44 Cranberry Point

by Debbie Macomber

  They both had the night’s special, grilled Pacific salmon, which was as delicious as she’d expected it to be. Although she was technically supposed to pick up the bill, Nate insisted on paying. He escorted her back to her car and then surprised her by asking, “Would you like to walk along the waterfront?”

  She agreed, and they strolled side by side toward the marina. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “What’s going on over there?” he asked, nodding toward the Waterfront Park.

  “I don’t know. Want to check it out?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  It didn’t take Rachel long to realize it was a wedding party. From a distance they watched the bride and groom exchange their vows. The sun had begun to set, sinking in the glorious blue sky, casting shreds of sunlight across the surface of the water.

  For reasons she didn’t understand, tears filled Rachel’s eyes. If Nate saw, she’d be mortified. She barely knew this man and she’d probably never see him again. Really, there was no reason for them to continue dating. He was involved. She was older. This was it, the beginning and the end of their relationship.

  “Rachel?”

  He turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders. His frown told her he was both confused and concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  “I always cry at weddings,” she said apologetically, making light of her tears. They fell unrestrained down her face. And yet she wasn’t actually a woman prone to tears. Not until that moment, at any rate. Lowering her head, she wiped them from her cheeks, furious with herself. “Sorry.”

  Without a word, Nate took her in his arms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t make soothing sounds. All he did was hold her. It’d been so long since a man had touched her with such gentleness, such kindness, that she wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Looking up at him was a mistake because she discovered that he was staring at her. Then they were kissing. Rachel had no idea who kissed whom first. One thing quickly became evident: What Nate lacked in years he made up for in experience. The man knew how to kiss. His mouth moved seductively over hers in a way that sent goose bumps shooting down her arms. He kissed her as if she were the sweetest thing he’d ever known; he savored her, relished her.

  When he lifted his mouth from hers, Rachel’s knees were so weak she felt she might collapse in a puddle at his feet. Caught in the sheer wonder of their kiss, she kept her eyes closed.

  Thankfully he didn’t apologize or make excuses, nor did he seem inclined to explain.

  When she felt her composure returning, Rachel opened her eyes. “That was…very nice.”

  “Yes, it was,” Nate whispered, then cleared his throat. “I’ll walk you to your car now.”

  She nodded. One again she’d been wrong; she hadn’t wasted her money. His kiss was worth every penny of the three hundred dollars she’d paid for this evening’s date.

  All the way back to the restaurant, Nate remained speechless. So did she. The truth was, Rachel didn’t know what to say.

  She led him to her car and got out her keys. “I had a lovely evening, Nate. Thank you.”

  He placed his palm against her cheek. “I did, too. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to see each other again.”

  “I understand.”

  “The thing is, I want to.”

  Rachel was careful not to meet his eyes, otherwise he’d be able to tell how badly she wanted to see him, too. “Life is like that sometimes.”

  “I know.” His words were filled with regret.

  She climbed into her car and backed out of her parking spot, hands a little shaky on the steering wheel. Driving off, she saw Nate in her rearview mirror. He stood in the lot, just stood there, watching her. Rachel felt a sense of melancholy as she pulled onto the street and headed home.

  Apparently romance just wasn’t for her. Damn, damn, damn!

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Maryellen’s assistant, Lois Habbersmith, arrived at the Harbor Street Gallery shortly before noon. Grateful for the opportunity to escape, Maryellen grabbed the unopened letter and stuffed it in her skirt pocket.

  “Lois, I’m going for a walk.”

  The other woman glanced at her in surprise. Maryellen almost always ate at her desk, grabbing a bite here and there between customers. With the summer half over, tourist traffic was at its peak and the gallery staff was often swamped.

  “I won’t be long,” Maryellen promised. All she needed was a few uninterrupted minutes to read the letter. The moment she’d seen the return address, she’d known. The older couple who’d visited two weeks earlier and asked so many questions about Jon were his father and stepmother. Maryellen had suspected it then. Now she was sure.

  As soon as she could, Maryellen left the gallery and walked down to the waterfront park. She slipped onto a picnic bench at the gazebo, removing the envelope from her pocket. For a long moment she stared at it, deciding that the sharply slanted handwriting was more likely a man’s than a woman’s.

  Maryellen’s hand trembled as she ripped open the envelope and pulled out a single typed sheet. Glancing at the first paragraph, she could see she’d been correct; his father was the one who’d written.

  Dear Maryellen,

  I imagine it must be a shock to receive this letter. When Marion and I got your very welcome note regarding Jon and your marriage, we were thrilled to have some way of reaching our son. You see, Jon is all we have left in the world that matters. My wife and I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but we’ve paid for our sins many times over. Your letter, informing us of your marriage to Jon and the birth of our granddaughter, gave us hope. In all these years, Jon hasn’t once acknowledged our letters. He’s made it very clear that he desires no contact with his family.

  Once we learned that he’d moved onto the piece of land inherited from his grandfather, I drove to Cedar Cove, hoping to talk to him. Marion doesn’t know this, but my son threw me off the property. He refused to speak to me. Seeing the hate in him unnerved me, and I decided then that I would bide my time. I prayed that somehow, some way, he’d find his way to forgiveness. Until your letter, I’d almost given up hope.

  As you probably guessed, Marion and I were the people who stopped by the art gallery a couple of weeks back. We couldn’t get over our good fortune when we met you. In your previous letter, you’d failed to mention that you worked at the gallery.

  Your love for Jon is unmistakable. We thank God he found you and thank God you cared enough to contact us.

  Marion and I have often talked about this and are at our wits’ end. We have tried every way we know to reach our son, to beg his forgiveness and to bridge this gap of pain and bitterness. You are our only hope. Would you act as a mediator? It would mean the world to us if you’d talk to Jon on our behalf. He won’t listen to us but I know he’ll listen to you.

  Thank you.

  Joseph Bowman

  P.S. Marion and I did visit the restaurant you mentioned and were impressed by Jon’s work. I never realized how gifted my son is. Again I have you to thank for that discovery.

  Maryellen read the letter a second time. Jon’s father was asking the impossible of her. Her husband was adamant that he wanted nothing to do with his parents. As far as he was concerned, they were no longer part of his life.

  As she drove home with Katie at the end of the day, Maryellen was still thinking about what his parents had asked her to do. Although she knew how Jon felt about his family, she’d gone behind his back. In fact, she’d done so against his express wishes. She hated that she’d started her marriage with an act of deception. If Jon ever learned she’d contacted his parents and mailed them photos of Katie, he might never forgive her. She’d taken a terrible risk already and now they were asking her to take another-a risk that was potentially even more disastrous. Maryellen longed to help, but she was afraid of what that would do to her marriage.

  When she pulled into the yard, Jon walked out to the car to meet her and Katie. He smiled as he
opened the back passenger door and released their daughter from her baby seat. Eager to escape the confines of the restrictive carrier, Katie gleefully flung out her arms and cooed at her father.

  “Hi, honey,” he said, kissing Maryellen briefly.

  “Hi.”

  Despite her efforts to appear normal, her voice must have betrayed her, because Jon looked back over his shoulder. “Something wrong?”

  Maryellen smiled at her husband and shook her head. He continued into the house, carrying Katie, while she followed with the diaper bag. In that instant she knew she couldn’t jeopardize their secure world. They were happy. She couldn’t afford to compromise their happiness, not Jon’s or Katie’s-or her own.

  They ate on the deck that evening. Jon had poached halibut in wine and lemon, and topped it with a fresh tomato-and-basil salsa. The advantages of having a husband who was a marvelous chef were too numerous to count.

  “All right,” Jon said, leaning against the wooden slats of his deck chair. “That does it.”

  “What?” His determined words startled her.

  “Turn in your two-week notice.”

  “Jon…”

  “You clearly want to be at home.”

  “Jon, I can’t, not yet.” While it was true she wanted to be home with Katie and begin working as Jon’s manager, she couldn’t leave the gallery in the lurch. The owners had always been wonderful to her; not only that, she couldn’t abandon Lois during the busiest time of the year.

  “You’re miserable,” Jon said. Holding his wineglass, he frowned at her, and Maryellen tried to reassure him with a warm, loving smile.

  “We were jammed this afternoon,” she said, “and I hardly had a moment to myself, but that’s how this business goes. Anyway, Lois isn’t ready to assume management responsibilities yet. She’s learning, though.”

  “You aren’t getting enough sleep.”

  “Would you stop trying to fix everything?” Although she meant to use a teasing tone, the remark came out sounding sharp and impatient.

  Jon frowned more heavily. “That’s what I thought a husband did.”

  “I’m sorry…” Maryellen didn’t dare mention the reason for her mood. Standing, she collected the dirty dishes. “I guess I’m just out of sorts.”

  Jon brightened suddenly. “Could that mean what I think it means?”

  Maryellen shook her head. She certainly hadn’t had any problem getting pregnant with Katie and although they weren’t using birth control, she wasn’t pregnant with their second child yet.

  Jon took her news with a light shrug. “I guess we’ll just have to try harder. I want to experience this next pregnancy from the beginning.”

  Maryellen was heartened by the prospect. “That sounds good to me.”

  While Jon dealt with bills and paperwork downstairs, Maryellen bathed Katie and gently rocked her to sleep. She brushed the soft curls from her daughter’s forehead, holding her securely as Katie sucked energetically at her bottle. Maryellen had gradually stopped breastfeeding the month before and now gave Katie a bottle early in the morning and at bedtime.

  Maryellen glanced around the nursery, which always brought her a fresh surge of pleasure. Jon had drawn and painted a series of wild animals along the walls, creating for each a background that reflected its natural habitat.

  Jon’s parents would never see this. Maryellen closed her eyes, discouraged by the hopelessness of the situation.

  “The object is to put Katie to sleep, not you,” Jon whispered.

  She opened her eyes to see him standing in the doorway, arms crossed. He wasn’t a handsome man by conventional standards, but the sight of him stirred her emotions and her senses.

  “It’s been a long day,” she said.

  “Then take a hot bath, relax, go to bed,” Jon advised.

  “I’ve got the dishes.”

  “I already took care of that.”

  “But Jon…” she protested. Their agreement was that when he cooked, she’d do the cleanup afterward. “You spoil me.”

  He grinned at that. “I want to spoil you. I love you, Maryellen. You and Katie are my family. You’re everything to me.”

  Instead of bringing joy, his words fell on her like stones. It was her own fault, her own guilt; she’d interfered where she had no right to and cruelly raised his parents’ hopes.

  “I think I will go to bed early tonight,” Maryellen said and placed Katie in her crib. She covered her with a light blanket, waiting to be sure their little girl was truly asleep before she silently left the room.

  Jon took the empty bottle downstairs while Maryellen ran hot water into the tub. She scented it with lavender salts, then got in and sank into the soothing bath.

  Her decision was made. She had no choice. She’d answer Joseph Bowman’s letter the next day and tell him he was asking the impossible of her. She’d mail photos of Katie from time to time and keep his parents updated, but that was all she could promise. She’d also ask them not to contact her again.

  The water had cooled by the time Maryellen stepped out of the tub. She dressed in a cotton nightie and a short robe. Jon was watching television and she sat on the sofa beside him, nestling gratefully in his arms.

  “Feel better?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Remember what you were saying earlier?” she murmured, tilting her head and kissing the side of his jaw.

  “About what?”

  “Me getting pregnant.”

  She felt his mouth relax into a smile. “I remember that quite distinctly.”

  Maryellen glanced toward the television. “How interested are you in that program?”

  “I can catch a rerun.” He used the remote to turn off the TV, then kissed her as if he’d been waiting all day for just this moment.

  Maryellen entwined her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his exploration. Jon moaned softly, sliding his hand inside the folds of her robe, and sought her breast. Between soft kisses intermingled with lengthier ones, Maryellen reached over to snap off the lamp. They stood and began to walk toward the stairs, but didn’t make it to the first step before he gathered her close and kissed her once more.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of making love to you.” He kissed the vulnerable hollow of her throat.

  “I should hope not.” Maryellen laughed and, walking backward, advanced one step up from him, circling his ear with her tongue. Jon groaned and she moved up an additional step. He followed, his hand again seeking her breasts. This time it was Maryellen who released a soft sigh of pleasure. If they didn’t hurry up these stairs, they’d never make it to the bedroom.

  As they kissed, Maryellen tore at his shirt while he removed her robe.

  “Jon,” she whispered, her voice thick with passion. They were halfway up the stairs, both partially undressed.

  Still one step below her, he hugged her waist and buried his face between the fullness of her breasts.

  Maryellen could feel her knees weakening. Framing his face with both hands, she gazed directly into his eyes. “Come on. I think there’s a more comfortable way of doing this. It’s called a bed.”

  Jon grinned up at her and then, in one sweeping motion, he swung her into his arms and carried her up the remaining stairs. Giggling like teenagers, they fell onto the bed and into each other’s embrace.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Who left the milk out overnight?” Bob demanded as Peggy walked into the kitchen early Tuesday morning.

  Peggy poured coffee into her favorite mug. “Good morning to you too, sweetheart.”

  Bob scowled. “I ended up dumping the entire half gallon.”

  They both realized it could only have been Hannah. Peggy wished she knew what it was about the young woman that irritated her husband so much. Bob took offense at the slightest thing; the milk incident was a good example. Hannah had worked the late shift at the Pancake Palace and returned to the house some
time after Bob and Peggy were asleep. Apparently she’d decided to drink a glass of milk before going to bed and forgotten to put the carton back in the refrigerator. Yes, it was a thoughtless act, but it wasn’t catastrophic. Bob had leapt at the opportunity to shriek and howl with indignation. Enough was enough.

  “Stop it this minute, Bob Beldon,” Peggy said calmly after her first sip of coffee. “I’ll mention it to Hannah, but she doesn’t need you berating her.” The girl was timid as it was, and one harsh word from Bob would destroy her.

  “Does she think-”

  “Bob.” Peggy cut him off before he could wake Hannah with his ranting. “Aren’t you meeting Pastor Dave this morning?” They had a standing golf date every Tuesday. Whether they played in the morning or the afternoon depended on the pastor’s schedule.

  Her husband looked at his watch, frowning. He nodded abruptly. “I’ll be back before noon.”

  “Yes, dear,” Peggy murmured as she headed for her chair in the living room. Each morning she took a few moments to meditate before beginning her day. In those moments, she organized her thoughts and made mental plans of what she hoped to accomplish. Bob was often reading from the AA Big Book, and she’d gotten into the habit of claiming a little peace and quiet for herself. It allowed her to start the day in a tranquil frame of mind.

  Bob paused at the door that led to the patio. “You’ll say something to Hannah, right?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  He expelled his breath loudly enough for her to hear. “Don’t patronize me, Peggy.”

  She didn’t know what had set off her husband’s foul mood, but assumed that whatever was bothering him would work its way out of his system before he finished his golf game. More than likely he’d come home at lunchtime apologetic and contrite.

  A few minutes later, just after Peggy had settled into her morning routine, Hannah stepped quietly into the family room. Her hair fell in thin brown tendrils about her face, which was ashen. She bit her lower lip, hesitating as if she wasn’t sure she should interrupt Peggy.