74 Seaside Avenue

“He isn’t planning to rent a house, thankfully.”



Grace pushed the pie away, her appetite gone. “If Will knew my house was available…” She didn’t finish the thought.



“I’m not going to tell him,” Olivia assured her. “And I’m sure Mom won’t, either.”



Grace leaned her elbows on the table. “My biggest fear is that Will might make trouble between Cliff and me,” she confessed.



“I’ll admit that’s on my mind, too,” Olivia said. “Mom doesn’t seem to think so, though.”



“She’s spoken to Will about it?” Charlotte wasn’t one to shy away from an uncomfortable subject. Grace was grateful for the older woman’s wisdom. Grateful, too, that she’d confronted her son and his sudden need to return to Cedar Cove.



“Mom told me that Will claims he has no intention of pestering you.”



Grace hoped that was true. Even after she’d broken off their relationship, Will had attempted to get in touch with her, to explain away his lies and tell her fresh ones. She’d nearly lost Cliff once because of Will; she couldn’t risk that happening a second time.



“Does Cliff know?” Olivia asked as if reading her thoughts.



“I’ve been meaning to tell him, but I haven’t done it yet.”



“Grace!”



“It’s just that we’re so happy and I don’t want anything to upset that.”



“Knowing Cliff, he’d be far more upset if he learned Will’s living in Cedar Cove and you didn’t tell him.”



“I will tell him, I promise.” She’d do it as soon as she got home. This was too important to leave to chance. She wouldn’t jeopardize her marriage over someone as deceitful and dishonorable as Will Jefferson.



They finished their coffee and stood up to go, leaving a bigger than usual tip for Goldie. As they started walking to the door, Olivia gave her a hug. “Congratulations, Grandma.”



“Thank you, my friend.”



Olivia yawned. “Now let’s go home and get to bed. I have to be at work in the morning.”



“Me, too.” Grace wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep. First, there was the birth of Emma Grace and now this distressing news about Will Jefferson. Olivia had warned her weeks ago, but Grace hadn’t believed Will would actually do it. Hadn’t believed he’d dare. Yet here he was.



The light in the barn was off when she pulled into the yard and parked in her usual spot. Grace figured Cliff must be in the house. She hoped he hadn’t gone to bed.



“Is that you, Grace?” he said, coming to meet her in the entryway, accompanied by the dog.



“It’s me.” She stooped to pet Buttercup, then walked into her husband’s arms. After a lengthy hug, she asked, “How’s Sunshine?”



“Fabulous. She has a handsome son and she’s doing well. How’s Kelly?”



“She has a beautiful daughter and she’s doing well, too.”



He chuckled and hugged her again. “Little Emma Grace—she couldn’t have a nicer name.”



Grace smiled. “Olivia and I celebrated with pie and coffee at the PancakePalace.”



“That’s what your message said.”



“Olivia insisted we set a date for our wedding reception so I suggested mid-October. Is that okay with you?”



“Sure—as long as this is something you want to do.”



She nodded. “I want the world to know I’ve got the best husband in the world.”



Cliff kissed the top of her head. “I’m the lucky one.”



“You think so, do you?” Try as she might, Grace was unable to stifle a yawn.



Slipping his arm around her waist, Cliff led her down the hallway to their bedroom. “You must be exhausted.”



“I thought I’d be too keyed up to sleep, but…”



Cliff yawned, too. “I thought the same thing. Come on, honey, let’s go to bed.”



She should tell him now, Grace realized. But because they had so much to celebrate, she decided she couldn’t. Not then. Perhaps in the morning. Right now they were both too tired. They were happy. To destroy the evening with news of Will Jefferson just seemed wrong.



All she could do was pray that Cliff didn’t learn it from anyone else.



Twelve



“Can Rachel take me shopping?” Jolene asked for the sixth time.



“I said that would be fine,” Bruce muttered, leafing through the Cedar Cove Chronicle. He worked hard at his computer support business and needed this quiet time in the evenings. Just half an hour to regroup; that was all. Since Stephanie’s death he’d developed a routine with their daughter. He got home from work, watched the news and read the paper while Jolene entertained herself with a book or a jigsaw puzzle. Afterward they prepared dinner together. Their meals weren’t always the meat-and-potatoes variety, either. Some nights it was bacon, eggs and waffles. More than once they’d had cookies and milk with popcorn for dessert, but he didn’t make a habit of that.



“You didn’t phone her,” Jolene whined.



“Why don’t you?” he said. She’d called Rachel Pendergast often enough in the past. Rachel had stepped in as a surrogate mother after Stephanie’s death and spent many evenings and Saturdays with them both.



At age five, Jolene had decided she needed a mother and she’d chosen Rachel. Bruce smiled as he recalled the day they’d met Rachel at the beauty salon—and how embarrassed he’d been by his daughter’s pronouncement. But Bruce gratefully accepted Rachel’s involvement in their lives, as long as nothing was required of him. He wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship, he told himself again. He was a one-woman man, and Stephanie was that woman. Now that she was gone he had no intention of marrying again. Rachel understood that, although most women didn’t. Since he was what people considered prime marriage material, various friends had taken it upon themselves to find him a wife. Bruce had been in more than his share of uncomfortable social situations with women whose objectives were explicit—if not explicitly stated. Sooner or later, they all learned that he wasn’t interested.



“I want you to phone Rachel,” Jolene said.



Bruce lowered the newspaper. “Why?”



“Because then she’ll know you approve.”



Bruce could see that the peacefulness of the evening was already shattered. Jolene talked to Rachel on a regular basis; the two of them seemed to get together at least once a week for one reason or another. More often now that Lover Boy had departed for San Diego. Nate Olsen was no loss as far as Bruce was concerned, although he hadn’t said that to Rachel. She could date whomever she wanted.



“Here.” Jolene handed him the portable phone.



“Okay, okay,” he muttered. If he was truthful, he’d admit he wasn’t opposed to contacting Rachel. He considered her a friend—a good enough friend to be on speed dial.



“Hi,” he said when she picked up. “Are you doing anything special this Saturday?”



“What do you have in mind?”



“Jolene needs to go school shopping and she’d like you to take her.”



“Count me in.”



Bruce grinned at her enthusiasm. He didn’t understand this thing about women and shopping. He didn’t know a single one who wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to dash to a mall. A sale on bedsheets, some kind of giveaway, a makeup demonstration—any excuse would do.



“What’s so funny?”



“You women and your shopping.”



“Listen, Bruce, you don’t want to go there. Men have their own preferences. I’ll bet you’re sitting in front of the television right now with the remote control on the arm rest. I’ll bet you’re reading the paper at the same time as you’re watching the TV news.”



How did she know this much about his evening routine? He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him. Rachel had often been to his house over the past few years and he’d been to hers. She was the only woman who’d breached his defenses. Suddenly he wondered if she was right about other men’s routines being the same as his. And if she was, how had she found out?



“What do you hear from Lover Boy?” he asked.



“I wish you’d stop calling Nate that,” she said, the humor leaving her voice.



“Okay, your Sailor Man,” he revised. The truth was, Bruce had never much cared for Rachel’s navy boyfriend. For one thing, he couldn’t imagine them as a couple. For another, Nate seemed to resent the time Rachel spent with Jolene. In fact he’d tried on more than one occasion to come between them. So far, that hadn’t worked; Rachel wouldn’t allow it.



“We talk almost every day. He misses me.”



“Do you miss him?” Bruce asked, although he already knew what she’d say.



“Like crazy. I’m going to fly down to California to visit him soon. Or he’ll fly up here for a weekend. We’re miserable without each other.”



Bruce had to bite his tongue to keep from making a sarcastic remark. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to ask. Thinking about Nate Olsen and Rachel invariably put him in a bad mood, although he refused to delve any further into the reasons for that.



“What’s new in town?” Rachel asked, abruptly changing the subject. “You’re reading the paper, aren’t you? Give me an update.”



“All right,” he said, looking at the front page. “The school board’s bringing a new bond issue to the ballot in September. You’ll vote for it, won’t you?”



“Of course. Anything else?”



“There’s an article here by Jack Griffin about the HarborStreetArtGallery. Apparently the owners are closing it, at least for the winter months, and maybe for good.”



“Oh, no,” Rachel murmured. “Maryellen Bowman’s going to feel awful about that. She’s the one who built it up. A lot of local artists depend on that extra income.”



“There’s also a short piece about a farewell party for Linnette McAfee,” Bruce went on. “Apparently her last day at the Medical Clinic is next week.”



“I’m sorry she’s moving away,” Rachel said. “If anyone should move, it’s Cal,” she added indignantly.



“Who’s Cal?”



She launched into a rather involved explanation of Linnette and Cal Washburn and their relationship, ending with, “He broke her heart and now she’s leaving town?”



“Why?” That didn’t make sense to Bruce, either, but then he was the last person who’d understand the whys and wherefores of a relationship. Rachel explained why she thought Linnette had decided to move. It still didn’t make sense to him. So Linnette and this Cal broke up. So what? This wasn’t junior high. Everyone should be able to coexist and behave like the adults they were.



“Martha Evans’s funeral was this week,” Rachel said next. “Anything in the paper about that?”



“Who’s she?”