44 Cranberry Point

"Much worse," Grace said. "If you hadn't mentioned Georgia when you did, I would've met Will in New Orleans. I would've slept with him, too, despite everything I believe. I was head over heels in love with him. Thank God I learned the truth when I did."



"Does Cliff know everything?"



"Not who I was involved with, just that I was."



"You went to him, apologized?"



She nodded. "Twice. But I committed the one sin he can't forgive. It's over."



Olivia wasn't so sure. "He could change his mind, you know. Be patient. Give him time."



"I don't think time's going to make any difference," Grace confessed with heartfelt regret. "If I needed proof of that, I got it a couple of weeks ago."



"How do you mean?"



"I ran into Cliff at The Lighthouse. We talked for a few minutes and then the hostess came to seat us, assuming we were together. He made it abundantly clear that he'd rather dine alone than share a meal with me. I got the message. If he ever felt anything for me, it's dead." Tears trailed down her cheeks as she struggled with her composure.



Olivia reached across the table to clasp her friend's hand. She had some thinking to do—and the person to discuss her thoughts with was her husband.



Later that same night, dressed in her pajamas, Olivia sat on the queen-size bed, arms folded around her knees as she relayed the story to Jack.



"I can't get over the fact that all along it was my own brother." It was still a shock.



Jack frowned as if he too had trouble believing what she'd told him. "How's Grace doing?"



"She's brokenhearted. Cliff doesn't want to see her anymore."



Jack tossed his jacket onto the chair beside the bed.



Olivia pointed at it, silently reminding him to hang it in the closet. For a moment, Jack glanced at the jacket and then at her. Sighing, he grabbed it and found a hanger.



"What do you think?" he asked, turning from the closet.



"About Cliff?" She had to consider that for a moment. "I don't know, but I'm sure he sincerely loved Grace at one time. He doesn't seem like the kind of man who voluntarily turns his feelings on and off."



"Then there's hope."



Jack sat down on the bed as he pulled off his shoes. With a proud grin, he lined them up neatly. Shoes were actually supposed to go in the downstairs hall closet, but Olivia didn't comment. "Remember that Grace played a big role in getting the two of us back together," he said.



"I know."



Jack slid his arms around her and tugged her closer to the edge of the bed. "Do you also remember how we met up the same day at the same movie? Accidentally on purpose?"



"Oh, yeah, that." She laughed at the memory. Their problem, in Grace's opinion, was that they were both too stubborn for their own good.



"I think we owe Grace Sherman a favor."



This perked Olivia up. "Exactly what are you suggesting?"



He was quiet a minute or so. "That benefit for the animal shelter is coming up in July, isn't it?"



"The Dog and Bachelor Auction?"



Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Just remember where there's a will, there's a way."



"Oh, Jack! What a terrible pun." She rolled her eyes. "The fact that there's a Will is exactly what got in the way." Giggling, she nudged him in the shoulder. Only Jack could make her laugh about something so distressing.



He nudged her in return and they smiled at each other.



Then she shook her head. "Cliff isn't one of the bachelors. Grace said he turned them down."



"Did he really? Maybe he needs encouragement. The right kind of encouragement."



"Jack? What are you thinking?"



Eyebrows raised, her husband stayed quiet.



"Jack?"



With a move so fast he left her breathless, Jack swept her into his arms and Olivia fell against him. "Have I mentioned lately that you ask far too many questions?"



"Not lately," she said and giggled again.



He kissed her, and soon neither one of them had a single question to ask.



Sixteen



With the television on in the family room, Peggy sat working the counted cross-stitch pattern. Bob was out for the evening; he had his regular AA meeting at six and following that, he was off to the community theater to read for a part in the latest musical production. The theater had decided to put on Chicago.



Peggy spent almost every Thursday night alone and had grown accustomed to having this time to herself. Two of her favorite television shows aired on Thursdays and she could count on not being interrupted.



She yawned and covered her mouth with one hand. It'd been one of those days. The rain had started early that morning and hadn't let up all day. Not a rarity for mid-June, but Peggy had hoped to work in her garden. The rain had been a mixed blessing, though, because she'd been inside when the phone rang that afternoon. It was Hannah Russell.



Apparently Roy McAfee had called her with a number of questions and she hadn't heard back from him. Hannah wondered if there was any news. Peggy hadn't known what to tell her. Unfortunately she didn't have any infortnation for her, either, but it was unlikely that she would. The investigation into Maxwell Russell's death was out of her hands.



Hannah had sounded anxious, and Peggy had tried to reassure her. She wanted to help the young woman, but wasn't sure how. The motherly part of her longed to gather Hannah in her arms and tell her everything would be all right. The girl was hurting, wandering aimlessly to escape her pain. That wouldn't help, because wherever Hannah settled, the anguish would follow. Cliched though it was, Peggy knew from experience that time really was the great healer.



Determined to finish the cross-stitch pattern of hummingbirds in flight so she could complete another one before Christmas, Peggy glanced down at the page and paused to rub her eyes. Either the manufacturers were making smaller patterns every year or she needed new glasses. She preferred to blame the people who printed the patterns. This cross-stitch was for her daughter and she wanted to complete one for her son, Marc, as well. Although maybe she'd better choose another pattern for Marc's... The oceanscape she'd bought might be a little too complicated.



The back door opened and she looked up. It was early for Bob to be home. "Is that you, sweetheart?"



"Are you expecting some other man?" he teased.



"Not tonight. The naked dancing men are scheduled to arrive on Friday."



"Very funny." He stayed in the kitchen. "Any of that fried chicken left?"



"I thought you'd decided not to eat at night anymore."



"I did."



"Then why are you asking about the chicken?"



"Because I'm a weak man and I'm hungry."



She smiled. "Third shelf down on the left-hand side."



"You're gonna have to do something about this refrigerator," Bob complained. "I can't find a thing to eat in here."



This was a routine complaint. The refrigerator was stuffed with food, but her husband continually claimed there was nothing to eat. Peggy didn't bother to respond.



Munching on a chicken leg, he joined her in the family room off the kitchen.



"It's getting nasty out there."



Peggy could hear the rain pounding against the bay windows in the breakfast nook. "My garden could use it."



"The grass is going to grow and then I'll have to cut it again," he muttered. "I swear it's a vicious cycle."



Concentrating on her needlepoint, Peggy smiled. This, too, was one of his regular lamentations.



A branch struck the window and the wind howled. It reminded her of the night Maxwell Russell had appeared at the door, asking for a room. A chill slithered down her arms. That night was one she'd prefer to forget.



"How about a cup of coffee?" Bob asked.



"Yes, thanks."



The wind howled again and Peggy's eyes met Bob's. He didn't need to say anything; she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. That rainy night...



"Decaf?" Bob called from the kitchen.



"Please." She set her cross-stitch aside and stood, raising her arms in a stretch. "How was the meeting?"



"Good. Jack was there."



Her husband wasn't supposed to tell her who was or wasn't at his AA meetings, but there was little in life they didn't share.



"Olivia and Jack are still in the honeymoon phase," he said, sounding like a serious student of the stages of marriage. "All he could talk about was Olivia."



"It's refreshing to find a man who's madly in love with his wife, don't you think?"



Bob laughed. "That's a loaded question if I ever heard one."



"I like Olivia."



"So do I, but those two are about as different as two people can be."



"Yes, but they're well-suited, too. Jack makes her laugh. And Olivia brings balance into his life."



"He cleaned out his car for her."



"Jack?" This was a noteworthy event. Jack's car was notoriously cluttered with fast-food cartons, old newspapers and what-have-you. For years Peggy had made a joke of it.



"Apparently Olivia's something of a neat freak. Everything in its place and a place for everything."



Peggy frowned. Jack was a born slob. The only thing he'd ever organized in his life was the front page of the newspaper.



"It won't be long before Jack starts complaining," Bob said knowledgeably.



"About what?"



Bob sighed as if the answer should be obvious. "Olivia, of course. Mark my words, Peggy. Jack will give this marriage his best shot, but I don't think he'll be able to maintain Olivia's high standards."



Peggy was not amused. "That's the most negative thing I've heard you say in months."



"Don't get me wrong. I think the world of Jack—and of Olivia—but I can see the writing on the wall with those two."



Peggy was annoyed by his attitude. But before she could chastise Bob, he continued his discussion of the differences between Jack and Olivia.



"She's even got him eating healthy meals. She actually made grilled tofu and eggplant—eggplant—last week. I burst out laughing when Jack told me. Can you imagine a meat-and-potatoes man like Jack eating tofu and eggplant?"



"I'll bet it was fabulous." Peggy was a big fan of both and had cooked tofu a number of times. Bob had eaten it, not realizing what it was, and complimented her on dinner. She'd pass along a couple of her recipes to Olivia and explain that the secret was not to say a word.



"He made some excuse as soon as he could and drove to Burger King for a Double Whopper with cheese."



"Shame on him," Peggy murmured, although she smiled at the thought of Jack rushing out the back door, desperate for a fast-food fix.



Bob brought her the coffee in a mug. No sooner had he handed it to her than the lights flickered. "This is turning into some storm. What did the weatherman have to say?"



"I switched channels before the weather came on."



Bob scowled up at the light fixtures. "I'd better find a flashlight before we lose electricity altogether."



Peggy sipped her coffee and set the mug on the counter. "That's not a bad idea."



She followed her husband into the mudroom, where he opened a cupboard door and peered inside. "Have you heard anything on the Russell investigation?" she asked.