8 Sandpiper Way

by Debbie Macomber

  Olivia dismissed her words. “Nonsense.”

  “Look at me, Liv,” Grace said, dashing tears from her face. “I’m a mess. I want this to go away.”

  “You think I don’t?” Olivia teased. “I never thought it would happen to me. There’s no history of breast cancer in my family. I eat right, exercise, get my yearly check-up and yet here I am. This isn’t fair, is it?”

  “Cancer usually isn’t.”

  They continued to hold hands, still clinging to each other when Jack walked in holding a foam coffee cup. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night and was as pale as Olivia.

  An orderly stepped into the room directly behind him. “We’re ready for you now, Ms. Griffin.”

  “I’m ready for you, too,” Olivia murmured. Her gaze moved from Jack to Grace and she gave them both a reassuring smile. “I don’t want either of you to worry.”

  “Right,” Grace lied.

  “It is what it is,” Olivia said.

  That sounded too much like resignation to Grace. This wasn’t the time for acceptance; it was a time to fight.

  Jack walked by Olivia’s side, holding her hand, with Grace trailing behind. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I know,” Olivia whispered back.

  The orderly rolled the entire bed out of the room and down the hall to the surgery center.

  “Everything’s going to be just fine,” Grace reiterated aloud because she needed someone to say it, even if that someone was her.

  “Yes,” Jack said.

  By unspoken agreement they moved toward the surgical waiting area. Jack sat in one of the upholstered chairs, which were clustered into groups of four and six. He drank his coffee as he stared into the distance. Right now they were the only people there and had chosen the chairs closest to the door.

  “Did Olivia wonder why I took so long getting the coffee?” he asked, looking in her direction for the first time. “If so, she didn’t say anything to me,” Grace assured him, although it wasn’t the complete truth.

  A sigh rumbled through his chest. “I decided to go to the hospital chapel,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not especially proud of through the years. I wasn’t sure I had the right to ask God for anything.”

  “I know what you mean.” Grace had plenty of lapses herself, plenty of misgivings about her own right to ask.

  “I took my chances and asked God to be with Olivia,” Jack said. He leaned forward and splayed his fingers through his hair. “I want to do every single thing I can for her.”

  “You already are.” Falling in love with Jack Griffin, marrying him, had changed Olivia’s life, bringing her more happiness than she’d ever expected. This man had stood by her and always would.

  Grace glanced at her watch, astonished to realize it’d been less than ten minutes since the orderly had come for Olivia. Time seemed to creep by; Grace felt conscious of every second. When another five minutes had slowly passed, Olivia’s daughter, Justine, and her mother, Charlotte, walked into the waiting area. Charlotte, as usual, toted an enormous knitting bag.

  “Is Mom in surgery?” Justine asked.

  Grace nodded.

  Charlotte sat down next to Jack and automatically pulled out her knitting. “It calms my nerves,” she announced to no one in particular. Her fingers worked at an impressive speed, and Grace tried to guess what the multicolored yarn would become.

  “I wish I could’ve seen her before the surgery,” Justine said, pacing restlessly.

  “It’s all right, dear,” Charlotte said calmly. “Your mother knows how much you love her. She knows you would’ve been here if you could.”

  Justine continued pacing. “I used to think I didn’t really need my mother.” She sounded close to tears. “I was so confident that I knew what I was doing.” She gave a little shake of her head. “Mom never liked me dating Warren Saget. She didn’t trust him. I think in some ways I went on seeing him out of spite, just so I could prove how wrong she was.”

  “Justine,” Charlotte said quietly, setting her knitting down in her lap. “All daughters go through that with their mothers. Olivia did with me, as well. It isn’t until we’re mothers ourselves that we understand.”

  Justine folded her arms. “She was right, you know—about Warren, about me loving Seth and…and everything else. I need her in my life. Leif needs his grandma and so does our new baby.” She flattened her palm against her stomach.

  Grace had recently learned that Justine was pregnant with her second child and knew Olivia was ecstatic.

  They all grew quiet for several minutes. In the distance Grace saw workers setting up Christmas trees and hanging decorations. She’d forgotten that this was the first of December.

  Charlotte was knitting steadily, her fingers slowing to a more relaxed pace. “I told Ben this morning that we should cancel the cruise. I want to be with my daughter.”

  “Grandma, Mom would be furious if you did that,” Justine said. “You and Ben have been planning this vacation for months.”

  “Yes, I know, but…”

  “Go, Charlotte,” Jack told her. “Justine’s right. Olivia would be upset with you for staying home.”

  “I realize that. Still…”

  Charlotte didn’t finish what she was about to say. Her eyes brightened and she smiled as Pastor Dave Flemming joined them in the waiting area.

  “Oh, Pastor,” Charlotte murmured in relief. “I’m so pleased you were able to make it.”

  “I’m glad to do it,” Dave said, sitting next to Charlotte.

  “Olivia’s in surgery now,” Jack explained. “Everything depends on whether the cancer has spread. We won’t know exactly what we’re dealing with until we know that.”

  “Whatever happens, I wanted to tell you I’m available anytime. All you need to do is call.”

  “Thank you,” Justine said.

  “Would you like me to pray with you now?”

  “Please.” It was Charlotte who answered. She set aside her knitting needles and bowed her head.

  Justine sat beside Grace and closed her eyes. Seeing how shaken she was, Grace took the younger woman’s hand in her own. Justine held on tightly.

  Pastor Flemming’s prayer was brief, but it brought Grace a sense of peace. She didn’t know what the outcome would be, but for the first time she was ready to leave that with God.

  When Pastor Flemming finished, the small group whispered, “Amen.”

  The prayer affected them all. Jack looked more composed and so did Justine. Charlotte picked up her knitting needles. Grace found herself breathing normally again.

  They chatted amicably with Pastor Flemming for a few minutes until he said, “I’ve got a meeting, so I’d better leave now.” He got to his feet.

  Jack stood, too. “I can’t thank you enough for stopping by.”

  The pastor nodded and patted Jack’s shoulder affectionately. “We can’t always know what the future holds, but we know Who holds the future.”

  “That we do,” Charlotte concurred, her fingers busy.

  “Remember,” Pastor Flemming said, “if there’s anything you need, day or night, call me.”

  “Thank you again,” Grace told him, grasping his hand as they exchanged goodbyes. “Please pray for her.”

  “Of course,” he promised. “Olivia is in my prayers, as she is in yours.”

  He left soon afterward and the small gathering continued their visit, newly energized or so it seemed to Grace. As they talked, Jack reached sheepishly inside his pocket for a hand-held gadget.

  “What’s that?” Justine asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “Video poker,” Jack mumbled. “Bob Beldon bought it for me. He said it’d help distract me while Olivia’s in surgery.”

  Justine planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You mean to say my mother’s fighting for her life in there and you’re going to sit here playing video games?”

  “Uh…” Jack hesitated, then nodded decisive
ly. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “Oh.” Justine paused. “Do you think they have those in the hospital gift shop?” she asked, breaking the tension.

  Grace burst into laugher, and so did Justine and Jack. Charlotte looked up, but didn’t seem to understand the joke. They were still chiding one another when the surgeon entered the waiting room.

  Simultaneously they all stood, their laughter instantly cut short. Every eye was on Dr. McBride.

  The silence seemed to pulse through the room.

  “We were fortunate to have detected the tumor when we did,” he began.

  “Do you mean it hasn’t metastasized?” Grace asked in a hushed voice.

  “No, it doesn’t look like it. The margins seem to be clear. We’ll have to wait for the final diagnosis to be sure, but we sent tissue down to the lab during surgery, and according to the pathologist, there appears to be no lymph node involvement.”

  “Thank God,” Jack whispered. And then, as if his knees had given out on him, he sank back into his chair.

  Tears formed in Grace’s eyes and she hugged Justine. Sniffling, Justine hugged her back.

  “I knew it all along,” Charlotte said righteously. She, too, sat down and once again her knitting needles started clicking. “I told you, didn’t I?”

  “Olivia’s oncologist has scheduled a regimen of chemotherapy and radiation treatments for her,” the surgeon said.

  Grace hardly heard a word after that.

  Her friend had always been a survivor. Cancer was just one more obstacle Olivia would surmount with her unyielding grit and determination.

  Chapter Eight

  Dave Flemming left the Bremerton Hospital and drove directly back to Cedar Cove for his meeting with Allan Harris. The attorney had asked to see him before Thanksgiving, but with his busy schedule and the holidays pressing in on him, this was the first opportunity Dave had found.

  Harris’s office was off Harbor Street. Dave parked as close as he could, which happened to be two blocks away. At some point over the weekend, Christmas decorations had begun to appear. Evergreen boughs stretched across Harbor from one lamppost to another, strung with twinkling white lights. Every year the holiday season seemed to sneak up on him. He didn’t have time to consider what this added expense would do to the family’s already tight budget. Frankly, he preferred not to think about it.

  The wind off the cove was cold and Dave hunched his shoulders against it as he walked up the steep hill to the office. When he stepped inside, Geoff Duncan, Allan’s legal assistant, glanced up.

  “Hello, Geoff,” Dave said, holding out his hand. He knew the young man casually. They’d talked once or twice after Martha Evans’s death. Allan Harris had been in charge of Martha’s legal affairs; he was a man the older woman had trusted.

  “Pastor.” Geoff got up, his own hand outstretched. A moment later, Dave turned to a row of pegs and hung up his coat.

  Geoff was a likeable young man with a firm handshake. He dressed professionally in a suit and tie, and his demeanor was low-key, unthreatening. A good attribute for someone in a small-town legal practice, Dave thought.

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Harris phoned a few minutes ago and is tied up in a meeting,” Geoff said. “He didn’t think he’d be more than fifteen minutes. Would it be possible for you to wait?”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Wonderful.” Geoff rubbed his palms together. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. Thanks, anyway.” Dave strode over to the small waiting area and sat down. No one else was in the office. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee and reached for a three-month-old issue of Sports Illustrated.

  “Actually,” Geoff said, following him. “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you.”

  “Sure.” Dave closed the magazine. “How can I help you?”

  “I don’t know if Allan mentioned it or not, but I’ve recently become engaged.” The young man’s lips tilted in a pleased smile.

  “Congratulations!”

  “Thank you.” Geoff’s smile grew wider. “I feel like the luckiest man alive because Lori Bellamy’s agreed to marry me.”

  The Bellamys were major landowners on Bainbridge Island. Dave had heard the name any number of times through the years because of the family’s many philanthropic projects. If he remembered correctly, the Bellamys owned a theater and various prime pieces of waterfront in the downtown area of Winslow.

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “June,” Geoff said.

  “Perfect month for a wedding.”

  “Yes.” Geoff lowered himself into the chair next to Dave. “Lori said something about premarital classes. What’s your feeling about those?”

  “I highly recommend them.”

  “I don’t know.” Geoff didn’t sound convinced. “She seems to think they’re important, but…”

  Dave tried to reassure the young man. “They help alleviate problems later on, Geoff,” he went on to explain. “It’s crucial for a young couple to establish the lines of communication before they say their vows.”

  Geoff shifted a bit and looked away. “Are these classes expensive?”

  That was a tricky question. Dave didn’t charge anyone in his congregation for counseling, whether individual or in a class; however, he couldn’t speak for other churches. “I don’t believe they are.”

  “Lori’s family are willing to pay for them—along with everything else.” This last part was said with some bitterness. “I don’t mind them picking up the cost of the wedding—that’s traditional—but for the rest, I believe Lori and I should pay.”

  Dave approved of his attitude. He speculated that while Geoff made a decent wage as a legal assistant, he couldn’t handle an extravagant lifestyle. But Dave liked the young man’s sense of honor, his determination to pay his own expenses.

  “If you want, I could set you up with a couple of sessions,” he offered. “You and Lori can meet with me and we’ll see how it goes.”

  “What would that cost?”

  “Nothing.” Dave shook his head. “You can make a donation to the church later if you decide it was worth your time.”

  Geoff looked shocked. “Really?”

  “Of course. I want you to start your marriage on the right foot.” He paused, thinking a moment. “It’ll probably be more convenient for you to do the sessions in Cedar Cove, anyway, rather than on Bainbridge Island, since you’re working here. What about Lori? Does she work in the area?”

  “She has a part-time job at a dress shop in Silverdale. This should be good for both of us,” Geoff said. “I’ll talk to Lori and get back to you.”

  “You do that.”

  Geoff returned to his desk, and Dave picked up the magazine again. He hadn’t read more than a few paragraphs of an article about steroid use in professional sports before the front door opened and Allan Harris exploded into the room. He was a burly, energetic man.

  “Dave, Dave,” he muttered, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Dave placed the magazine on the nearby table and stood. “No problem.”

  Allan shrugged out of his wool overcoat and hung it on the peg next to Dave’s. “Did Geoff offer you coffee?”

  “Yes. I’m full up, thanks.”

  Allan lifted the glass coffeepot, which sat in an alcove next to his office, and poured himself a cup. “It’s colder outside than a witch’s—” He stopped abruptly. “Beg your pardon, Pastor.”

  Dave didn’t bother hiding his amusement. People seemed to assume he’d never heard or uttered a swear-word in his life, when in fact, he was as fallible and as prone to weakness as anyone else.

  Perhaps even more so, he mused, cringing at the thought. He hated what was happening between him and Emily but seemed unable to tell her the truth. After Christmas, he’d fess up. That was a promise he fully intended to keep.

  Carefully holding his mug, Allan led the way into his office. He motioned to the visitor�
�s chair across from his desk, then claimed his own.

  “I appreciate that you’re willing to meet with me,” Allan said, setting his mug on a coaster amid the clutter of papers and books.

  “I’ll admit I’m curious as to why.” Dave guessed this had something to do with Martha Evans. The elderly woman had died in September. During her last year, Dave had made a point of visiting her as often as he could. In many ways, she reminded him of his own grandmother with her indomitable spirit and sharp wit. She kept a Bible close at hand and had memorized large sections of Scripture.

  “I’ve been talking to the heirs,” Allan said.

  “Yes?” Dave couldn’t help noticing that the attorney suddenly seemed agitated, rolling a pen between his open hands.

  Allan stared hard at him. “Several pieces of Martha’s jewelry are missing.”

  “I know.” But Dave didn’t understand what that had to do with him. He’d already spoken to Sheriff Davis and told him everything he knew about the missing jewelry, which was next to nothing.

  “Would you mind going over the details of the morning you discovered her body?”

  “Of course not.” Dave hesitated. He’d described it to the sheriff more than once, and had the creeping sensation that Allan was viewing him as a suspect. That unnerved him. “I stopped by two or three times a week to visit,” he began.

  Allan nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  “That particular day was a Saturday.”

  “It was,” Allan concurred.

  “She didn’t respond to the doorbell. Martha no longer left the house for anything other than doctors’ appointments. When she didn’t answer, I was afraid something might be wrong.”

  Allan dropped the pen and leaned forward. “Did you phone 911?”

  The question surprised him. “Not right away. I didn’t want to do that until I was sure…”

  “So you went directly into the house?”

  “Well, yes. I knew where Martha hid the spare key, so I unlocked the front door and let myself in.” He paused. “I’d done this before,” he added, “since Martha always kept the door locked. It saved her the effort of getting up.”