204 Rosewood Lane Read online

  Muttering something she couldn’t quite hear, Jon left and this time she knew it was for good. Her legs were unsteady and Maryellen felt close to tears. Making her way to the coffeepot, she poured herself a cup and was shocked by how badly her hand trembled as she filled the mug.

  He’d kissed her like that because he wanted her to remember him. To remember the night they’d spent together. His ploy had worked far too well. Maryellen shut her eyes, and their slow, seductive lovemaking played back in her mind. She recalled how he’d touched her, the feel of his strong, masculine hands as he’d explored her body, caressing her first with his fingers and then his tongue. She remembered in vivid detail the sensations she’d experienced as he made love to her. She’d wanted him with a passion that was difficult to renounce.

  She hadn’t set out to hurt Jon, but she could see that she had. In the process she was hurting herself, too. Jon didn’t understand why she’d rejected him. He didn’t know, and he never would. She’d sent him away for a reason that lay buried deep inside her.

  She’d walked this path once before and still bore the scars. Sometimes emotional wounds were harder to heal than physical ones. Sometimes they never healed at all.

  Strings of Christmas tree lights were spread out on the living-room floor when Zach woke on Saturday morning.

  “Hi, Dad,” Eddie said when Zach looked in, yawning, on his way to the kitchen. His son sat amid the lights, straightening them and draping the long cords along the back of the sofa.

  “What are you doing with those?” he asked. Rosie liked having the outside of the house decorated with Christmas lights, but he’d always found it a nuisance. He glanced at the clock and saw it was barely seven. Apparently Rosie was already up.

  “Mom got them out,” Eddie explained, and stuck the plug into an outlet. Lights instantly blazed, nearly blinding Zach.

  He suspected this was his wife’s less-than-subtle hint that she wanted him to string up the lights this morning. Great, just great. She might’ve mentioned it earlier, but then they weren’t on the best of terms these days. Remaining civil during the Christmas holidays was going to be difficult if Thanksgiving was any indication. Somehow they’d made it through the day without a major blowup—probably because Rosie had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen with her sister, no doubt complaining about him.

  “Where’s your mother?” he asked irritably.

  “She’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Zach checked the time again. “Where is she now?”

  “Christmas Bazaar at the high school.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  Eddie shrugged. “She didn’t tell me. Can we go to McDonald’s for breakfast? I’m getting tired of Pop-Tarts.”

  Zach stared at his son. This nine-year-old kid actually believed the alternative to Pop-Tarts was a meal outside the home. Rosie had gotten so lax in carrying out her responsibilities as a full-time wife and mother that their children didn’t even know that most families ate meals together around a table.

  “Dad?”

  Eddie’s urgent cry cut into his thoughts. “Look!” He pointed to the television. “That’s what I want for Christmas.”

  Zach studied the screen and watched some remote-controlled monster truck propel itself over a huge dirt mound with a deafening roar.

  “Mom said I could have it.”

  “She did, did she?” Zach would talk to Rosie about that. He wasn’t forking over a couple of hundred bucks for a stupid toy. Wandering into the kitchen, he discovered that the coffee wasn’t on but his wife had taken a moment to jot him a note, which she’d propped up next to the automatic drip pot.

  Working until four at the Bazaar. Put up the outside lights, okay? Allison’s at a slumber party and will need a ride home. If you have a chance, would you buy the Christmas tree? See you later.

  Rosie

  His wife had forgotten to mention she’d be working at the bazaar. That was predictable enough. But he’d hoped that for once they’d have a day together without obligations or demands. It used to be that buying the Christmas tree was a family event; they’d go to the lot together and everyone had a say. Decorating it was fun, with music playing in the background and popcorn popping and hot cider. These days, getting and trimming the tree was an afterthought, a nuisance that had to be fitted into the cracks in Rosie’s overbooked schedule.

  “Can we go to McDonald’s for breakfast?” Eddie asked a second time.

  Zach didn’t answer him.

  “Dad?”

  “Sure,” he muttered, noting that there wasn’t any milk in the refrigerator. Not only had Rosie left him with a to-do list, but the house was devoid of groceries.

  Zach was furious all morning about his wife’s lack of attentiveness when it came to her family. He remembered what Janice Lamond had told him about the special Saturday she’d planned for her son. She was clearly the type of mother who made her child a priority.

  After breakfast at McDonald’s, Zach collected Allison from her friend’s place, and then, with Eddie’s help, tackled putting up the Christmas lights.

  “Are we going to buy our tree today?” Eddie asked while Zach stood on the ladder and attached the lights along the roofline of the house. He gazed down on his son, who was looking anxiously up at him.

  “Ask your sister if she wants to come,” Zach called.

  “Okay.” Eddie raced into the house. He wasn’t gone more than fifteen seconds. “Allison said she’ll come if she has to. We don’t need her, do we, Dad?”

  “Tell her we need her.”

  Eddie stared up at him, his face a picture of disbelief and disgust. Zach couldn’t keep from laughing. With a twinge of regret he realized it was the first time he’d smiled all day. It wasn’t his children’s fault that Rosie chose to spend her day with strangers rather than her own family. Once she was home, Zach intended to have a very long talk with his wife.

  Buying the Christmas tree proved to be one more annoying episode in a day that had started off badly and quickly gotten worse. By the time they returned to the house, the kids were bickering and hungry. When Zach pulled into the garage, he saw that Rosie’s car was there.

  “We got the tree, Mom,” Eddie announced as he rushed into the kitchen.

  “Hi,” Zach said, determined to put on a happy front until he had a private moment with his wife. “How was your day?”

  Rosie sat on the sofa with her feet up. “I’m exhausted. How did everything go at home?”

  “Great,” Eddie said. “Dad and I got the Christmas lights up. We went out to breakfast at McDonald’s and then we stopped at the store and bought milk.”

  “You got groceries?” Rosie asked, a look of relief in her eyes.

  “Just milk and bread.” Again it was Eddie who answered. “Dad thought we should make tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches for lunch, and we needed stuff for that.”

  “It sounds like you guys had a nice day.”

  “Are we going to decorate the tree tonight?” Allison asked, her expression bored.

  “Sure,” Zach said.

  “Not tonight, sweetheart,” Rosie answered simultaneously.

  Allison glanced from Zach to Rosie.

  “I’ve just spent nine hours on my feet,” Rosie said. “The last thing I want to do now is decorate a tree. We can do it tomorrow after church.”

  “I can’t,” Allison complained. “The French Club is having their bake sale in the mall, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” Rosie rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I’m not supposed to help with that, am I?”

  “Yes, Mom…” Their daughter sounded both hurt and provoked.

  “Okay, okay.”

  “What about dinner?” Zach asked.

  They’d already had pizza once that week and KFC another night. Zach realized this was an especially busy time of year, but it seemed important that they have at least one meal a week as a family.

  “Who wants what?” Rosie asked.

  “Pizz
a,” Eddie shouted.

  “I’m not hungry,” Allison insisted.

  Zach frowned.

  “I suppose you want meat loaf and mashed potatoes,” Rosie muttered just loudly enough for Zach to hear.

  “That’d be nice,” he said, and then added, “for once.”

  “Are we going to do the tree or not?” Allison asked, slouching on the sofa next to her mother.

  “Apparently not,” Zach said.

  “If that’s what your father wants.” Their voices mingled as, again, they spoke at the same time.

  Allison stood and headed toward the hallway. “You two work it out and when you’ve decided what you want to do, let me know. I’ll be in my room.”

  As if he, too, sensed that a fight was brewing, Eddie disappeared into his bedroom immediately afterward.

  The silence after they left was deafening.

  “You might’ve told me you planned to be gone all day,” Zach said, unable to hold back his resentment.

  “I did,” Rosie flared.

  “When?”

  “Monday night, remember?”

  “If I remembered, I wouldn’t be bringing it up now, would I?”

  Rosie propelled herself off the sofa and marched into the kitchen. “I don’t want to argue about it.”

  “Good, because I don’t want to argue, either. But I’m sick of this, Rosie.”

  “What is it with you?” she demanded, whirling around. “We can’t talk anymore.”

  “All I said was that I don’t remember you telling me you’d be gone all day.”

  “And I said—”

  “I know what you said.” He was fast losing his temper. “You might’ve reminded me.”

  “Why, so I could listen to you complain about it?”

  Ah, so that was it. She saw him as complaining. The finger had been pointed and it was aimed in his direction.

  “I’m making up a to-do list for you,” he snapped, grabbing a pen and paper. “First, we need groceries.”

  “You were at the store. You might’ve picked up more than milk and bread, you know.”

  “I work forty hours a week.”

  “And I don’t?” she shouted.

  “Look around you and answer that question for yourself. If you are employed, exactly who are you working for? Not your family. Not me. Not our children. A Christmas Bazaar is more important than a Saturday with your family. A bake sale at the mall outweighs decorating a Christmas tree.”

  Rosie slammed a pound of frozen hamburger into the microwave. “Don’t paint yourself as a martyr in this marriage, Zachary Cox. If you think you’re so perfect, then you can start doing more to help around here. Who said it was my responsibility to buy the groceries? You seem to think that because I don’t have a nine-to-five job, you can rule my days. I have a life, too, you know.”

  “Don’t yell!” Eddie screamed. “Don’t yell anymore!” He stood in the kitchen entrance, tears in his eyes, his hands covering his ears.

  “Eddie, I’m so sorry,” Rosie cried, sounding close to weeping herself. She bent down to hug their son and cast an accusing glare at Zach. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  “Me?” Funny how everything got turned around so that he was the one at fault.

  Zach waited until after dinner—a pot of chili thrown together in about twenty minutes, but still an improvement over recent meals—before approaching his wife again. “It’s clear we have several issues that need to be addressed,” he began as she watched a rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

  “Several issues,” she repeated. “You sound like an attorney.”

  “So, I sound like an attorney. Let’s just get through the holidays. The kids are hurting.”

  “So am I, Zach.”

  “I’m not exactly overwhelmed with happiness myself.” He walked out of the family room and into the bedroom. A second television was set up there. He put on the History Channel and tried to watch a documentary about Napoleon.

  Rosie came in an hour later. “Do you want to talk this out?”

  He glanced in her direction and frankly couldn’t see the point of any discussion. “Not particularly.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. “That’s what I thought. Just remember I tried, Zach. I sincerely tried. But you’re impossible.”

  If she was trying so hard, then she’d be with her family where she belonged, Zach thought and steeled himself against giving in. Rosie was the transgressor here, and he wasn’t going to drop this until she owned up to her faults.

  Nine

  Grace hadn’t been sleeping well since Thanksgiving Day. The more she dwelled on the phone calls, the more she came to believe it’d been Dan on the other end of the line. For some sick reason, her ex-husband felt it was necessary to destroy what little peace she’d found in the months since his disappearance. It had occurred to her that he might even have someone feeding him information about the details of her life. That would explain the timing of the calls.

  During the last three weeks, she’d consistently awakened about four in the morning, when the night was its darkest. She was unable to return to sleep and lay there overwhelmed by guilt and fear and pain. She felt anger, too, as she imagined where he was and who he was with—imagined them laughing at her. It had been like this in the beginning, but gradually she’d come to terms with the shock of Dan’s actions. Now, following the phone calls, it was bad again, as bad as it had been those first few weeks.

  When Grace arrived at the library on Monday morning, her eyes burned from lack of sleep and her spirits were in the doldrums. The only positive feeling she had about the holidays had to do with her grandson. Little Tyler was almost four months old now, and the very light of her life. The problems of the world faded away when she held her grand-baby.

  Cliff Harding entered the library just before noon. Grace sensed his presence even before she saw him. He returned a book and then casually strolled toward her desk. He wore a lazy smile that touched her with its warmth.

  Grace’s mouth went dry, and despite herself, she felt flustered. She knew he’d gone to see his daughter on the East Coast, but she hadn’t heard from him since, and for that she was grateful.

  “If I asked you to lunch, would you come?” he whispered, leaning against her desk.

  Before she could answer, he added, “Charlotte told me your divorce was final Thanksgiving week.”

  “It was.” She swallowed hard, unsure how to tell him what was in her heart. She wasn’t ready to get involved in another relationship. And she didn’t know when she would be. The divorce might be final but the questions, the doubts and fears, continued to haunt her. Legally she was free, but emotionally she clung to the past.

  “Lunch?” he repeated.

  “I don’t think so…. I’m sorry.”

  “How about a walk along the waterfront? The sun’s out and a leisurely stroll would do us both good.”

  Grace agreed; it seemed like a reasonable compromise. “Let me check with Loretta first.”

  Her assistant was more than willing to switch lunch hours. Grace gathered her coat and gloves and met him in front of the library. Cliff was studying the mural when she joined him. The painting was a favorite of hers; the artist had depicted a late 1800s waterfront scene with a family picnicking in the background.

  “How was your visit with Lisa?” she asked. From previous conversations, Grace had learned that his daughter was twenty-eight and married to a financial advisor in Maryland.

  “Wonderful. She asked me if I was dating yet.” He looked meaningfully in her direction.

  “What did you tell her?” Grace asked. She buried her hands in the pockets of her long wool coat and matched her pace to his as they walked toward the gazebo and picnic area. The grandstand was where the Concerts on the Cove were staged each Thursday night during the summer. Now, in mid-December, the whole park was bleak and empty. Their only company was a bevy of seagulls who circled above looking for a hand-out. Their piercing, discordant cries ech
oed across the waterfront.

  “I told Lisa not yet, but I’d picked out the girl.” Again he studied Grace. “I’m just waiting for the girl to notice me.”

  Notice him? Grace nearly laughed out loud. She’d noticed Cliff, all right. But she stood frozen with one foot in her old life and the other unwillingly thrust into a new one.

  “Are you going to keep me waiting long, Grace Sherman?”

  She wished she had an answer for him.

  “Don’t say anything,” Cliff said. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to press you.” He exhaled, and his breath created a fog in the cold, crisp air. “You asked about my visit with Lisa and I can tell you it was definitely an experience.”

  “How so?”

  “The day after I arrived, a blizzard hit.”

  “I heard about that on the news,” Grace said, remembering the report of the snowstorm that had struck the East Coast Thanksgiving week. “Did you lose your electricity?”

  “Right in the middle of cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Naturally, the turkey was only partially done. I suggested we serve sushi turkey but no one seemed interested.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What any enterprising soul would. The turkey got barbecued in the middle of a snowstorm.”

  Grace laughed, picturing Cliff huddled over a barbecue with wind and snow whirling all around.

  “How about your Thanksgiving?” he asked.

  “It was quiet with just me and Maryellen.” She gnawed on her lower lip, wondering if she should mention Dan’s phone calls. In the end, she didn’t. Then, feeling guilty and uneasy about what she had to say to him, she sank onto the edge of a picnic bench. “Listen, Cliff, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  “What? Us taking a walk?”

  “No… Your daughter’s anxious for you to get out into the dating world again and you appear to be ready. I want you to start, but I don’t think it’s right for me just yet.”

  He frowned as if she’d completely missed the point. “What you apparently don’t understand, Grace, is that the only woman I’m interested in dating is you.”