44 Cranberry Point Page 15

  “Your mother doesn’t know this yet, but we might be heading back to sea.” Although he hadn’t told Cecilia, once orders came through, the word would be out soon enough. Under current circumstances, the Navy wasn’t likely to allow him the luxury of a long shore duty. That was the bad news as well as the good. He didn’t want to leave Cecilia again, especially so soon, but he knew that if he was in port much longer, she’d get pregnant for sure.

  “Look after your mother while I’m away, will you, sweetheart?” he asked. “Let her know how much I love her.”

  He waited a moment, nearly overwhelmed by sadness. What astonished him was how much love he felt for his little girl. This was a child he’d never had the privilege of kissing good-night or cradling in his arms, and yet she was as much a part of him as his own heart.

  Ten minutes later, Ian left the cemetery and drove home. He half expected Cecilia to comment that he was later than usual or ask where he’d been. She didn’t. She was busy in the kitchen and barely looked up when he walked in the door.

  “Did you have a good day?” she asked.

  After glancing at the mail, he picked up the evening newspaper and settled into his favorite chair. “All right, I guess.”

  He opened the front section of the paper to block her from his sight. He found it incredibly sexy to watch his wife, walking barefoot in the kitchen in shorts and a cropped T-shirt. She dressed like that on purpose; Ian was convinced of it. The minute she got home from the office, she changed out of her business clothes and into something seductive. Half the time he couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  “I had an all-right day, too,” she said conversationally as she carried a large bowl to the table. “I made us a taco salad.”

  He nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Sort of.” His appetite hadn’t been good since he’d returned home. That was just another sign of the tension he’d been under lately.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Cecilia said, sitting down at the table.

  With little enthusiasm, Ian set the newspaper aside and joined her. Most nights he didn’t contribute much to the conversation; Cecilia did practically all the talking. Every now and then, he’d ask her something because the silences troubled him more than the sound of her chatter.

  This evening, however, she didn’t seem to feel like talking, either. He was relieved when she finished dinner and brought her plate to the sink. Apparently her appetite wasn’t good, either.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  Ian frowned, unsure if he should believe that. But then she smiled so sweetly he couldn’t doubt her.

  They spent the evening in silence, each of them reading-Cecilia a magazine and he a thriller someone at work had lent him. By nine, she was yawning. “I’m going to bed.”

  He nodded. “I feel like staying up and reading for a while longer.”

  She didn’t argue with him, but accepted his excuse. Then she wandered into the bedroom and closed the door. So far so good, he thought as he relaxed in his chair.

  Ian made a genuine effort to read, but his mind was on everything except the words on the page in front of him. Nine o’clock was damned early for Cecilia to go to bed, he realized all of a sudden. He couldn’t figure out why she’d done that. She almost always stayed up until at least ten.

  At nine-thirty, he turned out the lights and walked into the darkened bedroom. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light. Cecilia was curled up on her side of the bed, and he knew instantly that she was awake.

  “Cecilia?”

  “What?”

  “You awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  The mattress dipped when he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’d better tell me.” His heart was starting to pound.

  She pretended not to hear him. “Cecilia?”

  “Are you coming to bed?”

  He supposed the only way he could get her to talk was to join her in bed, so he undressed and slipped beneath the covers. Cecilia moved closer but didn’t touch him. “Will you hold me?” she whispered.

  “Okay.” He lay on his back and Cecilia pressed her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her. She felt small in his embrace, smaller than usual.

  He waited but she didn’t say anything. In his heart he knew. He should’ve guessed right away, he supposed, but denial could be downright comfortable. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” She sobbed once. “Are you angry?”

  He snorted softly. “No. I don’t have anyone to blame but me.”

  “I wanted everything to be different than with Allison. I thought you’d be angry then, too, and instead you were so nice about it.”

  He didn’t have anything to say to that.

  “The news of a baby should make us happy.”

  “Are you happy?” he asked.

  Cecilia didn’t answer right away. “I’d be leaping up and down for joy if you were pleased.”

  His fears wouldn’t let him feel good about this. “I’m afraid, Cecilia,” he finally said.

  “I am, too, but I want our baby so much. I love you, Ian. You got home almost two months ago, and this whole time’s been awful. It’s…it’s like you hate me.”

  “Cecilia, no…”

  “What else am I to think? You hardly talk to me and you won’t even go to bed when I do. You think I don’t know why? You don’t want to make love to me and whenever you do, you hate yourself for it.”

  She certainly had him pegged. “I got you pregnant, didn’t I?”

  He could feel her nod.

  “Yeah, well, you knew how I felt.”

  “You knew how I felt, too!” She sniffled, apparently trying not to cry. “I want this baby and I want my husband to love me and be excited and happy and you’re not. It’s tearing me up inside.”

  Ian expelled his breath. “I’m trying. Give me a chance to adjust to it, okay?”

  Her tears moistened his shoulder.

  “Cecilia, please, don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  He kissed the tears from her face. Soft kisses, gentle kisses that eventually brought his lips to her mouth. “It’ll be all right,” he said and hoping to reassure her, kissed her again and again.

  “This is our baby,” she whispered, and hiccupped on a sob. “I want you to be happy…I want you to love our baby.”

  “I will.” He closed his eyes and struggled with his conflicting emotions.

  “But you don’t now?”

  He dragged in a deep breath. “I’m trying. That’s all I can do.”

  Cecilia broke free and rolled onto her side, turning away from him.

  “Honey, please, do you want me to lie?”

  “No.”

  “Then give me time.” He cuddled her spoon fashion and slipped his arm around her middle. From pure habit, his palm cupped her breast. Many a night aboard ship, he’d dreamed of doing exactly this, cuddling his wife, loving her and enjoying the feel of her body so close to his own.

  A sigh shuddered through Cecilia and she shifted her little butt closer to his growing arousal. She seemed to take delight in moving seductively against him. “Ian?” she whispered.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t respond.

  “There’s a nice thing about me being pregnant.”

  He wanted to know what it was, but at the moment the blood flow in his body wasn’t headed in the direction of his brain.

  “You don’t have to wait until I’m asleep to come to bed anymore.”

  He smiled to himself. With a soft growl, he urged her onto her back. Sighing in surrender and welcome, she slid her arms around his neck and guided his mouth to hers.

  “We’re going to be all right,” she promised him. “We really are.”

  Ian so badly wanted to believe her. “I know.” But any
thing else he might have said was lost as he buried his fears in his wife’s embrace.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Charlotte Jefferson couldn’t stop smiling. She placed a cherry pie in the oven and set the timer, then turned to her knitting.

  “Wipe that silly grin off your face,” she chided Harry, her black cat, who sat on the arm of the sofa and studied her with a bemused look. “I know, I know, but this is just so wonderful I can’t believe it’s really happening.”

  When the doorbell chimed, Charlotte carefully put her knitting aside and hurried to answer it. She checked the peephole-one could never be too cautious-and saw that it was her daughter. After unbolting the locks, she opened the front door.

  “What took you so long?” Olivia sputtered as she barreled past Charlotte. She was halfway into the kitchen before she stopped. Whirling around, she marched back into the living room and then sank abruptly onto the sofa, as though all her energy had drained away.

  “Olivia, what’s gotten into you?” Charlotte asked, concerned by her daughter’s odd behavior.

  Olivia bolted to her feet and almost immediately sat down again. She covered her face with both her hands. “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  Olivia dropped her hands and stared forlornly out the living-room window, her shoulders sagging. She looked close to tears. “It’s Jack and me.”

  Charlotte gasped. “My goodness, you’ve been married less than three months!”

  “You think I don’t know that? Lately…lately it’s like we can’t even talk.”

  “You and Jack? Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Mom, I feel so awful. We’re just so different and we irritate one another and…and…”

  “There, there now,” Charlotte cooed softly. Things must be bad for her daughter to show up on her doorstep in this condition. In all the years Olivia had been married to Stan, never once had she run home after an argument or sought her parents’ advice.

  “I love Jack so much.”

  “Of course you do.” Olivia’s feelings for him were apparent months before she admitted she was in love.

  Olivia’s face crumpled as she struggled to hold back tears. “I love him, but he…he’s a slob. And I can’t stand it.”

  “You have to compromise, sweetie.”

  “You think I haven’t tried?” Olivia shook her head. “I hate myself for nagging him to pick up his dirty clothes, but really, why should I follow him around and clean up after him?”

  “Wait here,” Charlotte murmured. “I’m making a pot of tea.” The most serious discussions required tea. For some reason, everything made more sense over a shared cup of strong tea. And whatever had happened between Olivia and Jack appeared to be serious, indeed.

  Less than ten minutes later, Charlotte was back. She carried in the tray, complete with a large ceramic pot, two china cups and a plate of homemade cookies. Olivia sat on the edge of the sofa with a wadded tissue in her hands.

  “Start at the beginning,” Charlotte said as she poured. She handed the first cup and saucer to Olivia, then poured her own. Olivia set the cup on the coffee table, her composure shaky.

  “I’m…I’m not sure how this whole thing began, but tonight when I came home and saw the mess in the bathroom, I lost it. I realize Jack doesn’t care about tidiness and order the way I do, but that’s no excuse for leaving wet towels on the floor. He didn’t so much as pick up his dirty underwear.”

  Charlotte sighed.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything but I did, and then Jack yelled at me and…” Her lower lip trembled. “We both said things we shouldn’t have. He left and then I left, and now I feel so bad.”

  “Of course you do,” Charlotte said with warm sympathy.

  “When we returned from Hawaii, he made an effort to keep the house neat, but it didn’t take him long to slip back into his old habits.”

  “That’s a man for you,” Charlotte said. “With your father and me, what we quarreled about was his tendency never to throw anything out. I’d get annoyed and put ten-year-old bills in the trash and then he’d get annoyed…” She sighed again, remembering. It seemed such a small thing now.

  “I know I have irritating habits, too,” Olivia said. “Mother, do you think I’m compulsive?”

  Charlotte wasn’t about to answer but it didn’t matter; Olivia barreled on.

  “Just because I insist the cap be on the toothpaste and the towels hung evenly on the rack-that doesn’t make me a neat freak, does it?”

  “Everyone has a certain, uh, comfort level,” Charlotte said, hoping to sidestep the issue. She’d come across that useful term in a magazine article a while ago.

  “I can’t believe I’m running to my mother with this,” Olivia cried. “It’s just that I never thought Jack and I would argue so…so horribly.”

  “Olivia, every couple argues. It’s healthy to clear the air.”

  Olivia nodded. “I know…But we were both so adamant in what we said and now I think Jack’s sorry he ever married me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “He told me he’d had it with this diet I’d put him on and that if he saw another chunk of tofu he was dumping it in the garbage. But Mom, his diet is atrocious! He thinks I’m picking on him because I want him to lose a few pounds. All I want is for him to make healthier food choices.”

  “Of course you want him to eat properly, but-”

  “He said we got along a lot better when we lived apart.”

  Charlotte was stunned. “He didn’t mean it.”

  Olivia covered her face again. “I think he did, because right after that he left. I wasn’t letting him walk out on me, so I left, too. Can you believe I’d do anything so childish?”

  Charlotte had to admit she was somewhat amused. This must have been a humdinger of an argument.

  Olivia had hated fighting when she was a little girl, too. It used to upset her to the point that she’d make herself sick.

  “What should I do now?” Olivia pleaded. “Should I just go back to the house and pretend nothing happened?”

  “Well,” Charlotte said, gently patting her daughter’s shoulder. “First of all, I’m sure Jack is feeling just as bad as you are. You both need to remember that you were single for a lot of years. Marriage is a major adjustment. Perhaps it would be best if you bought two tubes of toothpaste.”

  “I did,” she said indignantly. “But Jack can’t remember which one is his. Half the time he can’t find it, and mine’s handy, so he uses it.” She reached for her cup of tea and took a sip. “Then he gets upset when I say something. According to Jack, it shouldn’t make any difference.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t possibly know. The other night I found an open jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter. The knife was still in it.”

  Charlotte dropped her jaw as though shocked.

  “Apparently Jack got up in the middle of the night and made himself a sandwich.”

  “I take it peanut butter isn’t on his diet?” Charlotte tried hard not to smile.

  “No, and Jack knows that. It’s for his own good.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Olivia raised her head at the sound of a car and she vaulted to her feet, dashing to the window. “Jack just pulled up out front.” She squared her shoulders and looked back at Charlotte. Then, as if she were making a court decree, she declared, “Tell him I’m not here.”

  “Olivia, you’re being ridiculous. Your car’s parked in my driveway. I’m not going to lie to your husband.”

  “Look at me, Mother! Just look at me. I’m a sensible adult, or at least I was until I married Jack Griffin. Overnight I’m back to being a teenager. I’ve never come running to my mother in my life and now-now just look at me. I’m a mess! I’ll talk to Jack once I’ve had a chance to compose myself.”

  The doorbell chimed. Olivia heaved in a breath. “I need to freshen my makeup…and I don’t want him t
o know…Oh, just tell him whatever you want.”

  Charlotte frowned.

  Olivia disappeared and Charlotte went to the front door. Jack didn’t seem surprised when she answered before he’d even knocked. He had on his light raincoat, rumpled as usual, hands deep in his pockets.

  “Hello, Jack.”

  A scowl darkened his face. He nodded. “Hello, Charlotte.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  Charlotte hesitated, then gestured him in. “Of course. Come inside.”

  He stepped into the house and glanced around. Charlotte noticed that his gaze lingered on the two teacups, but he didn’t comment on the fact that Olivia was obviously at the house.

  “I heard a rumor this afternoon and wanted to see if it was true.”

  “Sit down,” Charlotte invited soberly, trying to hide her amusement at both Olivia and Jack. They were acting like kids-and as Olivia had said, even when she was a kid, she hadn’t acted like this. Still, amused or not, Charlotte was worried; immature behavior could escalate and end in drastic consequences. This was a good marriage in the ways that counted. She hoped they’d give it the chance it deserved.

  He chose the wing chair and stroked Harry’s head as he walked past the cat. Harry remained unruffled by all these dramatics. She envied him a little.

  “What did you hear?” Charlotte asked as she sat down again. She picked up her knitting, hoping it would calm her.

  As if to prove this was an official visit, Jack pulled out his pen and pad. “Rumor has it Ben Rhodes met with the people of Puget Sound Medical and Dental this afternoon.”

  “You heard?” Charlotte was beside herself with excitement. “He went with Louie Benson.”

  Jack noted this information on his pad.

  “I’m sure Mayor Benson will fill you in on the details.”

  “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with that parcel of land off Heron Street recently bequeathed to the city by the Duncan family?”

  Charlotte beamed him a smile. Very little got past Jack Griffin. “It could,” she murmured and continued to concentrate on her knitting for fear he’d read the absolute delight in her eyes.