74 Seaside Avenue

“We’ll drive you home,” Bobby said when Christie told them it was time for her to leave as well.

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Christie insisted. “I’ll walk.”

Bobby wouldn’t hear of it. “James is outside waiting.”

“James?” Christie asked, glancing at Teri for an answer.

“James Wilbur, Bobby’s personal driver.”

“Oh.” Christie struggled with little success to hide a smile. “I guess that would be all right.”

Teri and Bobby escorted her to the vehicle. James, looking distinguished as usual, stood by the passenger door, waiting to open it for her.

“La-di-da,” Christie said, clearly impressed. She inclined her head. “Thank you, James.” Giggling, she gestured regally. “Home, James.”

Without cracking a smile, James held the door and Christie slid inside. As soon as she was seated, she lowered the tinted window. “Wow, this is really something.” She sounded about ten years old, and Teri was touched by this glimpse of a more innocent Christie.

“Come and visit us again,” Bobby said.

“I will,” Christie promised. Then, with an exaggerated flourish, she pressed the button to raise the window.

When James pulled onto the drive, Teri leaned against her husband. “That was nice of you.”

“Yes.”

It was just like him to acknowledge his own generosity. But then—why shouldn’t he? “So,” she said. “What do you think of my family?”

“I like Johnny.”

“I know.”

“And Christie.”

Her defenses immediately went on alert. “You … like … Christie?”

“I do, but it’s you I love.”

“Excellent answer, Mr. Polgar.”

Bobby chuckled. “I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

Teri knew it wasn’t sleeping he had in mind. “It’s too early.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said. “In fact, it’s two or three hours later than I would’ve liked.”

Oh, yes, Teri Polgar loved her husband. At least as much as he loved her….

Seven

Grace Sherman Harding cradled the sleeping infant in her arms. The overwhelming love she felt for this tiny being was almost more than a single heart could hold. This was her new grandson: Drake Joseph Bowman. She smiled; that was quite a handle for such a small baby.

She’d experienced the same sense of wonder when she’d held Tyler and Katie as newborns.

“Is he still sleeping?” Maryellen asked, bringing two glasses of lemonade into the living room.

“Oh, Maryellen, he’s so precious.” This had been a difficult pregnancy for her daughter. Maryellen had spent the last five months bedridden. Both Grace and Cliff had done what they could to help, but it wasn’t enough. Thankfully, Jon’s parents had come from Oregon and were able to visit every day; otherwise, Grace didn’t know how Maryellen and Jon would’ve managed. Not with a three-year-old underfoot and Jon working all hours to support his family.

“Drake was worth every second of discomfort,” Maryellen said.

“How’s Katie doing?” Grace asked.

Maryellen sat down on the sofa opposite Grace’s chair. “She’s enthralled with being a big sister. Jon and I were afraid she’d show signs of jealousy. But so far, she hasn’t.”

“Good.” The baby’s eyes fluttered open and he stared up at Grace. Some might say she was imagining things, but she was sure he’d smiled at her. Grace smiled back. “Hello, handsome boy.”

“I see he’s awake and I’ll bet he’s hungry,” Maryellen said. “He probably needs a diaper change, too.” She reached for her son, and Grace watched as Maryellen changed him out of a soggy diaper into a fresh one.

“How’s Kelly doing?” Maryellen asked when she’d finished.

Grace’s younger daughter was due in the next two weeks.

“She envies you,” Grace said wryly. “She’s definitely ready for this baby to be born.”

“The last two weeks of this pregnancy were the longest of my life,” Maryellen said as she nestled her son to her breast.

It was a joy to see her daughter this content. Suddenly Grace felt an intense sadness that took her completely by surprise. Dan was missing so much. Her first husband had been dead for six years now. After his disappearance, Grace had met Cliff Harding; once Dan’s body was recovered—with his suicide note—she’d allowed herself to find happiness in loving Cliff. Earlier that year, she’d finally married him.

When Dan had first gone missing, Grace had been sure she’d never feel contentment again. She didn’t sleep, didn’t eat and was scarcely able to function. Only recently had she begun to understand the kinds of demons that had chased her husband and compelled him into such a drastic solution.

Kelly had always been close to her father, and his disappearance had been hardest on her. She’d been pregnant with Tyler at the time, utterly convinced her father would return for the birth of his first grandchild. Until the very end, Kelly had believed Dan would have a perfectly rational explanation for disappearing.

“Mom?” Maryellen said. “Is something wrong?”

Grace smiled despite her sadness. “I was thinking about your father and how proud he would’ve been of his grandchildren.”

Maryellen looked away and, when she turned back, her eyes brimmed with tears. “I think about Dad a lot. I miss him. I didn’t expect I would…. I was so furious with him for what he did. Now … now I’m not. I just feel so sad for him and what he’s missing.”

Grace leaned forward. “I miss him, too. We’ll never fully understand why he chose suicide, and there’s no point in trying to find a logical reason. He wasn’t himself.” And hadn’t been for years, she thought but didn’t say.

“I know.”

Grace heard sounds from upstairs indicating that Katie had awakened from her nap. “I’ll get her,” she told Maryellen, wiping the tears from her own cheeks as she walked up the stairs to collect her granddaughter.

Still tired and a little cranky, Katie crawled into her grandmother’s arms and pressed her cheek against Grace’s shoulder. Moving carefully on the steps, Grace carried her granddaughter back to the living room. She settled down on the sofa again and held Katie close.

“I heard the art gallery isn’t doing so well,” Maryellen said. She met her mother’s gaze. “Lois phoned the other day and said sales are way down.”

Lois Habbersmith had taken over as manager when Maryellen had to quit. Grace knew that Maryellen had always had reservations about Lois’s ability to cope with the job’s responsibilities. Her daughter’s instincts had proved to be right. Lois was overwhelmed, and the gallery seemed to be suffering. Grace hated to see all of Maryellen’s hard work erode.

It was at the gallery that her daughter had met Jon Bowman. What a blessing he’d been to Maryellen—to the whole family.

“There’s talk that the gallery might have to close,” Maryellen murmured. Grace recognized frustration as well as sadness in her daughter’s voice.

“That would be a real pity.”

“I think so, too, but I can’t go back to work.” Maryellen sighed. “I’d like to, but it’s impossible. Besides, I’m managing Jon’s career now. With two children under four, plus getting Jon’s photographs out to the various agents, I have all I can deal with.”

“I know,” her mother said. “The gallery’s not your obligation anymore.”

“It’s just that I put so much time and energy into the place,” Maryellen said regretfully. “It really bothers me to see it failing. I’m positive that, given half a chance, it could be profitable again.”

Grace believed that, too. None of the artists her daughter had worked with depended on income from The Harbor Street Gallery as their sole support. But sales there had supplemented many of the local artists’ revenue, including Jon’s.

Katie squirmed down from her lap, and Grace took her into the kitchen to let the little girl choose her own afternoon snack. Katie decided on a graham cracker and juice.

When she returned, Maryellen had finished nursing Drake. “Olivia came by yesterday with a gift for the baby.”

Olivia and Grace had been best friends nearly their entire lives. Before Grace could comment, her daughter continued. “She said something interesting.” Maryellen studied her closely.

Grace had a feeling she already knew what this was about. “Does it have to do with Will Jefferson?”

Maryellen nodded.

Slowly expelling her breath, Grace sat down. Will was Olivia’s older brother. In high school Grace had a huge crush on Will, but he’d hardly known she was alive. He’d gone off to college, married and moved to Atlanta. She’d married Dan and stayed in Cedar Cove.

Decades later, after Dan’s death, Will had contacted Grace to tell her how sorry he was. Their e-mail relationship had started out innocently enough. Then it turned into an affair in every sense but the physical—and that would’ve happened within a matter of weeks. Grace wasn’t blameless by any means; she knew Will was married. He’d lied, though, and said he was divorcing his wife, Georgia. Because she so badly wanted to believe him, she’d agreed to meet him in New Orleans, where they planned to share a hotel room. She was mortified when she’d learned, quite by accident, that Will had no intention of leaving his wife—for her or for any other reason. Fortunately, she’d found out before she went to Louisiana.

That betrayal had nearly destroyed Grace’s relationship with Cliff Harding. Over time, he’d forgiven her for the pain she’d brought him. Now she considered herself the luckiest woman in the world to be his wife.

“Olivia told me he’s divorced—and that he’s moving back to Cedar Cove,” Maryellen said, still studying Grace.

“I heard he might do that,” she said through numb lips.

“Why now?” Maryellen demanded.

Grace could only shrug. Apparently, seeing other women was nothing new to Olivia’s brother. Grace wasn’t his first indiscretion and she wasn’t his last. Finally Georgia had had enough and filed for divorce. Now, after nearly forty years of marriage, she wanted out.

“You aren’t going to see him, are you?” Maryellen asked.

Grace shook her head adamantly. “Not if I can help it.” In fact, she intended to do whatever she could to avoid Will Jefferson. The problem was, he hadn’t taken her rejection lightly.

He’d come to Cedar Cove once before, hoping to talk his way around his lies and her objections. There’d been an ugly incident, and Cliff had become involved. Just remembering it made Grace want to bury her face in her hands. Until Will had reentered her life, she hadn’t realized how quickly she could lower her principles or how stupid she could be when it came to love. Or, more accurately, infatuation.

“Does Cliff know?”

Grace shook her head again. She should tell him. That went without saying, but even while she acknowledged it, Grace told herself she wasn’t quite ready. She’d do it, of course. Just not yet. The time wasn’t right.

Getting past how she’d misled Cliff—no, how she’d lied to him—had been a major hurdle in their relationship. Unfortunately, his first wife had cheated on him, so Cliff recognized all the signs. He’d heard the excuses. This was a path he wasn’t walking twice. It’d taken Grace months to prove herself to him. Now she was unwilling to put her marriage at risk over a man who meant absolutely nothing to her. His lies had destroyed any feeling she’d had.

The sound of a car coming into the driveway interrupted her thoughts.

“Daddy’s home,” Maryellen announced for Katie’s benefit.

Scrambling out of her chair, Katie ran toward the door, her face lit up with joy. “Daddy, Daddy!”

Jon entered the house and swept the three-year-old into his embrace. With her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, Katie smeared kisses across her father’s cheek.

“How are my girls doing?” Jon asked.

Maryellen looked up at him and smiled. “Your son might take exception to being called a girl.”

“Oops,” Jon said and, leaning down, he kissed the baby’s head. “I keep forgetting about you.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Maryellen gazed at the baby, gurgling contentedly in her arms. “Let’s remind him around two this morning, shall we, Drake?”

“Hi, Grace.” Jon greeted her with a lazy grin. “Good to see you.”

“You, too.”

“Did my parents come by?” Jon asked as he walked over to the kitchen counter and sorted through the mail.

“This morning,” Maryellen told him. “They decided to stay in town until the end of the month.”

He nodded.

“Daddy, Daddy, come see.” Katie grabbed her father’s hand, pulling him toward the puzzle she’d completed before her nap.

Seeing that the young family was busy, Grace decided to leave. She put a casserole in the oven, then said her farewells and kissed both her grandchildren.

By the time she pulled into the yard at her home with Cliff in nearby Olalla, she still hadn’t decided what she should do about Will Jefferson. Sooner or later her husband would learn that Will was retiring in Cedar Cove. If she mentioned the fact, it might place more significance on the event than warranted. She didn’t care where Will Jefferson chose to live. He could take up residence on Mars if he wanted to.

But by the same token, not telling Cliff might make it seem significant in a different way—as if she had something to hide.

When Cliff heard her car, he came out of the barn, smiling. Buttercup, her golden retriever, wandered over from her perch on the front steps, plumy tail wagging.

Her husband opened the car door for her. “Welcome home,” he said.

Grace slipped her arms around his middle and kissed him warmly. When they broke contact, Cliff leaned his head back. “Wow! What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Arm in arm, they strolled toward the house. “You’re late,” he said casually.

“I went to see Maryellen after work.”

“Ah.”

“Missed me, did you?” she asked with a teasing smile.

Grace suddenly realized that if she told Cliff about Will, he’d suspect she was with the other man anytime she was late. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. And yet … Eventually he’d find out. What then?

Eight

Troy Davis walked into the house and dejectedly tossed the mail on the kitchen counter. He hadn’t even bothered to look at it. He already knew it was nothing but junk with a couple of bills thrown in. Just like it always was. He felt bored, depressed, lonely. In fact, he was downright crumpy, a word Sandy had invented—grumpy plus cranky—to describe him when he was feeling low. Whenever she’d said it, he’d had to smile.

Sandy. He missed her, missed her so much.

Although she’d been in the nursing home for two years, he’d gone there almost every day after work and weekends, too. The nursing home had become an extension of his own home and, apart from his job, visiting Sandy was his routine, his life. Now that she was gone he had time on his hands. Time he didn’t know how to fill.

Turning on the television, he sat in his favorite chair and watched ten minutes of a Seattle news broadcast. There had to be more to life than this … this emptiness. Because Sandy had required so much of his time, he’d never developed hobbies. He supposed he could now, but he couldn’t think of a single thing that interested him enough to devote his efforts and resources to. This didn’t bode well for retirement.

Restless, he got up and wandered into the kitchen. He’d been preparing his own meals for years now. Generally he picked up something easy at the grocery store or got takeout from a fast-food place. He’d learned basic cooking skills and mastered the microwave. He could barbecue a steak, nuke a potato and pour salad dressing over lettuce with the best of ’em. Nothing fancy, though.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he should eat. But even the thought of a T-bone steak didn’t excite him. With no energy and no inspiration, he opened the bread drawer and pulled out the peanut butter and jelly. The bread was relatively fresh, and the peanut butter would provide some protein—something Sandy constantly used to harp on. Good enough. He’d make do with a sandwich.

Sandy would be horrified to see him eating over the kitchen sink. But that way, if the jelly dripped, he didn’t have to worry about wiping off the counter.

His wife had been a real stickler about sitting down for meals. He felt guilty as he wolfed down his dinner staring out the window into the backyard. When he’d finished, he chased the sandwich with a glass of milk. It smelled a little sour and he should probably check the expiry date. On second thought, better just to empty the rest of it down the drain.

Moving to the counter, he flipped up the lid of the garbage can—the “circular file,” as Sandy used to joke—and started sorting through the mail. As he’d suspected, the top three pieces were advertisements. Without reading any of the chance-of-a-lifetime offers, he flicked them into the garbage. The fourth piece was the water bill and the fifth was a card. Probably a belated sympathy card. They were still trickling in.

The return address read Seattle, but F. Beckwith wasn’t a name he recognized. A friend of Sandy’s? He stared at it for a moment and set it aside while he looked through the last few pieces. Then he picked up the envelope, tore it open and removed the card. His gaze immediately went to the signature. Faith Beckwith.

Faith Beckwith? Troy didn’t know anyone named Beckwith. He’d known a Faith, but that was years ago. He glanced at the opposite side of the card and read,

Dear Troy,

I was so sorry to hear about your wife. How very special she must have been. I’ve almost forgiven her for stealing you away from me.

My husband died three years ago and I truly understand how difficult the adjustment can be.

Faith Beckwith was the married name of Faith Carroll, his high-school sweetheart. Faith had mailed him a sympathy card? He smiled and almost before he could rationalize what he was doing, Troy reached for the phone. Directory assistance gave him the Seattle number he sought and without hesitation he dialed it.

Not until it began to ring did he consider what he should say. He’d never been an impulsive man. But he didn’t need to think about what he was doing. Instinctively he knew this was right.

“Hello,” a soft female voice answered.

“Faith, this is Troy Davis.”

The line went silent, and Troy felt her shock.

“Troy, my heavens, is it really you?”

She sounded exactly the same as she had when they were high-school seniors. Back then, they’d talked on the phone for hours nearly every night. They’d been in love. The summer after their graduation, he’d gone into the service. Faith had seen him off with kisses and tears, promising to write every day, and in the beginning she had.

Then the correspondence had abruptly stopped. He still had no idea what had gone wrong. Soon afterward, a friend told him Faith was dating someone else. It’d hurt, the way she’d handled their breakup, but that was easy to forgive now. They’d both been so young. Besides, Troy wouldn’t have married Sandy if Faith hadn’t severed their relationship. And he couldn’t imagine his life without Sandy….

“I got your sympathy card,” he said, explaining the reason for his call. “How did you know?”

“My son lives in Cedar Cove,” Faith said. “I was visiting him and the grandkids, and I saw the Chronicle. I always read the obituaries and …”

“That’s where you read about Sandy?”

“It is. I’m really sorry about your loss, Troy. I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me. That’s why I didn’t mail the card right away.”

Troy didn’t know what else to say until he glanced down at the sympathy card and reread her short message. “What did you mean when you said Sandy stole me away?” His memory of their breakup was quite the opposite. Faith had dumped him.

Her laugh drifted over the phone. “Come on, Troy. You have to know you broke my heart.”

“What?” He shook his head in bewilderment. She couldn’t have forgotten the callous way she’d treated him. “As I recall, you’re the one who broke up with me.”

There was a silence. “How can you say that?” she said. “You quit writing to me.”

“I most certainly did not,” he returned. He’d always wondered what had happened and wasn’t too proud to admit she’d hurt him badly. But none of that was important anymore. Hadn’t been in years.

“Hold on,” Faith said. “One of us seems to have developed a selective memory.”

“That’s what I was thinking.” Strangely, Troy found he was enjoying this. He knew beyond a doubt that the selective memory was Faith’s—but he was willing to forgive her.

“Yes,” she said, “and it’s not me.”

“Well, then,” he said, “let’s review the events of that summer.”

“Good idea,” she concurred. “Practically as soon as we graduated from high school, you went into basic training.”

“Right.” Troy was with her so far. “I remember clearly that you promised me your undying love when we said goodbye.”

“I did and I meant it.” She spoke without hesitation. “I wrote you every single day.”

“In the beginning.” He’d lived for Faith’s letters, and when she’d stopped writing he hadn’t known what to think.

“Every day,” she reiterated, “and then you stopped writing.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Troy grew quiet. “I didn’t stop writing you, Faith.”

“I didn’t stop writing you, either.”

“I phoned,” he said, “and your mother said you were out. Later, someone else told me you were seeing some other guy. I got the message.”

“I didn’t date anyone other than you until after I left for college that September.”

The silence seemed to hum between them.

“My mother,” she breathed slowly. “My mother was the one who took out the mail every day and collected it, too.”

“She didn’t like me?” Troy couldn’t remember Mrs. Carroll being particularly hostile toward him.

“She liked you fine, but she thought we were too young to be serious,” Faith said. “I made the mistake of telling her I hoped you’d give me an engagement ring for Christmas.”

The irony was, Troy had planned on doing exactly that.

“You mean to say you believed I’d just stopped writing?” Faith asked. “Without saying a word? You honestly believed I’d do that to you?”

“Well, yes,” Troy admitted. “Just like you believed I’d given up sending you letters.”

She hesitated, then reluctantly agreed. “Did you try to get in touch with me when you finished basic training?” she asked. “You came home on leave, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Troy told her. “I went to your house—that was in late August—but by then you’d already left for college. I wanted to talk to you, but when I asked for your new address, your mother said it was probably best not to contact you.”

“My mother,” Faith groaned. “I never suspected she’d do anything like that.”

“I didn’t, either.”

They both seemed at a loss as to what to say next.

Finally she whispered, “You broke my heart.”

He hadn’t come out of the relationship unscathed, either. “You broke mine,” he told her.

Faith exhaled softly, then said, “It seems my mother has a great deal to answer for.”

“Is she still alive?” Troy didn’t figure there was much point in dwelling on the sins of the past.

“No. She died ten years ago.”

“Despite everything, our lives worked out well, didn’t they?” he said. “Maybe not the way we expected, but …”

“Yes,” Faith said. “I met Carl at Central Washington and we got married in 1970.”

Funny little coincidences. “Sandy and I were married the same year. In June.”

“What day?”

“The twenty-third. What about you?”

“The twenty-third.”

This was too weird. They’d each been married on the same day and in the same year—to someone else.

“Children?” he asked.