Grace Sherman grabbed a carton of milk and placed it in her grocery cart, then headed for the checkout stand. As she wheeled toward the front of the store, she decided to take a short detour and look over the paperback display. Books were her passion—books of all kinds, from classic fiction to mysteries and romances, from bestseller titles to biographies and history and…almost everything. That was why she’d gone into library work. She loved to read and often read late into the night. Her daughters shared her delight in books, although Dan had never been much of a reader.
As Grace reached the front of the store, she noticed that the lineups were long. She chose one, then got the current copy of People magazine and flipped through that while she waited. The truth came to her as she approached the cashier—she dreaded going home.
The realization left her breathless. They were low on milk, but it certainly hadn’t been necessary to make a special trip. She could easily have waited a day or two. Since she was here anyway, she’d thrown several packets of pasta into her cart, plus toilet paper and a couple of yogurts…as though to justify being to the supermarket at all. In fact, she’d been delaying the inevitable.
Dan had been in such a bleak mood lately. There seemed to be problems at work, but that was only a guess because her husband refused to talk to her about anything beyond the mundane. Any other inquiries were met with one-word replies. Television was vastly more interesting than sharing any part of himself with her.
Grace wanted to discover what was wrong, but he snapped at her whenever she tried. Every night it was the same. Walking into the house after work was like standing in an electrical storm; she never knew when lightning might strike. Because Dan was uncommunicative and morose, she chatted endlessly about this thing and that, in an effort to lighten his mood—and to forestall his outbursts of anger. They always came without warning.
Dan listened to her remarks, nodded at the appropriate times, even smiled now and again. But he contributed nothing to the conversation. The quieter he was, the harder she tried to draw him out, to no avail. Practically every evening he settled in front of the television and didn’t move until it was time for bed.
This was no marriage. They might as well be college roommates for all the love and affection they exchanged.
Their marriage had never fulfilled Grace’s expectations. She’d been eighteen and pregnant with Maryellen when she married Dan. He’d enlisted in the Army and almost immediately been shipped to Vietnam. The two years he’d been away were hell, for him and for her. When he returned, Dan was a different person from the young man who’d left. He’d become bitter and cynical, prone to rages; he’d also experimented with drugs and when she refused to allow them in the house they’d briefly separated.
For Maryellen’s sake, they’d managed to patch things up long enough for Grace to get pregnant a second time. Later, because of their daughters, Dan and Grace had tried hard to make their marriage work.
The war still haunted him and for years Dan used to be awakened by nightmares. He never spoke of his experiences. Those, along with everything else, were hidden away inside his head. Throughout their marriage, Grace had continually hoped things would improve. Once the girls were in school, once she finished her own studies and got the job at the library, once the girls graduated from high school—surely then everything would be better. Year after year of hoping, of looking for signs…
It wasn’t all bad. There’d been good times, too. When the girls started grade school, Grace had entered Olympic College and later commuted into Seattle to attend the University of Washington. Dan had been wonderfully supportive, working two jobs and helping with all their daughters’ assorted activities.
Maryellen and Kelly had both been difficult teenagers, but they’d turned into responsible young women. Dan deeply loved his daughters. Grace never questioned his devotion to them, but she seriously doubted he was still in love with her.
These last few years had been hard on his pride. His career was over, and his job with the tree service wasn’t nearly as satisfying as logging had been. Her salary now paid a larger share of the expenses, and she suspected that bothered him—not that he’d actually said so. But then, they didn’t talk about money, mainly because she avoided any subject that might distress him.
Although she was half an hour later than usual, Dan didn’t comment when she walked into the kitchen, carrying her groceries.
“I’m home,” she announced unnecessarily as she set the sack on the countertop.
Dan had already positioned himself in front of the television, watching the local news. His boots were off and his sock-covered feet rested on the footstool that matched his old overstuffed chair.
“I thought we’d have taco salad for dinner. How does that sound?”
“Great,” he answered without enthusiasm.
“How was your day?”
“All right.” His eyes didn’t waver from the television screen.
“Are you going to ask about mine?” she asked, growing irritated. The least he could do was show some interest in her and their life together, even if it was just a token effort.
“How was your day?” he muttered, his voice impassive.
“Terrible.”
No response.
“Aren’t you going to ask why?”
“You can tell me if you want.”
The man she’d lived with for thirty-five years couldn’t have cared less. Grace couldn’t stand it any longer. Each attempt to draw him out was met with denial and accusation. If she was unhappy, it was her fault, not his—that was his argument the last time she’d tried to talk to him.
Walking into the living room, Grace reached for the remote control and muted the sound. Sitting down on the footstool, she faced her husband.
“What?” he demanded, annoyed that she’d disrupted his news program.
Grace stared at him. “Do you love me?”
Dan laughed as though she’d made a joke. “Love you? We’ve been married for thirty-five years.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“What do you want me to say? Of course I love you. I can’t believe you have to ask.”
“Is there someone else?”
He sat back and looked hard at her, then shook his head. “That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Is there?” she repeated.
“No. When’s dinner going to be ready?”
Grace had another question first. “Do you remember the last time we made love?”
“Are you keeping track?”
She wasn’t fooled. Answering a question with one of his own was a familiar trick of his. “No, but I can’t remember. Can you?”
“I hate it when you do this.” He shoved the footstool forcefully away and got up, burying his hands in his pants pockets. “If we’re going to have an argument, let’s make it over something worthwhile. I didn’t realize you were so insecure that you need to be told I still love you.”
“What I need is some affirmation that you want to be in this marriage.”
“I had no idea you were so paranoid.” He walked to the other side of the room.
“I’m not!”
“You suggested I’m having an affair.”
She didn’t believe it, and in fact, there was no real evidence, but she’d felt it might shock him enough to get his attention.
“What do you want from me?” he asked irritably.
“Some sign of life,” she cried.
He glared at her. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be tired?”
“Too tired to talk?”
“I’ve never been a conversationalist. You knew that when you married me. I’m not going to change at this stage of my life. I don’t know what’s bothering you, Grace, but get over it.”
“That’s not fair! I’m trying to get you to take some responsibility for what’s happening to us.”
“You’re the one who’s so unhappy.”
“Because I want more from our marriage
than this.” She motioned with her arms in a futile effort to explain.
He frowned. “I’m giving you everything I have to give.”
So was she. Dear God, so was she.
“If it isn’t enough, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Her throat thickened with heartache. This was all there was, all there would ever be, and it wasn’t enough.
The phone rang and they both jerked their attention toward the kitchen wall. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them aside as she hurried into the other room.
“Let the machine get it,” Dan said.
“Why, so we can talk some more?”
“No,” he responded gruffly.
“That’s what I thought.” She reached for the receiver and cleared her throat before she spoke. “Hello,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm.
“Mom? Oh, Mom, you’ll never guess what?” Kelly cried. “I just got the news. We’re pregnant!” The joy in her youngest daughter’s voice was as pure and sweet as anything Grace had ever known.
“Pregnant? You’re sure?” Grace felt her tears start again, but these were tears of an altogether different kind. After ten years of marriage, Kelly and Paul were desperate for a child. They’d undergone countless tests and procedures, and Grace had about given up hope that her daughter would ever conceive. She longed for grandchildren and it hadn’t seemed likely. Not with Kelly’s fertility problems and Maryellen divorced. This was incredible news. Fabulous news.
Dan walked into the kitchen. “It’s Kelly,” she said excitedly, putting her hand over the receiver. “She’s pregnant.”
Her husband’s eyes lit up and he smiled. It was the first real smile she’d seen from him in months. “Damn, that’s great.”
“Oh, sweetheart, your father and I are thrilled.”
“Let me talk to Daddy.”
Grace handed him the receiver. Kelly had always been especially close to her father, and they chatted for several minutes.
Dan replaced the receiver and went over to the stove where she’d put the hamburger on to fry for their meal. He slid his arms around her waist from behind and hugged her.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I know. I love you, too.”
“Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I know.” And it would. Grace had faith. Hope. And now she had a reason to continue, a reason to look to the future. Her marriage wasn’t everything she wanted, but maybe it was enough. She’d make it enough. She’d shared thirty-five years with Dan. There had been good times and some not so good.
A grandchild gave her hope for the future.
Four
“I’ll drive this evening,” Olivia told her mother. The previous time she’d gotten into a car with Charlotte driving, Olivia had sworn it would be the last. Her mother out on the roads was a frightening thing to contemplate. She suspected Charlotte was the type of driver who never had an accident, but caused them.
“Well, it’s my turn, although I have to admit I don’t like driving at night.”
Olivia removed her black robe and hung it in the small closet inside her chambers. Court was over for the week and her hot Friday-night date was with her mother. In fact, she ate more meals out with Charlotte than anyone. “I don’t mind driving,” Olivia told her.
“All right, if you insist.”
Olivia did insist. The previous driving adventure with her mother had ended up being a narrow escape. Apparently Charlotte had lost the ability to turn her neck in order to look behind her. She adjusted the rearview mirrors left and right and honked before barreling willy-nilly out of her parking space. She’d also confessed that her eyes weren’t what they used to be. It was a quandary. Olivia didn’t want to limit her mother’s independence, but she couldn’t help worrying.
“It’ll be a girls’ night out,” Charlotte said, sounding excited at the prospect. “But I have to be home by eleven. Harry worries if I’m not there.”
Her mother doted on her cat. “Not a problem. The play starts at eight, so it should be over long before eleven.”
“Shall we have dinner first?” Charlotte suggested.
“Sure, why not?” Olivia was in the mood to live it up. Her best friend was about to become a grandmother. Her seventy-two-year-old mother had a beau of sorts. Charlotte talked incessantly about her friend Tom at the convalescent center. The only person without something significant happening in her life seemed to be Olivia. She was ready for a change, ready for a risk. She’d hoped to hear from Jack Griffin, but he hadn’t phoned nor had he shown up in court again. He obviously wasn’t interested. Well, she could deal with that.
They arrived at the Playhouse shortly after seven-thirty. Plays were staged upstairs at the Community Theater, located on Harbor Street, which was the main road through the center of what was commonly referred to as downtown. The old theater still ran movies, but generally second-run features that had appeared earlier at the six-plex on the hill. The Playhouse was above the movie theater in small but cozy quarters. Every time Olivia attended a local production, she was astonished at the talent in a town as small as Cedar Cove.
Without assigned seating, Charlotte chose the very front row. No sooner had they settled in than Jack Griffin approached.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, looking at the empty space next to Olivia.
“Jack!” She’d blurted his name before she had a chance to restrain her delight.
“Jack Griffin? Is this Jack Griffin?” Charlotte was immediately on her feet. Before Olivia could even guess what her mother intended, she’d wrapped both arms around Jack and given him one of her enthusiastic hugs.
He met Olivia’s gaze over Charlotte’s shoulder. She noted his surprise and amusement at such a vigorous greeting.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Charlotte said, sitting down again—one seat over—and patting the empty space beside her. “That was such a wonderful column you wrote about Olivia. I made sure all my friends read it.”
Jack arched his brows—as though to suggest her mother might have been impressed but that hadn’t been the case with Olivia.
“I was so pleased with what you had to say about my daughter. She is a gutsy judge and an innovative thinker, too,” Charlotte continued.
Olivia was mortified, but she knew better than to say anything, so she smiled blandly and felt the heat radiate from her cheeks.
Charlotte had arranged it so Jack was now sitting between the two of them. Olivia hadn’t been quick enough to realize what was happening in order to avoid it. She was interested in spending time with Jack, but she’d prefer to do so without her mother present.
Soon, Jack and her mother were deeply engrossed in conversation. At one point Jack let out a hoot of laughter and abruptly turned to look at Olivia, still smiling.
Olivia could only wonder what was so funny; she was fairly sure it had to do with her. What could her mother have told him? No doubt it was something embarrassing from her teen years.
“Your mother’s hilarious,” Jack said a moment later, leaning toward her.
That was true enough. Olivia merely nodded, and Jack soon turned back to Charlotte for entertainment. Meanwhile, Olivia studied the program. To Kill a Mockingbird was an ambitious project for so small a troupe, but those who’d seen it had raved about the performances. She assumed Jack had come to write a review.
Olivia happened to be looking idly around the theater when Justine strolled in. She wore black pants with a cropped cashmere sweater in a soft green, her long dark hair hanging loose to the middle of her back. Her arm was entwined with Warren Saget’s and she gazed up at the older man with wide, adoring eyes. Olivia immediately felt her hackles rise. She didn’t like Warren, never had, and hated the fact that her daughter was dating him.
Warren had moved to Cedar Cove twenty years ago. He’d bought up large parcels of land and built row upon row of tract houses. The homes had been constructed of the cheapest possible materials and had qui
ckly developed a host of problems. First, the roofs leaked and then the siding developed mold. Basements flooded, walls shifted, ceilings cracked. Lawsuit followed lawsuit.
Olivia didn’t recall how it was all settled—her own life was undergoing a series of traumas at the time—but somehow Warren and his company had survived.
It wasn’t only his business practices that distressed Olivia. Everyone knew that Warren had cheated on his wife—correction, wives. He’d flaunted his affairs until both women had filed for divorce and left town. The most recent Mrs. Saget had left five or so years ago, leaving Warren free to go through young women like a kid through a candy store. It hurt Olivia to see her own daughter fall victim to such an unscrupulous man.
Warren apparently liked his women young. The younger the better. A woman like Justine—tall, classy and beautiful—enhanced his image. She looked good on his arm, and Warren knew it.
Olivia wondered whose idea it was to see the play. To Kill a Mockingbird wasn’t the sort of entertainment she suspected a man like Warren would choose. The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas seemed more his kind of show.
Apparently Justine hadn’t noticed Olivia. Or if she had, she’d chosen to ignore the fact that her mother and grandmother were seated in the front of the theater. Justine and Warren sat in the last row, where the shadows were darkest and they couldn’t easily be seen.
This relationship had worried Olivia from the start and not solely because of Warren’s age and reputation. Over the years, Olivia had observed a pattern. Justine preferred older men and there’d been several, all quite similar to each other in situation and personality. Warren had lasted the longest. Olivia cringed every time she thought of her daughter marrying the likes of Warren Saget. But at twenty-eight, Justine had revealed no desire to marry. Olivia prayed Warren wouldn’t be the one to change her mind.
Her heart told Olivia that her daughter’s dating habits were linked to that fateful August day in 1986. Justine refused to risk the pain that real closeness could bring. She’d been with her twin brother when he died, and the love she felt for him had turned into agony. Caught up in her own grief, Olivia had failed to recognize the devastating effect his death had had on her daughter.
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