50 Harbor Street

by Debbie Macomber

  “A small sample?” he protested.

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “I don’t want you to ruin your lunch.”

  “I won’t,” he promised. Ben sounded like a youngster, pleading with her.

  “Sometimes I think you married me because of my baking,” Charlotte said, smiling to show she didn’t mean it.

  The laughter fled from his eyes as he gazed down at her. “Then you’d be wrong, Charlotte. I married you because I’ve never loved a woman as much as I love you.”

  Three

  Cecilia Randall arrived at Smith, Cox and Jefferson Accounting ten minutes early on Monday morning. She was just as glad to get to work. Being home by herself, without her husband, was lonely, despite her friends. The weekends were the worst, especially now that she was pregnant. Ian, her Navy husband, was out to sea on the aircraft carrier USS George Washington. Despite her reassurances, Ian worried about her—with reason, as he pointed out. Everything in their current situation was exactly the same as it had been with Allison, their first child. And Allison had been born with a defective heart.

  Ian hadn’t been with Cecilia when Allison was born. Nor had he been there when Cecilia buried their infant daughter. Standing alone at the tiny gravesite had nearly destroyed her and subsequently their marriage. If not for the wisdom of a family court judge who’d denied their divorce on a technicality, they wouldn’t be together now.

  Pressing her hand against her stomach, Cecilia sent her unborn daughter thoughts of love and reassurance. It would be different this time, with this baby. But everything had seemed normal with Allison, too. Cecilia quickly flung aside the doubts that pummeled her. Ian had enough of those for both of them.

  Cecilia was five months along now and happier than she could remember being in a long time. She desperately wanted this baby. If it had been up to Ian, they wouldn’t ever have children again. He was afraid. Cecilia was, too, but her desire for a family had prevailed over her fears.

  “Morning,” Zachary Cox, her boss, said absently. He sorted through his mail as he walked past her desk, which was located outside his office.

  “Morning,” she returned.

  “Allison will be in this afternoon,” he said, looking up from the mail long enough to catch Cecilia’s eye. “She’s trying to earn money for a car. Her mother and I told her we’d match whatever she managed to save. I’m hoping there’s enough to do around here to keep her occupied for the next few months.”

  Cecilia nodded, excited about seeing Mr. Cox’s teenage daughter again. Cecilia had been hired while Mr. and Mrs. Cox were going through a divorce. The same judge who’d denied her and Ian’s divorce had made the joint custody decision in their case. Judge Olivia Lockhart had stated that the children and not the adults were the ones who needed a stable life. Instead of shuffling between residences, the kids, Allison and Eddie, were to remain in the family home and the Coxes would alternate, moving in and out every few days. It had worked well—better than expected—and before long Zach and Rosie Cox were back together.

  Soon after Cecilia had begun working for Mr. Cox, he’d started bringing in his troubled teenage daughter. The after-school job was an effort to keep an eye on the rebellious fifteen-year-old and to limit her exposure to a group of out-of-control friends she’d recently taken up with. Despite all that, Cecilia was almost immediately drawn to her. The fact that Allison shared the same name as her own daughter had cemented their bond.

  They’d quickly become friends and Allison often confided in her or asked for advice. Cecilia had watched her blossom from an irrational, angry girl into a lovely young woman of seventeen. The contrast between then and now was striking. Cecilia sometimes fantasized that this was how her own daughter would’ve looked and acted at this age had she lived.

  “I’ll be happy to keep her busy,” Cecilia assured her boss. There were always a number of small tasks she didn’t get to by the end of the day, and this would help her catch up before she took her maternity leave.

  “Great.” Mr. Cox entered his office, still perusing his mail. “Thanks, Cecilia.”

  Cecilia was busy all morning with only a short break—a telephone conversation with her best friend, Cathy Lackey, whose husband was aboard the George Washington with Ian. The two of them had formed their own support group and relied on each other when their husbands were out at sea. Rarely a day passed that they weren’t in touch with each other.

  At three that afternoon, Allison Cox showed up at the office, just missing her father, who’d left to meet with a client. Allison was willowy and classic-featured, a lovely girl. She wore her dark-brown hair long, all the way to the middle of her back. As she removed her gray wool coat, Cecilia saw that she’d dressed for the office in a green plaid skirt and white turtleneck sweater. When Cecilia had first met her, Allison’s favorite color was black. The girl had rebelled against the destruction of her family and lashed out at those around her. Cecilia liked to think that their friendship had helped Allison. In reality, she supposed, it was her parents’ reconciliation that had changed the girl’s outlook on life. Still Cecilia liked to think she’d been a good influence, and Mr. Cox had frequently made a point of telling her she had.

  That was two years ago, and Allison was now a high school senior.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Allison said, hugging Cecilia, although it’d been less than a month since they’d spent time together. “How’s our baby doing?”

  Cecilia pressed her hand to her stomach. “She’s kicking. Want to feel?”

  Allison’s eyes widened. “Sure.”

  Cecilia held the girl’s hand over her stomach and watched as Allison stared intently, bit her lower lip and then after a long moment, dejectedly shook her head. “I don’t feel anything.”

  “It might be a little early yet,” Cecilia murmured, trying to remember how far along she’d been with the last pregnancy before Ian could feel their daughter’s movements.

  Disappointed, Allison dropped her hand. “Well, I guess I’d better get to work.”

  Cecilia set her up at a vacant desk across from her own. During tax season, when the accounting firm hired extra help, every square inch of space was used by temporary employees. It got fairly chaotic from January through April of every year.

  Allison had been working for an hour when Mary Lou, who staffed the front desk, hurried into their work area. “There’s a young man asking to see you,” Mary Lou said to Allison. She cast a doubtful look at Cecilia as if to say she wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing.

  “Did he give you his name?” Allison asked.

  “No, but he said you’d know who he is.”

  “What’s he wearing?”

  Mary Lou edged closer and lowered her voice. “He has a goatee and has on a long black coat that’s got chains attached. He’s wearing a big cross, too. I don’t mind telling you, he looks a bit scary.”

  “That’s Anson.” Allison stood and went out to the front. She was gone for ten minutes and was clearly pleased—no, downright jubilant—when she returned.

  Cecilia was more than a little curious. “What was that about?” she asked. Without being obvious, she’d managed to get a glimpse of this Anson character through one of the office windows. Cecilia understood Mary Lou’s concerns. The boy’s hair was long, greasy and dark. His overcoat fanned out from his sides, as though he had weapons concealed beneath it. Presumably he didn’t, but still…He wasn’t the type of boy Cecilia expected Allison to be interested in.

  “I barely know him,” Allison claimed. “He’s in my French class and he sits beside me. We’ve talked a couple of times and that’s about it.”

  “How did he know you were here?”

  Allison shrugged. “One of my friends must’ve told him.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Not really. He asked about our French assignment.” She grinned shyly and glanced down at the floor. “That was just an excuse, though, ’cause then he asked what I was doing tonight.”r />
  Cecilia nodded, a little worried about the girl’s attraction to this self-styled rebel.

  “He lives with his mother,” Allison added.

  “Oh.”

  “I don’t think they get along very well,” she said thoughtfully.

  Cecilia didn’t know what to say. “Would you go out with him if he asked?” she murmured. Whether Allison admitted it or not, she was attracted to the boy. Everything about her said so.

  “I…I don’t know, but it’s irrelevant. Anson hasn’t asked and I doubt that he will. Guys like Anson don’t go out. They hang out.”

  It was obvious that Mr. Cox hadn’t met the young man, and Cecilia could only imagine how he’d react if he found his daughter with Anson.

  “Be careful,” Cecilia warned softly.

  “Why?”

  “Bad boys can be attractive, which translates into dangerous.”

  Allison smiled. “Don’t worry. Like I said, we hardly know each other.”

  Cecilia didn’t mean to doubt her, but there was trouble coming; she could feel it. Cecilia just hoped Allison knew what she was doing.

  She didn’t have time to think about Allison after she left work because she was meeting Cathy and her three-year-old son, Andy. Cecilia drove straight to her friend’s house without stopping at home. The two of them were putting together Christmas packages to mail off to Ian and Cathy’s husband, Andrew. Cecilia had already filled the trunk of her car with Ian’s gifts. She looked forward to the evening and to the take-out Chinese dinner she and Cathy planned to order.

  “Did you get an e-mail from Ian this morning?” Cathy asked.

  Cecilia shook her head. “Maybe there’ll be one at home.” Ian never talked about what he did for the Navy. His job had something to do with guided missile systems and involved computers and other advanced technology. Ian couldn’t discuss the details of his Navy life for reasons of national security, and Cecilia accepted that. She didn’t care what the United States Navy had him do, as long as her husband arrived home safe and sound. Currently the George Washington was somewhere in the Persian Gulf, but exactly where was a mystery.

  Ian e-mailed her at least once a day. He didn’t have time to send long messages, but even a short note raised Cecilia’s spirits. He insisted that he needed to hear from her, too, and just as often.

  Because Cathy was a stay-at-home mom, she’d picked up the necessary mailing supplies. While Andy sat on the floor and played with puzzles, the two women packaged their various gifts.

  “You won’t believe what’s in here,” Cathy said, holding up a small jewelry-sized box.

  “You’re sending Andrew a ring?” Cecilia asked, puzzled.

  “No, it’s a sheer black nightgown—with the promise that I’ll wear it for him when he gets home.”

  Cecilia giggled. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” she said, remembering that she herself had done something similar once…

  Cathy laughed, too. “I doubt Andrew will think of it that way. I’m ready for a second child. As far as I’m concerned, little Andy needs a baby sister.”

  Cecilia managed to smile but quickly looked away and resumed her wrapping. Her life would be so different if Allison had lived. There were no guarantees that the heart ailment that had killed their daughter wouldn’t afflict this second baby. Cecilia prayed with everything in her that the child she carried now would be healthy.

  Four

  Maryellen Bowman arrived home from her job at the Harbor Street Art Gallery and smiled when Jon stepped outside to greet her. She felt a sense of deep contentment at the sight of her husband. From her car seat behind Maryellen, two-year-old Katie let out a squeal of delight the instant she saw her father. She started kicking and swinging her arms, eager to escape the confines of the protective seat.

  “I know, honey, I know.” Maryellen laughed. “I’m happy to see your daddy, too.”

  By the time Maryellen had parked, Jon was waiting by the car. He opened the back door and freed Katie, who immediately squirmed and wanted down. Now that she was walking, she was impossible to restrain. Still holding Katie, Jon walked around the front of the car to hug Maryellen.

  “Welcome home,” he said and kissed her hungrily. He wove his free hand into her dark hair and brought his mouth to hers.

  Between them, their daughter chattered insistently, seeking attention. Katie didn’t take kindly to being ignored. Maryellen, however, barely noticed her objections.

  “You make it worth coming home,” she whispered, sighing with her eyes closed. Her husband could win a kissing contest—not that she’d let him enter even if there was such an event.

  His arm around her waist, Jon led her into the home he’d built with his own two hands. The property, with its view of the Seattle skyline across Puget Sound, had been an inheritance from his grandfather, and Jon had devoted countless hours to landscaping the grounds. The house was everything Maryellen could possibly want. It had spacious rooms, high ceilings, fireplaces and balconies, and a wide oak staircase to the second floor. A sweeping panorama of the water and the city lights beyond was available from every room. Her artist husband had designed and then painstakingly built the place, at the same time he was making his mark as a professional photographer. Maryellen loved her husband heart and soul, reveling in his many talents.

  “I’ve got dinner started,” Jon told her as she stepped inside the house and was met by the scent of roasting chicken. On top of everything else, Jon was a gifted chef. Maryellen had to pinch herself every day, marveling that she was loved by such an extraordinary man.

  “How was your day?” he asked, as Maryellen hung up her coat and tended to Katie.

  “Busy.”

  “I’d rather you were home with me.”

  “I know—I’d like to be here, too.” The money Jon earned from his photographs was impressive but not yet sufficient for all their financial needs. Then there was the question of medical insurance, which was currently provided through her employer. They’d already made one giant leap of faith when Jon left his job as chef for The Lighthouse restaurant earlier in the year. Maryellen had managed the Cedar Cove Art Gallery for the past ten years and the owners had come to rely on her. She hoped to train her assistant, Lois Habbersmith, to assume her role, but, so far, that hadn’t worked out as well as she’d hoped. Lois was a good employee but she didn’t want the responsibility of being manager. Only after several months had she finally admitted that to Maryellen.

  “I’m planning to leave by the end of next year,” Maryellen said as she reached for the mail, which Jon had placed on the kitchen counter.

  “Next year?” Jon yelped.

  “I know, I’m disappointed, too, but the time will go fast. It’s already autumn.” Her fingers stilled as she came across the envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jon Bowman. One glance at the return address told her the letter was from Jon’s father and stepmother in Oregon. It remained unopened.

  When Maryellen looked up, she found her husband watching her, almost as if he’d anticipated her reaction. “It’s from your family,” she said unnecessarily.

  “I know.”

  “You didn’t open it.” This, too, was obvious.

  “No,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “And I won’t. If it’d been strictly up to me I would’ve tossed it in the garbage. But your name’s on it, too.” Anger burned in his eyes. Years earlier, his parents had betrayed Jon and lied in order to save their younger son, Jon’s half brother, from a prison sentence. In saving Jim, they’d sacrificed Jon. While Jon, innocent of all charges, served seven years in prison, his younger brother continued to abuse drugs and eventually died of an overdose.

  After he was released from prison, Jon had supported himself by working as a short-order cook. When he wasn’t working, he was taking landscape photographs, which began to receive good reviews and significant interest from buyers. Among other places, his work was displayed in the Harbor Street Art Gallery, where he met Maryellen. Their courtship
was long and tempestuous, and only after Katie was born did they marry.

  At the time of her daughter’s birth, Maryellen was convinced she didn’t need or want a husband. She’d married young and unwisely while in college, and it had been a disaster. When she discovered she was pregnant with Katie, she was determined to manage on her own. Other women were single mothers; she could do it, too. She’d quickly learned how wrong she was. Katie wanted her daddy, and Maryellen soon realized she needed Jon in their lives. After their marriage, they were blissfully happy for a short time. Then Maryellen had stumbled upon a stack of unopened letters from Jon’s parents.

  Although she knew Jon would disapprove, she’d secretly contacted the Bowmans and mailed pictures of Katie. As Katie’s grandparents, Maryellen felt they had a right to know about their only grandchild. Her letter, unfortunately, had heightened their efforts to make peace with their son, which had only infuriated him. Jon refused to have anything to do with them. And he saw her actions, in contacting them, as another betrayal. He’d been enraged with her. Her duplicity and his stubborn unwillingness to forgive had almost ruined their marriage.

  At the time, Maryellen had just learned she was pregnant. She hadn’t told Jon. How could she, when he shut her out—no matter what she said or did? Having failed at one marriage, she believed her actions had killed his love for her and that her second marriage was doomed, too. It was then, at the lowest point of her pain and loss, that she miscarried her baby.

  That had been six weeks earlier. Six weeks during which they’d carefully avoided the subject of Jon’s parents. Together they grieved over the loss of this pregnancy and clung to each other, but their ability to trust was still shaky.

  Maryellen studied the envelope. Jon hadn’t immediately thrown the letter away, or hidden it, as he had previous ones. That was progress, she supposed. Over the intervening weeks, they’d had numerous talks on forgiveness, and she felt he was finally willing to listen. This letter would be the proving ground.