16 Lighthouse Road

by Debbie Macomber

  Just as she knew he would, Jack won over her friends with little more than a smile. Since she’d talked his ear off the night of the community play, Charlotte was willing to share him now. The ladies gathered around him like deer at a salt lick, each one spouting her opinion of the local newspaper.

  Evelyn and Helen spoke nonstop, outlining their ideas and making suggestions.

  “Ladies, you’re right.”

  Charlotte’s friends beamed at the praise.

  “What the Cedar Cove Chronicle needs is a page specifically for seniors. Interviews, health news…”

  “Recipes,” Charlotte inserted.

  Jack pointed his index finger in her direction. “Recipes,” he agreed.

  “I sometimes feel the young people don’t understand or appreciate the history of this town,” Laura added. “Did you know Cedar Cove has had three different names in the last hundred years?”

  “Three?” Charlotte only knew of two.

  “I’m more interested in why the name changed,” Jack said. “Laura, you seem to know. Write me an article for the next edition and I’ll print it.”

  “But will people read it?” Laura asked, sounding doubtful.

  “They’ll read it,” Jack said. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  Charlotte chuckled, guessing at his strategy. Jack would come up with a misleading headline guaranteed to generate interest.

  “I like your ideas,” he told the women. “Now, which one of you is willing to head up the senior page?”

  Laura, Evelyn, Helen and Bess, who was the quietest member of the knitting group, all looked to Charlotte.

  “Everyone knows if you want to get something done, you should ask Charlotte,” Bess said, blushing profusely. “She’s got more energy than the rest of us combined.”

  Jack grinned as if to say he’d find it a distinct pleasure to work with her. “All right,” Charlotte muttered, thinking she needed her head examined for taking on another project. “I’ll do it, but I’ve got to have help.”

  “We’ll all help,” Laura promised.

  “Bring your ideas to me,” Jack said, “and we’ll work on them together.”

  Those few words were all the incentive Charlotte required. She wanted to encourage Jack’s relationship with her daughter and she could think of no better opportunity to provide him with information about Olivia. Her daughter needed a little assistance. This wasn’t so different from the way things had been when Olivia was a shy teenager and Charlotte had spoken to Betty Nelson about having her son ask Olivia to the Junior Prom. Olivia never knew that the date had been arranged between the two mothers, and what her daughter didn’t know hadn’t hurt her.

  Delighted with this turn of events, Charlotte enjoyed her lunch. All too soon, Jack had to move to the head table. The second he was out of earshot, Charlotte leaned toward her friends. “Isn’t he a sweetheart?”

  Everyone agreed. The knitting group loved him. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he’d chosen to eat at their table, either. Charlotte’s stock had gone up considerably.

  “He’s dating my daughter, you know,” she announced. It was difficult not to gloat.

  “Jack’s dating Olivia?” Laura’s eyes widened.

  “Yes, and as far as I’m concerned, they’re perfect together.” Charlotte had high hopes for this relationship. Very high hopes, indeed.

  “He’s a good man,” Bess whispered. “But a bit rough around the edges, don’t you think?”

  “How do you mean?” Charlotte instantly took Jack’s side. He might not be the smoothest dresser in town, but he was honest, open-minded and he valued their opinions. This was the first time anyone from the newspaper had taken their suggestions seriously.

  “I don’t know.” Bess shrugged, and reached for her knitting. “Don’t misunderstand me, I like Mr. Griffin, but I believe there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

  “Do you want me to check him out on the Internet?” Evelyn asked, lowering her voice to a husky whisper.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Charlotte muttered. The former schoolteacher had taken a computer class, and ever since, she’d been downright obnoxious, forever expounding on what she could find out about a person’s background. Evelyn fancied herself a private investigator, Charlotte thought sourly.

  Before anything more could be said, Mary Berger introduced Jack, and he stepped to the podium, looking completely at ease.

  Charlotte found Jack’s talk fascinating. He started by recounting his first visit to Cedar Cove and his impressions of the town. Bob Beldon had mentioned that the Cedar Cove Chronicle was planning to hire a new editor. It was Jack’s luck to arrive the weekend of the Annual Seagull Calling Contest, he said, and his retelling of the day had the entire room in hysterics.

  His talk was one of the most entertaining they’d ever had. Those thirty minutes passed quickly.

  The seniors gave him a standing ovation.

  “Did you notice,” Bess said, whispering in Charlotte’s ear when they stood to applaud him, “he didn’t tell us a single detail about his own background?”

  “Yes, he did,” Charlotte argued, then realized her friend was right. Well, she didn’t care. Where he’d lived and worked before moving to Cedar Cove wasn’t important. She’d always been a good judge of character, and her instincts told her she could trust Jack Griffin. Besides, Olivia had said Jack was from the Spokane area.

  Later, however, Charlotte decided she was curious. Bess and Laura were right; one could never be too careful. Besides, her daughter was involved now, and that meant she had an obligation to dig up whatever she could.

  On the pretext of finding out more about the Seniors’ Page in the Cedar Cove Chronicle, Charlotte stopped at the Chronicle headquarters next to the Laundromat on Seaview Drive. She hadn’t been inside the newspaper office in years.

  The building was new, and it saddened her to see a neat row of desks with computer screens. She longed for the days when the scent of ink hung in the air and reporters yelled into phones and kept bottles of booze in their bottom drawers. Like in those 1940s movies. Or maybe she was thinking of Lou Grant. They didn’t make newsmen like that anymore. Jack Griffin, however, passed muster.

  Jack came out of his office to greet her personally. “Did you enjoy the talk yesterday?”

  “Very much,” she assured him. “But I was disappointed not to learn more about you.”

  “Me?” He laughed lightly. “What’s interesting about me?”

  “Your newspaper history,” she elaborated.

  He rattled off a number of newspapers he’d worked for over the years. The towns and positions sounded impressive. When he’d finished, he waited as if he expected her to respond.

  “Well,” Charlotte said, and sighed. “That does sound grand.”

  “And boring. Which is why I gave a talk I hoped would be more entertaining. I’m sorry to hear you were disappointed.”

  “Oh, not me,” she was quick to tell him. It was her suspicious friends—who didn’t know Jack the way she did.

  Ian asked Cecilia to meet him at the Thai restaurant in Bremerton, where he’d taken her on their first official date. He’d chosen this place on purpose and hoped his wife would remember that night with the same fondness he did.

  Cecilia had agreed, although dining out on a Thursday night meant she had to find someone to cover for her at The Captain’s Galley. He was sorry about that, but he didn’t have any choice; he’d had three straight days of duty. The John F. Reynolds probably wouldn’t be in dock much longer and this might well be his only opportunity to spend time with her.

  He was at the table waiting when Cecilia arrived. He watched her come toward him and was struck anew by her loveliness. She looked better—healthier—than she had in months. After Allison’s death, she’d lost weight. More than she could afford to lose, but it wasn’t just that; it seemed as though his wife had given up caring about herself. She hadn’t bothered with her hair or her makeup, or any of the other things she use
d to do when they were first married. Their sex life had gone to hell, along with everything else. He’d tried to help her, but everything he suggested had backfired. He’d asked his mother to call, to talk to her, but Cecilia had taken offense at that. Perhaps if they’d met face-to-face… But his home was in Georgia. His mother had offered to fly to Washington—an offer Cecilia had rejected. Ian had tried to arrange an appointment with a Navy psychologist; she’d refused to go. He’d had conversations with her mother but Cecilia had accused him of interfering. He didn’t want to seem critical of Sandra Merrick, but he sensed that her sympathy wasn’t entirely a positive thing. As far as he could tell, Sandra wasn’t encouraging her to recover, to move on. And because Cecilia didn’t know his family, she’d been uninterested in their attempts to help. His own efforts to reach her emotionally had failed. He’d been in pain, too, dammit! Cecilia was angry with him and irrational though her anger was, he understood. But he couldn’t have been with her when Allison died. It was that simple.

  “You’re frowning,” she said as she stepped up to the table.

  She was probably right. He couldn’t think about the events of last year and not feel depressed.

  He stood and pulled out her chair. Ian remembered how she’d told him, after their first date, that those small old-fashioned courtesies impressed her. He had his father to thank for that. Denny Randall had been a stickler for etiquette and taught all four of his sons well.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  Cecilia smiled as she reached for her linen napkin and set it on her lap before reading the menu. They always ordered the same dish, the phad thai, but it didn’t hurt to look.

  Ian suspected she was already regretting that she’d agreed to see him. He hoped that once he explained why he’d asked her here, she’d change her mind. It was hard to remember he wasn’t supposed to love her anymore, because he did. He’d never stopped.

  The waitress arrived and they ordered. Ian was mildly surprised when she asked for something different. He didn’t hear the name. Perhaps this was her way of letting him know she was willing to try new things, to change. He wasn’t sure if he was simply looking for signs, reading her behaviour too closely—and if it was a sign, was it a good one?

  As soon as the waitress left, Ian decided to launch into his proposition.

  “I’m really glad you signed up for those college classes,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Good. Although I feel like I’m a thousand years older than everyone else.”

  Actually Cecilia had left high school only four years ago. He was two years older than she was.

  “Your car’s not giving you problems, is it?”

  “No.” She sounded almost defiant.

  “That’s good.” He wanted her to know how strongly he approved of her going back to school. They’d had a number of arguments over her working at the restaurant; Cecilia thought it was because he was jealous of her being around other men. Maybe that was a small part of his reaction, but there was more. He felt Cecilia was wasting her abilities, her potential. She was smart, a whole lot smarter than she gave herself credit for.

  She glanced at him, and Ian had to resist an impulse to reach across the table and put his hand over hers. Sometimes he ached just wanting to touch her. It’d been months since he’d held her in his arms or kissed her. After Allison, it seemed that whatever she’d felt for him physically had died, too.

  “My car’s only two years old,” he said.

  She didn’t respond, as if she thought he was bragging or something.

  “I know you’re wondering why I asked to meet you, and it has to do with my car.” He had her attention, he noticed; that was a start. “I want you to drive it while I’m away.” He could see from her reaction that she was going to argue with him. “It’s more dependable, especially in the mornings,” he added quickly, hoping she’d see the wisdom of accepting his offer.

  Cecilia shook her head. “I appreciate it, but—”

  “Actually you’d be doing me a favor.” Ian could tell she didn’t believe him. “I mean it.”

  “But…”

  “It’s not good to have an engine sit idle for six months,” he said in authoritative tones. “A lot of guys lend out their cars while they’re deployed for that very reason.” Ian didn’t know if this was true or not, but it made sense.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  Their meals arrived, and Ian studied Cecilia’s dish. Chicken breast on cooked spinach, he thought, with peanut sauce ladled over top. He hadn’t known she liked spinach. That was a pretty minor thing but it made him realize there was still a great deal they didn’t know about each other.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “About the car…”

  “We’re getting a divorce, Ian.”

  He didn’t welcome the reminder. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “But…”

  “The choice is yours, but like I said, I’ll be lending it out and if you want to use it, fine. If not, I’ll leave it with a friend.” He probably wouldn’t, but he wanted her to think so.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I’d worry about you less.” That wasn’t the smartest thing to admit. However, it was the truth. If she was driving twenty-plus miles every morning in the heavy shipyard traffic, he’d prefer to know she was in a more reliable vehicle than the dilapidated car she currently drove.

  She smiled then, and it was as if everything in the world had righted itself. “This is really thoughtful of you.”

  Damn, it was hard not to touch her. He shrugged off her words. “It’s more for me and my car than anything.”

  Her smile dimmed.

  “And like I said, you’d be doing me a favor.”

  They ate their dinner and lingered over tea. After an hour and a half, the restaurant was getting full, and their waitress was sending some obvious signals their way. But Ian didn’t want the evening to end.

  “How about a movie?” he suggested, hoping she’d agree but afraid she wouldn’t.

  To his surprise, she smiled and nodded.

  Ian felt a surge of happiness…and optimism. He didn’t care what they saw, as long as he could sit at her side and pretend the last eight months had never happened.

  He let Cecilia choose the movie, and while he bought the tickets, she picked up a bag of buttered popcorn. They sat in the back row of the theater. Because it was a Thursday night, the place was practically deserted. Only one other couple showed up before the previews, and they sat near the front.

  Ian placed his arm along the back of Cecilia’s seat.

  “We went to dinner at the Thai restaurant and then a movie on our first date, too,” she said casually.

  As though Ian had forgotten. “Did we?”

  “Yes.” Cecilia scooped up a handful of popcorn.

  “Did I kiss you?”

  She looked at him and blinked hard. “You mean you don’t remember?”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I remember everything about that date,” he whispered. And every subsequent one. For the first month after they’d met, she was all he thought about. It was no thanks to him the Navy had survived, since his mind certainly wasn’t on his job.

  In addition to etiquette, his father had taught Ian about birth control. But every lesson he’d ever learned had vanished the first time they’d made love. He wasn’t usually irresponsible, but he’d been so crazy about Cecilia they’d both taken wild chances. He didn’t care, because he loved her. If she did get pregnant, that would be all the excuse he needed to marry her. He wanted to marry her. With an attitude like that, it was bound to happen sooner or later—and for them it had been sooner.

  It took him weeks to talk her into marrying him. That hadn’t been easy on his ego. Her parents’ failed relationship had left her with a real anxiety about marriage. The irony was that now she was the one who wanted out.

  “I still remember our first kiss,” she said in a soft voice.


  “You do?” Ian was surprised she’d admit it.

  “No man had ever kissed me the way you do…did.”

  “Do,” he corrected, and then not giving a damn if anyone saw him, he leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. That kiss was an experiment to see how receptive she was. When her mouth parted and her tongue met his, Ian could hardly keep from groaning aloud. Her lips were soft and slippery from the butter and she tasted like popcorn and salt. His heart went wild; he loved her so much.

  He knew he should stop. They weren’t teenagers without a place to go for privacy. Nor did Ian want anyone to find him necking with his wife in the back of a theater. But those thoughts had barely made it into his head when he found any number of compelling reasons to continue doing exactly what he was doing.

  “Ian,” she whispered, and slowly, reluctantly eased her mouth from his.

  Ian kept his eyes closed and leaned his forehead against hers.

  “Thank you for letting me use your car.”

  He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, but he was afraid she’d pull away and the moment would be ruined.

  “I’ll take good care of it for you,” she promised.

  “I’d rather you took good care of yourself,” he whispered back.

  The movie started then, and Cecilia settled back, her head resting on his shoulder. He slid one arm around her; she didn’t object. Ian had no idea what the movie was about. He thought only of Cecilia, remembering the early days of their relationship and reveling in her nearness.

  When the movie ended they walked slowly out of the theater, but Ian wasn’t ready to leave her. “I want to come home with you,” he said, standing next to her car, the driver’s door open. Just so there’d be no misunderstanding about what he intended, he kissed her again, his mouth hard and hot.

  Her eyes still closed, Cecilia broke it off and lowered her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I do. Cecilia, we’re married. It’s been months since we made love.”

  “We’re getting divorced.”

  “Fine, divorce me later, but love me now. I need you.”