“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 Habbe
rsmith 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.
Suddenly it became obvious. She had to get the number from directory assistance. As she punched it out, she prayed Jon was home and close to a phone.
When there was no answer at his house, she nearly wept with frustration. Panic started to set in; warding it off, she forced herself to remain calm. On the off chance that he was working, she dialed The Lighthouse restaurant.
The woman who answered was polite and friendly. Maryellen was put on hold. After an eternity, Jon came on the line, and his clipped greeting said he wasn’t happy to be called away from whatever he was doing.
Frightened, near desperate, Maryellen whispered hoarsely, “Jon…I need help—”
She wasn’t allowed to finish. “Where are you?”
“Home. My water broke.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Her relief was overwhelming. She blinked rapidly to keep from breaking into grateful tears. “Thank you,” she began, but the line had already gone dead.
Only a few minutes later she heard a car door slam outside her small rental house. By then, she’d called Dr. Abner and learned that her instincts had been right; he wanted her to go directly to the hospital’s birthing center.
Jon didn’t bother to knock but came barreling in the front door. He had on his white chef’s shirt and pants, both of which were stained. Obviously she’d caught him in the middle of the midday rush. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. The last time had been early in the summer when they’d agreed to visitation, and despite the frantic way his gaze darted to her now, he looked wonderful. By conventional standards Jon wasn’t a handsome man. His features were too sharp, his face long and narrow, his nose almost hawklike, but Maryellen had learned a harsh lesson when it came to attractive men. At first glance, Jon wasn’t going to cause hearts to flutter; it was only on closer examination that she’d recognized the strength of character she found so compelling.
“Hi,” she said weakly, staring down at the floor and the watery mess she was standing in.
“So you’ve got yourself in a little predicament here.” His smile warmed her.
“Were you serious about wanting to see Katie’s birth?” she asked. The panic was completely gone now that he was here.
“I’d like that if it’s possible.”
“Looks like you’ve just been nominated to drive me to the hospital’s birthing center.”
In three quick strides he was across the room and scooped her into his arms as if her considerable weight was of little consequence.
She wanted to protest, to suggest she was too heavy for him, but she didn’t. For the first time since she’d tried to reach her mother, Maryellen felt protected. Safe. He helped her change clothes and then carried her out the door.
He carefully placed her inside his vehicle. “Is your suitcase packed?” he asked.
She nodded. “All except my toothbrush.”
“I’ll grab that and your overnight bag and be right back.”
He left her and returned just as she was having a contraction. They’d gotten much stronger in the minutes since her water broke. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and exhaled, trying to remember everything she’d learned in her birthing class.
Jon was in the driver’s seat beside her when she opened her eyes again.
“You okay?” he asked.
He’d gone pale, she noticed. She attempted to reassure him with a smile.
Later, Maryellen remembered almost nothing about the ride from Cedar Cove into Silverdale and the birthing center. Jon didn’t speak, and she didn’t, either, concentrating on the breathing techniques she’d learned while he drove, expertly weaving through traffic.
When they arrived at the center, there seemed to be all kinds of activity going on around her. She was stripped, prepped, helped into bed and had a fetal monitor attached. Jon disappeared, and she wondered if he’d dropped her off and then left again. She supposed that made sense, since she’d clearly called him in the middle of his shift.
Then she was alone in a comfortable room with every modern device to distract her from the pain. There was soft music and a television with VCR should she care to watch, but none of that interested her.
The contractions were far more intense than anyone could have warned her. She mentally counted the seconds as each contraction came over her, working its way from her back to her front, tightening her belly.
“Maryellen?” Jon’s voice was low.
Her eyes flew open and she f
ound him standing in the doorway. Her relief and gratitude were instantaneous. Propping herself up on one elbow, she asked hopefully, “Can you stay?”
“If that’s what you want.”
She did. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she wanted him with her, how much she needed him. Not just anyone. Him.
Coming all the way into the room, he sat on the chair by her side and studied the monitor as it recorded her labor. Although he hadn’t attended a single birthing class, he seemed to know exactly what to say and do to comfort her. When she moved onto her side, he rubbed her back and whispered reassurances. His voice was encouraging as he repeatedly told her what a good job she was doing.
The length and intensity of the contractions continued, and in the middle of one that lasted almost a minute—the longest minute of her life—the pain overwhelmed her. She whimpered softly.
“Do something!” Jon demanded of the nurse who happened to step into the room just then. “She can’t take this pain.”
The woman smiled benevolently. “Maryellen has opted for a natural birth. We’re simply respecting her wishes.”
“I’m okay,” Maryellen said, but she wondered how long she could hold out. “Would it be all right if I held your hand?”
Jon was on his feet and leaning toward her. He braced his elbow against the bed and offered her his hand. From that moment on, she clung to him. When it was time to bear down, Jon was with her, his head close to her own, his arm around her shoulders. Dr. Abner arrived, and that assured her it wouldn’t be much longer.
Jon introduced himself and then in a low, soothing voice, continued to offer Maryellen encouragement and support. Leaning against him, she strained, pushing this child from her body and panting wildly between pains.
With the next contraction she gripped Jon’s hand and pushed, groaning with the effort. Sweat poured off her. Then all at once, her daughter slipped free. Maryellen gasped as she heard Catherine Grace’s fragile cry.
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