1105 Yakima Street (21 page)

I
s Thursday still your day off? Gloria texted Chad. It was less intimidating than phoning.

She didn’t have long to wait for a reply. Yes.

She bit her lip and texted back. Could you come over?

Now?

Anytime.

His reply was almost instantaneous. On my way.

Gloria hoped, prayed, she was doing the right thing.

Forty minutes later her doorbell chimed. Nervously wiping her palms on her maternity-front pants, she opened the door.

“Everything okay?” Chad immediately asked.

“Yes.”

“You wanted to see me?”

She nodded, realizing she’d left him standing outside, and let him into her apartment.

Chad walked in and looked around as if this was the first time he’d ever been there. “What’s up?”

“I need some help,” she said.

“Okay.”

Gloria had gotten in touch with him on impulse. She
did
need help, which she knew Mack or Roy would’ve been happy to provide. But she couldn’t resist asking Chad, although she was afraid it might be too late for them.

“What do you need?”

“I…purchased a crib.”

His gaze met hers. “So did I.”

“Oh.” That shouldn’t have surprised her. They’d more or less agreed to share custody of the baby. Returning to the matter at hand, she continued. “Have you assembled yours yet?”

“No. Have you?”

“Well, I tried, and frankly, I found it rather confusing. I was wondering if you’d mind helping.” It was an excuse to see him again, to end this tension between them. If they were going to share custody, then they needed to feel comfortable with each other. Adversity and mistrust weren’t in the baby’s best interests. Or theirs…

“
That’s
why you asked me over?”

She nodded. Yes, it was an excuse but she’d wanted to see him again.

Everything had changed after their…nap. That was a week ago. Nothing had happened that afternoon, nothing physical, and yet it had made a difference, at least for Gloria. Now, whenever she crawled into bed and closed her eyes, she could feel Chad lying beside her and it comforted her, calmed her. She wanted that closeness again, that feeling of being protected and cherished. Everything before had been about the powerful physical attraction between them. But they’d experienced something else that afternoon—tenderness toward each other and love for their unborn child. Gloria had felt a bond with Chad, a feeling of wholeness that she’d lost with the death of her parents. She had a blood relationship with the McAfees
and they’d welcomed her into their lives. What she didn’t have were the memories, the shared times, the laughter and private moments that connected the members of a family.

“Where’s the crib?” he asked, giving her an odd look.

Caught up in her thoughts, she’d been staring off into space. Startled, she led him down the hall and escorted him into the second bedroom, which she planned to turn into the nursery.

He paused halfway into the room. “You’ve bought quite a lot of stuff already.”

Gloria rested her hand on the changing table. “Corrie saw this on sale and phoned me from the store. I bought it sight unseen, and then Mack and his brother-in-law picked it up for me and brought it to the apartment.” The change table was white wood with six drawers, three on each side. There was a brightly colored pad on top.

“I want to paint the room a light shade of blue.” Mack had volunteered to do that for her. She’d thanked him and declined. She wanted Chad to offer.

He didn’t.

Chad looked at the two ends of the crib that leaned against the outside wall. She’d taken everything out of the cardboard packaging, which she’d put in the recycling bin.

“The assembly directions are in several different languages,” she said, handing him the printed sheets. “I suspect the English version might be a bit difficult to follow.”

“In other words, English isn’t their first language.”

“Exactly.”

“Hmm.” Chad studied the directions, then flipped through several pages. “The pictures will help.”

Gloria had made that assumption herself, only to give up in frustration. “I have all the tools we’ll need.”

“Good. I didn’t think to bring anything with me.”

“Why would you?” He didn’t know until he arrived why she’d contacted him.

They sat down on the floor together and Gloria marveled at how thorough Chad was. He read the entire booklet before he even reached for the screwdriver.

“We shouldn’t have a problem.”

An hour later, Gloria had to get up off the floor. Everything ached. “How about a cup of coffee?” she asked.

“I’m more in the mood for a shot of whiskey. Has anyone ever successfully assembled one of these cribs?”

“I…I don’t know. Sorry, I don’t have anything stronger than wine.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“After six.” She hadn’t even thought to look until he asked. It was already dark.

“Six?” he repeated, and in one fluid motion he was on his feet. He grabbed his cell and rushed out of the room.

“Do you need to be someplace else?” she asked, and assumed he was meeting Joni. Her chest tightened as she held her breath.

Talking on his cell phone, Chad stepped outside the apartment onto the second-story walkway. He paced back and forth, intent on his conversation. Several minutes passed before he returned.

“Do you need to leave?” she asked, hoping she’d be able to hide her disappointment if he did.

“No. I’ll stay.”

“I apologize… I should’ve realized you might have made other plans.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll finish up here.”

“No, it’s all right, really,” she insisted. “It isn’t like I’m due next week or anything. We have plenty of time.”

“I said I’d stay.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks.”

Chad went back to the baby’s room and she went into the kitchen. The cupboard above the refrigerator held a bottle of merlot. Gloria couldn’t remember how long it’d been there—well over a year, anyway. But aging red wine was supposed to improve the flavor. Opening the bottle proved to be a challenge but she managed. She poured Chad a glass and carried it into the bedroom.

“Here, this might help,” she said, handing him the wineglass.

“Thanks.”

“I wish I could join you… .”

“Another time, perhaps. After the baby’s born.” He sent her a warm smile, which she immediately fell victim to; he’d had that effect on her from the beginning.

“I also bought a mobile.” The words tumbled out in her effort to break the spell he had over her.

“Does it need assembly?”

“No.”

“That’s a relief,” he teased, laughing.

She laughed, too.

He had one side of the crib attached when her stomach growled, reminding her that it’d been a long time since lunch. If she was hungry, Chad likely was, too.

“I’ll fix us some dinner,” she suggested, eager to do something useful. She wasn’t much help with the crib, other than to reread the instructions aloud. Every once in a while he’d ask her to repeat a step and she’d struggle with the poor syntax and confused vocabulary. At one point Chad muttered that English must be the author’s fourth or fifth language. Smiling, Gloria agreed.

“Don’t go to any trouble,” Chad said.

“I won’t.”

Not until she was in her kitchen did she realize this was the first time she’d ever cooked for him. She’d soon be giving birth to his son and yet they’d never once shared a home-cooked meal. She had to wonder if Joni ever cooked for him and decided she probably did.

Gloria didn’t have a large repertoire of recipes. One of her favorites was a seafood pasta dish. Corrie had given her the recipe, which she, in turn, had received from Peggy Beldon. Setting a pot of water on to boil, she got the shrimp and scallops from the freezer and canned clams from the cupboard.

She’d chopped the onions and fresh parsley when Chad appeared. “I need a break,” he said, holding his half-full wineglass.

“I hope you aren’t allergic to seafood?” she asked, suddenly worried.

“Nope. Love it.”

“Oh, good.” What a sad commentary that she should know so little about him.

Chad leaned against the counter and she wondered if he had any idea how sexy he looked.

The phone rang and she answered it without checking caller ID. It was her brother.

“Just calling to make sure you don’t need any help putting that crib together,” Mack said.

“I’ve got it under control. Thanks, though.”

“No problem. Linc said he could help, too, if you want.”

“Thank you both. I appreciate it.”

“Okay, well, give me a call if you need anything.”

“I will.”

When Gloria replaced the receiver, she saw Chad
frowning into his wine. He obviously thought her conversation had been with someone she was dating. Remembering how wretched she’d felt when he was on the phone with Joni, she didn’t explain. Let him think what he would. He didn’t ask and she didn’t enlighten him.

Chad finished his glass of wine and replenished it.

“Would you like me to turn on the radio?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Soon soft rock filled the kitchen, followed by radio personality Delilah’s soothing voice.

While the fettuccine boiled, Gloria set the table, adding a bowl of freshly grated Parmesan cheese. She placed two candles in the center, as well.

“It looks like you’ve created this intimate little scene before,” he commented as she stirred the pasta.

“With the hours I work?” While she was on patrol duty, she’d rotated between swing shift and graveyard. Her nights and days were often reversed. Chad knew that.

Her answer seemed to please him. When the timer went off, he took the kettle from the stove and emptied the pasta into the strainer. Then he transferred the hot noodles to a ceramic dish she’d set on the counter. She poured the seafood sauce in its olive oil and fresh herb base over top.

Chad carried the serving bowl to the table. “This smells fabulous.”

“It’s a family favorite,” she said. “Corrie served it several months ago and everyone raved about it.”

Chad pulled out her chair. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to Corrie and Roy as family.”

“It is?” That was how she thought of them now, especially since she’d discovered she was pregnant. While Gloria hadn’t been happy when she learned that her father
had told Chad about the baby, in retrospect she was glad of it.

Chad took the chair across from her. “You seem more comfortable with who you are,” he said thoughtfully.

Gloria wrapped the noodles around her fork, savoring the scent of basil and oregano. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Any particular reason?”

She didn’t need to think about her answer. “The baby. Roy and Corrie have been wonderful and Mack, too.” Then, feeling mildly guilty, she added, “That was him on the phone earlier.”

“Your brother?”

She took her first taste of the pasta and nodded.

Chad tried it, too. “Hey, this is good.”

“Don’t act so surprised. I
can
cook.”

“Clearly.” He beamed her another of his irresistible smiles.

Gloria needed every ounce of self-control she possessed to pull her gaze away from him.

“More wine?” she asked when she noticed his empty glass.

“No, thanks. I’m driving.”

They finished their dinner and carried their plates to the sink.

“Thank you,” Chad said as he set down his plate. “That was great.”

“Well, you’ve heard the old saying,” she joked. “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

He shocked her by taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “You already know the way to my heart, Gloria. You always have.”

She could hardly breathe as his eyes held hers. Gloria felt as if her legs were about to collapse. She swayed
toward him and his arms went around her, drawing her into his embrace.

Their kiss was magical. Exquisite. Powerful.

When the baby kicked, Gloria broke off the kiss and hid her face in his shoulder. “Did you feel that?”

“I did.” He sounded amused.

“I think he likes it when we’re together.”

“I know I like it.” Chad’s arms tightened briefly. “But…I need to go.”

Looking up, she did her utmost to send him off with a smile. “That’s okay.” She dropped her arms, then retreated a step. “Thank you. For everything.”

He pressed his hand against her face. “I’ll be back to finish the crib next week.”

“Sure, anytime.”

“Wednesday night?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll cook, okay?” He backed away a couple of steps, then rushed forward and kissed her again. By the time he left she was breathless and shaking.

And happier than she’d been in months.

“O
h, this is so much fun,” Charlotte said as she linked her arm through Olivia’s. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and they were visiting local craft fairs.

Olivia carefully set her pace to match her mother’s.

The biggest fair was at Cedar Cove High School. “Don’t you just admire how clever people are?” Charlotte asked.

“I certainly do,” Olivia said. She pulled up the hood of her raincoat to protect her hair from the drizzle. Still, no weather could have kept her away from the Christmas bazaars. They’d seen a range of crafts and artwork, from quilts and sewing to original paintings, blown glass and jewelry.

“I’ve been looking forward to this afternoon.”

“Me, too, Mom.” With equal parts anticipation and dread. Will would be joining them later, and together brother and sister would once again bring up the subject of their mother and Ben moving into an assisted-living complex.

“I used to enjoy knitting for the charity bazaars,” Charlotte was saying as they moved across the crowded high school parking lot. “I haven’t donated anything in
the past few years. I’m not sure why. Time just seems to get away from me.”

“It does with all of us,” Olivia said as they walked. They’d both made several purchases, which she carried in a plastic bag draped over her free arm.

“Where to next?” Charlotte asked.

“Stanford Suites,” Olivia said, trying to sound casual.

“Oh? That’s where Bess lives now. She moved there…a little while ago.”

Olivia hadn’t heard that, but found the news encouraging. Charlotte had obviously forgotten exactly when Bess Ferryman went to Stanford Suites; however, it must have been recent. “They’re having an early Christmas bazaar, too,” she said. “Some of the seniors have craft items for sale.”

“How nice.”

“When’s the last time you saw Bess?”

“Monday. Bess is still part of the regular knitting group at the Senior Center.”

Olivia stopped just short of pointing out that Bess could visit the others whenever she wished, even if she did reside at the retirement complex. She was afraid that if she said too much about it, Charlotte would become suspicious. Olivia had worried about this ever since they’d made the arrangements. All she could hope was that her mother and Ben would be more receptive than they’d been earlier.

The parking lot at Stanford Suites was nearly full.

“Look how busy they are,” Charlotte said as they pulled in.

“Would you rather skip this and go directly to lunch?” They’d decided to eat at a Mexican place. Her mother was obviously tiring, and so was Olivia. It was only months since she’d finished her chemotherapy and radiation treat
ments, and fatigue hit her sooner than it used to. And, she had to admit, she was quailing at the prospect of the conversation ahead.

“I wouldn’t mind going in,” Charlotte said, “if that’s all right with you.”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Mom.”

“Then let’s go inside. It’ll be fun to see what kinds of crafts they have for sale. I’ve been looking for a special gift for Ben. He’s so hard to buy for, you know.”

That wasn’t the case with Jack. Books, music, DVDs—he loved them all; she just needed to keep track of what he already had. She’d also taken over purchasing his clothes and even he agreed that was a good thing. Except for his raincoat. She hadn’t been able to convince him to give up that shabby old coat of his. She’d bought a new one, which hung unused in their closet. He said it felt too stiff and insisted there was nothing wrong with his old coat. She knew that eventually he’d start wearing it, but all the hints and suggestions she made were pointless until Jack was ready to switch, and he’d decide that for himself.

Funny how thinking about his raincoat made her realize that same approach might work with her mother and Ben, too. In other words, all she should do was mention Stanford Suites, ensure that Ben and Charlotte were aware of the place and its advantages. Pressuring them would only cause resentment and, if anything, make them more resistant.

She drove slowly around the lot. Luck was with her; a car parked close to the front left just as she drew near. Right away Olivia grabbed the empty space. She hurried around to help her mother out of the passenger side, afraid Charlotte might slip on the sidewalk. Ben’s fall had emphasized how vulnerable both of them were.

“My, the grounds are nice here,” Charlotte said, glanc
ing at the flower beds. “You know, I feel so bad about neglecting my garden. Ben and I were in the backyard earlier this week. There’s so much we need to do… .”

“Jack and I can come over and—”

“No, no,” Charlotte said, immediately dismissing the offer even before Olivia could make it. “Ben and I are thinking about hiring a yard service. But I have to tell you, Olivia, the price for goods and services is so high these days.”

“Jack and I have a yard service.” In Olivia’s opinion, it was worth every cent. She enjoyed working outdoors, but her spare time was limited. While on medical leave she’d spent hours in her garden, especially after she’d started feeling better and regained some of her strength. Until then, Olivia had forgotten how much pleasure she got from her garden. Jack had helped, too, but it wasn’t something he did for the joy of it. Not like her. He had an ulterior motive. Pulling weeds and preparing the earth, he’d watched her constantly. He’d been terrified that she’d become dizzy or faint or, worse, that she’d collapse.

When Olivia was diagnosed with breast cancer, Jack had hardly let her out of his sight. If Olivia had ever doubted her husband’s love—and she hadn’t—he’d proved himself a thousand times over while she underwent cancer treatments. And, as a bonus, their garden had benefitted, too.

A youngster held the door open as Olivia and Charlotte entered the complex.

“Merry Christmas,” he said with a toothless grin.

“It’s not even Thanksgiving until next week,” Charlotte said.

“But it’s Christmas here,” the young man told them earnestly. “My great-grandma said so.”

“Then who are we to argue?” Olivia said as they
walked in. The large open room was filled with tables placed in a U-shape for easy access. Bess sat at the second table, her baked goods and knitted items on display.

“Charlotte!” she cried. She put down her knitting needles to lean over the table and give her friend a hug. “I’m so glad you came. When I mentioned the bazaar last Monday, you didn’t think you’d be able to stop by.”

Her mother hadn’t said anything about the craft show and Olivia assumed Charlotte had simply forgotten, or—another possibility—she hadn’t wanted to give Will and Olivia an opportunity to promote the idea of assisted living.

“I’d like to introduce you to my friends,” Bess said, and animatedly waved her arm in the direction of several other women. “This is Eileen, and over here is Rosemary and that’s Eve.” She pointed to the other ladies, who had their own booths. They raised their hands and waved. “I see you met my great-grandson.”

“That’s Billy?” Charlotte asked.

“He’s eight now. Unbelievable, isn’t it?’

“I helped Bess with a sweater pattern when he was two. It had a dinosaur on the front,” Charlotte explained to Olivia.

Interesting how her mother would remember that and not a conversation she’d had just a few days ago.

“Bess talks about you all the time,” Eileen said.

“What are you selling?” Charlotte asked as she moved closer to Eileen’s table.

“Oh, I make polished wood pens. My husband used to love writing with a wooden pen, but they aren’t available the way they once were. One year, I decided they couldn’t be that difficult to make, so I attended a woodworking class at the community college and made him several for Christmas. He used them until his dying day.”

“A wooden pen,” Charlotte repeated. “Why, Ben would love that.” She looked at Olivia. “You know how he likes to do the crossword puzzle every morning? Well, he does it in ink.”

Olivia nodded. “Getting him one of these pens is a great idea. Very classy.”

Charlotte purchased a pen and so did Olivia. Every booth sold something wonderful, and Olivia ended up spending more money at the retirement complex bazaar than the three other craft fairs combined.

They left loaded down with gifts, plus baked goods, homemade candy and watermelon pickles to serve with Thanksgiving dinner. Olivia knew Ben would enjoy the peanut brittle Charlotte had bought, as well.

Over cheese enchiladas, Olivia and Charlotte reviewed their Thanksgiving menu. Little had changed through the years. They’d have turkey, of course, and two kinds of stuffing. The traditional inside-the-bird bread stuffing and a much-loved family recipe for rice stuffing, too. Old-fashioned homemade gravy. The salads and vegetable selections hadn’t altered much from the time Olivia was a child. Potatoes, mashed and sweet. And at least three choices of pie for dessert.

“Justine’s bringing the appetizers,” Olivia reminded her mother.

“Oh, yes.” Charlotte frowned. “We’re having dinner at your house, right?”

“Yes, Mom.” The entire family had celebrated the holidays at Olivia and Jack’s place for a number of years. Her home was larger than anyone else’s and the kitchen was bigger. “Would you rather have it at your home, Mom, with your new kitchen and all?”

“No. No.” She shook her head adamantly. “I just wanted to be sure everything’s set for your place.”

“It is, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Of course, I’ll be helping with the dinner.”

“Of course,” Olivia echoed. “I wouldn’t dream of making Thanksgiving dinner without you.”

They finished their lunch and headed back to Charlotte and Ben’s.

“Did you two have a good time?” Ben asked when they went inside. A blast of wind nearly slammed the door behind them. The weather remained dark, wet and dreary. Not that Harry, her mother’s cat, seemed to notice. He sat contentedly in his usual position on the back of Ben’s chair, his long furry tail draped over the cushion.

“We had the loveliest time,” Charlotte cooed.

Olivia’s cell phone chirped, and as she took it out of her purse, she saw that the call was from her brother. “Hello,” she said, looking at her watch. He was supposed to “drop by” in about half an hour.

“Hi. Listen, something’s come up and I won’t be able to make it.”

“At all?” So her brother was leaving this in her hands. Her warm feelings for him and the help he’d given her recently dipped by several degrees.

“I can probably stop by but not at the time we agreed.”

“When can you?” she asked, struggling to hide her irritation.

“Ah, I’m not sure. I have to see someone and—”

Someone? Olivia was not amused. “Male or female?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

“Fine. Male. The guy’s an artist I’ve been wooing. A painter from Bellevue. I want him to bring his work to my gallery. Miranda’s the one who got him to talk to me.”

“Is she with you?”

“Miranda? Not right this minute, but she will be.
Actually, we decided to double-team him, convince him to sell his art on this side of Puget Sound. Are you going to get all huffy about it?”

Olivia sighed. “No.” In fact, she had to acknowledge that Will’s excuse was legitimate and she hoped his overtures to this artist paid off.

“Can you handle things without me or would you rather put it off?”

“No. The sooner we settle this, the better.”

“I think so, too. Good luck. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks.” She snapped her phone shut and put it back in her purse.

“Who was that, dear?” Charlotte asked.

“Will.”

“Oh. I’m so happy about the way the two of you have reconnected since he’s moved back to town. It does my heart good to see you getting along so well.”

That was true. Will and Olivia
had
reconnected. They were closer now than at any other time in their lives. It was a gift she hadn’t expected, and she was grateful for it.

“I was just telling Ben about our bazaar shopping,” Charlotte continued. “We had such a good day, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she said.

“And, Ben, the very best place wasn’t the big craft bazaar that they hold at the high school. Remember, I mentioned it earlier?”

“That’s the one you were looking forward to.”

“It was—until we got to Stanford Suites. Oh, my, you wouldn’t believe what I found there.”

“Show me.”

“I can’t, because almost everything I bought is for you for Christmas.”

“At that assisted-living complex?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. Bess lives there, you know, and she told me how much she loves it. Her great-grandson was the greeter. Oh, and they had the most beautiful decorated sugar cookies I’ve ever seen.”

“Did you buy any?”

“Sure did. The ladies’ group baked them. They have Bible study on Tuesday mornings and a bridge club and a knitting circle and art lessons… .”

“At the assisted-living complex?” Ben repeated with a frown. “I had no idea they offered all that.”

“Me, neither.”

Olivia refrained from pointing out that she and Will had described all the amenities and programs to them—more than once. “Mom, before I go,” she said. “Jack wanted me to ask what you’re making for tonight’s dinner.”

Ben and Charlotte exchanged a glance.

Olivia had asked because she suspected her mother hadn’t even tried the new stove.

“We had cornflakes last night,” Ben admitted.

“Cornflakes?” This was worse than she’d thought. “Oh, Mom, I was afraid this would happen.”

“Microwave popcorn the night before,” Charlotte murmured, shamefaced. “The microwave is easy to work. You just press the button that says
popcorn
.”

“It’s my fault,” Ben said. “I started to read the instruction manual, but the stove’s got all these bells and whistles and, to tell you the truth, I just sort of gave up.”

Olivia wasn’t surprised. The owner’s manual was a good hundred pages thick. She’d read shorter novels.

“The grounds at the complex were so lovely, too.”
Charlotte turned the conversation away from the stove and back to the retirement complex.

“Mom, are you talking about Stanford Suites again?” Not that Olivia was complaining…