311 Pelican Court

by Debbie Macomber

  Her throat tightened. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  The woman sitting in front of them and off to one side twisted around. Her lips were pursed in annoyance. “I hate to interrupt your reunion, but I’d like to hear the movie.”

  “Sorry,” Olivia whispered, mortified that someone had to shush her in the theater. She hoped the lights were too dim for anyone to recognize her.

  Jack straightened and leaned across the back of the seat closest to the woman who’d complained. “It’s actually all Olivia’s fault,” he said conversationally. “You see, it’s been four months since we’ve seen each other and—”

  “Jack!” Olivia tugged at the sleeve of his raincoat. “I don’t think it’s necessary that she hear the details of our misunderstanding.”

  He continued chatting as if this woman was his long-lost friend. Olivia sank down as far in the seat as she could.

  After several minutes, just as the previews finished, Jack turned around again. “Marion, this is Olivia. Olivia, Marion.”

  “Hi.” Olivia lifted one hand in greeting and offered the woman a half smile.

  Marion cheerfully waved back. “I’m just so glad you two are together again and that your dear, dear friend lived.”

  “What?” Surely Olivia had misunderstood something.

  “Enjoy the movie,” Jack said as he shifted back in his seat.

  “What was that all about?” Olivia asked, although she already knew. Jack had told another of his outrageous stories; he should’ve been writing fiction, not newspaper columns. She poked him in the ribs with her elbow when he chose to ignore her.

  “Shh,” Jack said, staring at the screen. He glanced away long enough to scoop up more popcorn.

  Olivia relaxed, and after a few moments released a pent-up sigh. It felt so good to have him back in her life. They hadn’t settled anything, hadn’t discussed any of the once-important issues. And Olivia wasn’t even sure that was necessary.

  She was so caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t notice that Jack had taken the entire bucket of popcorn—until she tried to get some.

  “Hey,” she protested.

  “You shouldn’t eat any more,” he asserted.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you won’t be hungry when I take you out to dinner after the movie.”

  “Oh.” That answered that, but didn’t explain why he continued to eat, munching down as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. “What about you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m always hungry.”

  Olivia rested her head on his shoulder, and Jack put the bucket down and slid his arm around her. Like high-school sweethearts, they leaned their heads against each other, holding hands. Olivia hadn’t felt this contented in months.

  She had no idea what the movie was about.

  Sunday morning, Rosie was awakened by the sound of rain beating incessantly against the apartment window. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, without success. She was awake. Wide awake. It’d taken her hours to fall asleep, and now this.

  Weekends were the worst for her. During the week, she was in the classroom every day, and the whole issue of the divorce and this ridiculous joint custody arrangement was easy enough to shove aside. But weekends were dreadful. She hated that Zach was at the house on Friday and Saturday nights. When she’d agreed to give him weekends, she’d thought it was poetic justice. With the children constantly underfoot, he wouldn’t be able to date much. If he realized her intention, he didn’t let on, but it gave Rosie a sense of satisfaction to thwart him at every turn, especially when it came to his relationship with Janice Lamond.

  Wearing her thin housecoat, Rosie wandered into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She wasn’t scheduled to be back at the house until five that afternoon. What they were doing made no sense—the way they were living, moving in and out of the house every few days. She couldn’t imagine what that judge was thinking.

  The rain continued and a chill raced up her arms. The housecoat she wore now was a summer one, inadequate to protect her against the chill of these autumn mornings. This was crazy! One set of clothes hung in her closet here and another at the house. Half the time she didn’t know what was where.

  The morning stretched before her, empty and bleak. A year earlier, she’d been so busy with her volunteer work that she couldn’t squeeze in time to cook her family dinner. Her charity work, along with so much else, had gone by the wayside with the divorce. She’d been forced to resign from every volunteer position—positions she’d willingly accepted. She wasn’t even missed. All her responsibilities, which were once so important, had been transferred to other people. Now she moved from school to school. Her days were filled with teaching, and when she wasn’t with the children, her nights were lonely. Her entire life had changed at the sound of a judge’s gavel.

  Her friends, most of whom were married, no longer seemed to have time for her. A year ago, Rosie had people to see, appointments every day, plans every night. Now there was nothing but guilt and doubts and an abundance of pain.

  When she finished her coffee, Rosie showered, then read the weekend editions of the Bremerton Sun and the local paper, but few of the articles held her interest. The Cedar Cove Chronicle had a brief piece about the mysterious man who’d turned up dead at the Thyme and Tide, but there didn’t seem to be any additional details. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember what it had been like before…before their marital troubles. Before the divorce.

  Sunday mornings had always been hectic, getting everyone ready for church and out the door in time for worship service. Until recently, she’d sung in the choir, but she’d stopped attending church once she filed for divorce. She was afraid of facing her friends and having to confess what a lie she’d been living.

  If she missed church services so badly, then perhaps she should go back. Not to the same church, of course, but someplace new, where she could make a fresh start. She’d been hearing good things about the pastor at the Methodist church, Dave Flemming, if she remembered his name correctly. Maybe she should think about attending there. It just might help her deal with the upheaval in her life. God knew she needed something…and fast.

  Decision made, Rosie quickly checked the telephone book for the times of the worship services and realized that if she left right away, she’d make the one scheduled for nine o’clock.

  The parking lot was nearly full when she arrived. She saw several people she knew, including Bob and Peggy Beldon from the bed-and-breakfast, and a number of parents she’d met at the Open House. Seeing Bruce Peyton and his daughter might have cheered her up, but apparently they attended elsewhere. She liked Bruce and they’d talked a couple of times, meeting for dinner once when Jolene was asleep and watched over by a neighbor. Their pain was a common bond—perhaps their only bond.

  The music had already started when Rosie slipped into a pew near the back of the church. Gone were the days when she proudly marched up the center aisle with her husband and children. Like so much else, her respectability had vanished with the divorce.

  The music was wonderful, and even in her depressed state, it lifted her spirits. She listened carefully to the sermon, but about halfway through the service she felt someone’s eyes on her. Hoping she wasn’t being obvious, she looked over her shoulder and immediately froze.

  It couldn’t be! Of all the coincidences in this world, why here? Why now?

  Two rows behind her sat Zach and Eddie. There must be fifteen churches in Cedar Cove, and she and Zach just happened to choose the same one on the same Sunday. Rosie wanted to groan with frustration. No place was safe for her. She couldn’t even walk into church and not be reminded of her past.

  When the service ended, Zach waited for her outside the building.

  “I didn’t follow you here if that’s what you think,” he told her, his voice defensive.

  “I didn’t follow you, either. Listen, Zach, we’re divorced. You have your life and I have mine. This is the first time I�
��ve attended this church, and I can easily go elsewhere. It’s no big deal.”

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” Eddie said, racing up to join his parents. “My friend Joel comes here. He invited me to his house for lunch. I can go, can’t I, Dad?” He looked expectantly toward Zach and then Rosie. “You don’t mind, do you, Mom?”

  Seeing that Eddie was under his father’s jurisdiction until five, she left the decision to him.

  “I’ll need their address and phone number,” Zach said.

  “You want to meet his parents?” Eddie asked.

  “Sure. I’ll be there in just a minute. I want to talk to your mother first.”

  Eddie gave him a bright smile. “Okay.” With that, the nine-year-old tore across the parking lot, where a small group of parents and children had gathered.

  As if reading her mind, Zach said, “I’ll make sure he’s home before you get there.”

  She nodded. “As I was saying about this morning—”

  “It’s not a problem,” Zach interrupted. “This was our first Sunday here, too.”

  “I’ll change churches. It looks like Eddie’s already got a friend here.” Allison, however, was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Allison?” Rosie looked around, thinking their daughter was probably with her friends, as well. When they’d attended church as a family, Allison made a habit of sitting in any pew her family wasn’t.

  “She didn’t come.”

  Now Rosie was getting irritated. Allison had been in a horrible mood ever since Zach had kicked her boyfriend out of her bedroom. “You let her stay home?”

  Zach wore a guilty look. “She refused to come, and I figured forcing her would only make matters worse.” Zach didn’t seem any too pleased about it, either. From the way he stiffened, he obviously expected Rosie to chastise him.

  Actually, she was pleased Zach had to deal with their daughter’s temper for once. “Are you still having problems with Allison?” she asked, hoping he’d admit it.

  “Some. What about you?”

  She shrugged. “A little.”

  “Maybe we should get together and discuss what’s happening with her,” Zach suggested, surprising Rosie.

  “When?”

  “Whenever it’s convenient.”

  “You mean there’s more than her bringing Ryan into her bedroom?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but I think it’s important that the two of us communicate regularly.”

  Rosie agreed, although with some reluctance. The sooner they got this over with, the better, she decided. “How about now?”

  Zach nodded. “Okay.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Zach and Rosie sat across from each other at the Pancake Palace. Eddie was with his friend Joel, and Zach would be picking him up later.

  Since the two of them were taking up a table and the place was busy with the Sunday breakfast crowd, Rosie felt obliged to order something more than coffee.

  When the waitress came, she asked for coffee, two eggs and toast, plus a separate bill. Zach ordered the same thing and also asked for his own check. Once it was understood that they’d each pay for breakfast, Zach turned his attention back to Rosie.

  “What do you know about Ryan?”

  “Not much. His parents are divorced and he lives with his mother.”

  “She lets him pierce various body parts,” Zach said, frowning.

  Rosie wasn’t impressed with that, either. “Apparently so.” There were six safety pins clipped through Ryan’s ear, and a small steel ball was attached to the end of his tongue. The thought of this boy kissing their daughter made her queasy.

  “He hasn’t been over to the house since I talked to him,” Zach added with some satisfaction.

  Rosie wasn’t convinced that was true, but didn’t want to say anything that would threaten their fragile peace.

  “I talked to his mother last week.”

  That piqued Zach’s interest. “What’s she like?”

  From their brief conversation, it seemed Ryan’s mother didn’t exactly see the situation in the same light as Rosie did. “She…was defensive. I told her we preferred that an adult be in the house if Ryan visited. She accused me of being overprotective.”

  “Is it any of her business?” Zach demanded.

  “No, but I don’t think we’re going to get a lot of cooperation from her.”

  “Seems that way.” Zach was frowning.

  Rosie was so grateful to talk to him about this. It dawned on her now why she’d been so restless and uneasy—it was largely due to her daughter’s behavior.

  “Do you remember last year when I told you about the Harrison girl?” she asked.

  Zach shook his head.

  “She was in junior high and pregnant with twins.”

  The color seemed to rush from Zach’s face. “You don’t think—” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  “I don’t know, Zach, and we might not know for sure until it’s too late.”

  Her words had the shock value she’d intended. Allison’s anger and resentment grew more acute every week. This boy in her life was trouble, and their daughter’s future could well be at stake.

  “I’m worried about Allison,” Zach said, his voice low.

  “I am, too,” Rosie agreed. “She didn’t take the divorce well, and she’s lashing out at both of us. I’m not sure what she’d do…. I hardly know her anymore.”

  Nine

  Olivia was happy. She woke early on Sunday morning—her birthday—and luxuriated in bed while the last dregs of sleep left her. It occurred to her that she should be adding up the years, which now totaled a rather shocking number. Better yet, she should review her accomplishments and align them with her goals, which was what she did every birthday.

  Yes, she should probably be doing that. Birthdays were a good opportunity to assess one’s life. Instead, she was grinning to herself and mulling over the way she’d “run into” Jack at the theater, all the silly subterfuge they’d indulged in. But they’d had such a good time together. Jack possessed the ability to make her laugh, and she valued that, more than almost anything. All pretense between them was gone now. It was clear how genuinely glad he’d been to see her again, and the truth was, she felt equally delighted.

  They’d spent all afternoon together and all evening. After the movie, they’d had dinner at the Taco Shack and lingered for hours over coffee, talking about every subject except one. Stan. He didn’t ask, and Olivia certainly didn’t bring her ex-husband’s name into the conversation. It was as though neither of them wanted to say or do anything that might set back their relationship.

  They parted reluctantly and talked for another thirty minutes in the parking lot.

  Even though Jack had bought her a birthday gift the year before, she was sure he’d forgotten the date. She could’ve mentioned it, probably should have. Another should…but she had no intention of informing him that she was about to turn a whole year older.

  Charlotte insisted on cooking her breakfast, so after church services, Olivia went to her mother’s place.

  “Come in, come in,” Charlotte called from the kitchen when Olivia let herself in the house. Harry, her guard cat, sprawled in the front window, basking in the autumn sunshine. The scent of cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven made Olivia’s mouth water.

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” her mother said warmly, coming out of the kitchen wearing an apron. She enveloped Olivia in a tight hug. “You look wonderful.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Olivia wasn’t ready to admit that Jack was responsible for the sparkle in her eyes. Not when her mother was guaranteed to give her a hearty “I told you so” in return.

  “Everything’s ready,” Charlotte said. The dining table was set with her mother’s best china, the orange juice poured in tall crystal goblets. Humming something Olivia didn’t recognize, Charlotte bustled back to the kitchen. Come to think of it, her mother seemed to be in a mighty cheerful mood herself.

  “Can I help?” Olivia asked, following he
r.

  “All I need to do is bring everything to the table,” Charlotte assured her. “I baked your favorite breakfast casserole and cinnamon rolls.”

  Olivia swallowed a smile. The breakfast casserole was her mother’s favorite, but far be it from Charlotte to cook it just for herself, so she always took advantage of a convenient excuse—like her daughter’s birthday.

  “This looks so good.” Olivia pulled out the chair across from her and surveyed the feast.

  They bowed their heads and her mother said grace before she served the casserole, made up of bacon, onions, hash browns and lots of cheese. “Shall I tell you about the day you were born?” Charlotte asked.

  “Mother, I’m fifty-five years old! I’ve heard the story for fifty-four of those years. I know everything there is to know about that day.” Every minute detail had been conveyed countless times. “I know how Daddy had to rush you to the hospital at nine in the evening and how you were in labor for twenty hours. I know there was a big storm the very next day and nobody could visit until the day after. And I know I screamed for three solid hours—or so you say.”

  “It’s the truth.” Charlotte nodded stubbornly.

  Olivia laughed. As silly as it was, she found herself passing on this tradition of her mother’s to her own children. On the morning of her son James’s last birthday, Olivia had phoned long distance to describe the day he was born. James had listened politely and then informed her she’d told him the same thing, almost word for word, the year before.

  Through breakfast, they chatted about family and friends and then her mother casually said, “I invited Ben Rhodes to join us, but he had other plans this morning.”

  Ben, Olivia mused. She vaguely remembered hearing her mother mention Ben. It might seem peculiar that Charlotte would want to include a stranger in Olivia’s birthday breakfast. But her mother was like that. She collected people the way some women collected china cups or brooches. For instance, Tom Harding, Cliff’s grandfather, a man in his nineties.

  She’d befriended him a couple of years back. The old man had been a stroke victim and had lost the ability to speak, but he didn’t appear to have any problem communicating with her mother. It was Charlotte’s gift, Olivia decided, to seek out those who needed her attention most.