unpretentious and straightforward—and reticent about the details of his own life. Although she’d worked with him for more than three years, she knew nothing about his artistic training and next to nothing about his personal background. The one bit of information he’d given her was that he’d inherited a stunning piece of property from his grandfather, the property on which he’d built his house. When she asked him questions, he either walked away or changed the subject. For the most part, he declined invitations to social gatherings. She’d been surprised when he’d agreed to attend a Halloween party last year. She’d made up an excuse to invite him, never believing he’d actually show up. That night they’d shared their first kiss, which was the beginning of it all. In the days that followed, Maryellen had come to know him as well as anyone in Cedar Cove, and probably better. The baby kicked and she smiled to herself. Obviously she did know him better than most.

Still, she was impressed by the man who’d fathered her child. Jon had constructed his own home and worked as a chef for The Lighthouse restaurant, all while his reputation as a photographer grew in the Pacific Northwest and beyond.

“I didn’t expect you until noon,” Lois Habbersmith said when Maryellen walked into the gallery at eleven-thirty, a little ahead of schedule.

Until recently, Lois had been Maryellen’s assistant, but had been temporarily promoted to gallery manager during Maryellen’s maternity leave. She was confident Lois would do a more-than-adequate job.

“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” Lois asked.

“Tomorrow morning.” The ache in her back seemed to be getting worse. Maryellen pulled out a chair and sat down.

Lois looked concerned. “Are you feeling all right?”

“No,” Maryellen admitted. “The truth is, I’m having this weird backache.” She realized the ache seemed to diminish and then increase fairly regularly. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this wasn’t a backache, but the onset of labor.

As if she, too, had reached the same conclusion, Lois walked all the way around her. “My labor pains always started in my back.” Then holding one finger to her lips, Lois said, “Maryellen, you think you could be going into labor?”

“I…I should probably time these…pains, shouldn’t I?”

Lois clapped her hands excitedly. “This is so wonderful!”

“Lois, Lois, I don’t know if I’m in labor. I just have this…strange feeling.”

Maryellen glanced at her watch and tried to remember when she’d last felt this odd pain that seemed to radiate from her spine.

“Your mom’s your birth partner, right?”

Maryellen nodded. She vaguely remembered that her mother had mentioned she’d be attending a librarians’ meeting in Seattle on Wednesday. Today was Wednesday. Grace had a cell phone, Maryellen knew, but she was constantly forgetting to turn it on, or off, in which case the battery would run low. No need to contact her mother just yet, she decided. There was plenty of time, and she wasn’t convinced she was officially in labor, anyway. She wondered if maybe this was false labor, which several people had warned her about.

A few hours later, at home by herself, Maryellen was no longer wondering. She knew. There was nothing false about this. What had started out as a dull ache in her back had ultimately worked its way around, and she was having contractions at five-minute intervals. She reached for the phone and dialed her mother.

Just as she’d suspected, her mother’s cell phone was off or not working or the battery was dead. Or whatever! Drawing in a deep breath, Maryellen closed her eyes. There was always her sister. Kelly had been wonderful ever since she’d learned Maryellen was pregnant. They’d grown closer than at any time since they were teenagers.

After five rings, Kelly and Paul’s answering machine came on. Hoping she sounded collected and in control, Maryellen left a message. “Kelly, hi. Listen, it looks like I’m going into labor. I haven’t called Dr. Abner yet and I’m sure there’s loads of time, but I thought you should know.” Then, not wanting her sister to guess how panicky she was beginning to feel, Maryellen added, “Mom won’t be back from that librarians’ meeting until this afternoon, so when you’re available maybe you could give me a call. I…I don’t have anyone to drive me to the hospital.” Any pretense of composure vanished by the time she replaced the receiver in its cradle.

As Maryellen turned away from the phone, she felt a pain so sharp it nearly doubled her over. Almost immediately water gushed from between her legs. Amniotic fluid.

Maryellen stood in a puddle of water and tried to think clearly. Fearing any movement might endanger her child, she stretched out one hand for the phone, then hesitated, not knowing whom to call.