16 Lighthouse Road (6 page)

Once more Tom shook his head.

“Broccoli's good for the bowels. Now, that's something we both need to think about, especially at our age.” She laughed outright, wondering how Olivia would react if she could hear her now.

Shuffling his right foot, Tom laboriously rolled the wheelchair over to his nightstand.

“You want me to get something for you?” she asked.

His white head bobbed.

“It's inside the drawer here?” she asked.

His brown eyes were intense, and he indicated that she'd guessed right.

Charlotte eased open the drawer and found a pen, pad and a small coin purse that closed with a zipper. Years earlier, Clyde had carried a similar one. Thinking Tom might want her to write something down, she took out the pen and paper.

He frowned and shook his head.

She reached for the coin purse, instead, and glanced at him again.

Tom smiled and nodded.

“Do you want me to open it?” She realized that he must and carefully unzipped the small leather pouch. Inside was a
folded yellow sheet of paper, which she removed. She set aside the coin holder and realized there was something enclosed in the paper. A key.

“What's this?” she asked, openly curious now.

Tom sat back; he seemed to be waiting for her to discover the answer on her own.

Charlotte unfolded the single sheet of paper and saw that it was a receipt for a storage unit right here in Cedar Cove. How he'd arranged that, she couldn't guess. She'd have to ask Janet Lester.

Uncertain what she was supposed to do with the key, Charlotte looked questioningly at Tom. “Everything seems to be in order,” she assured him, returning the key and the receipt to the pouch. She was about to place it in the drawer when he stopped her, leaning forward and clasping her forearm with his right hand.

His eyes pleaded with her.

“You don't want me to put it back here?” she asked.

He shook his head, breathing hard from his exertion.

“What would you like me to do with it?”

He looked directly at her purse, which rested on the floor next to her large knitting bag.

“Take it with me?”

He nodded.

“Wouldn't you rather I gave it to someone in the office?” Surely that would be more appropriate than for Charlotte to keep it.

He shook his head, his expression adamant.

“All right, but I feel I should tell Janet about this.”

He shrugged.

“Don't worry, your key's in good hands. I'll make sure nothing happens to it.” She slipped the pouch inside her purse, then reached for her knitting bag. “I made you a lap robe. You need something to keep your legs warm. There's a chill in the air these January mornings, isn't there?” She settled the robe over his legs and stepped back to admire it.

Tom smiled, and made a shaky gesture to show his appreciation.

“You're most welcome,” she said.

Tom's eyes closed briefly and she understood that he was tired. It was time to go. “I'll be back next Thursday,” she said, gathering her bags.

He gave a slight nod.

“Don't you fret about a single thing. Oh, and I'll bring you a slice of that lasagna.”

He grinned and shook his head.

“All right, I'll spare you.” Tom was probably on a special diet, anyway. “I promise to take good care of this key for you.”

He sighed and patted the lap robe.

“The pleasure was all mine. Goodbye until next week.”

She left his room more quietly than she'd entered it, and immediately sought out the social worker. She didn't want to take the key without letting someone know.

Janet was in her office, talking on the phone. When she saw Charlotte, she motioned her in and ended the conversation a minute later.

“Hello, Charlotte, what can I do for you?”

She explained about Tom Harding and the key.

Janet rolled her chair over to the filing cabinet and opened the top drawer. Extracting a file, she laid it on her desk. While
she read through the file, Charlotte took a second look at the receipt for the storage unit. She saw that it was a renewal, which had been paid by the state—paid in full for the entire year. Apparently Tom had run out of funds for his care and become a ward of the state. What assets he owned were being stored in the unit and would be sold at the time of his death.

Janet continued to scan the file. “Unfortunately the information I have here is the bare minimum. Tom suffered a stroke five years ago, but there's nothing about any family—and next to nothing about his background.”

“He seemed to want me to keep the key,” Charlotte said, unsure what she should do.

“Then I think you should. I know you have it, and so does Tom.”

“All right, I will.” That settled, Charlotte stood. “He's a lovely man.”

“Yes, he is, but just a little mysterious.”

Charlotte had to agree and she admitted to being intrigued.

 

Grace Sherman grabbed a carton of milk and placed it in her grocery cart, then headed for the checkout stand. As she wheeled toward the front of the store, she decided to take a short detour and look over the paperback display. Books were her passion—books of all kinds, from classic fiction to mysteries and romances, from bestseller titles to biographies and history and…almost everything. That was why she'd gone into library work. She loved to read and often read late into the night. Her daughters shared her delight in books, although Dan had never been much of a reader.

As Grace reached the front of the store, she noticed that
the lineups were long. She chose one, then got the current copy of
People
magazine and flipped through that while she waited. The truth came to her as she approached the cashier—she dreaded going home.

The realization left her breathless. They were low on milk, but it certainly hadn't been necessary to make a special trip. She could easily have waited a day or two. Since she was here anyway, she'd thrown several packets of pasta into her cart, plus toilet paper and a couple of yogurts…as though to justify being to the supermarket at all. In fact, she'd been delaying the inevitable.

Dan had been in such a bleak mood lately. There seemed to be problems at work, but that was only a guess because her husband refused to talk to her about anything beyond the mundane. Any other inquiries were met with one-word replies. Television was vastly more interesting than sharing any part of himself with her.

Grace wanted to discover what was wrong, but he snapped at her whenever she tried. Every night it was the same. Walking into the house after work was like standing in an electrical storm; she never knew when lightning might strike. Because Dan was uncommunicative and morose, she chatted endlessly about this thing and that, in an effort to lighten his mood—and to forestall his outbursts of anger. They always came without warning.

Dan listened to her remarks, nodded at the appropriate times, even smiled now and again. But he contributed nothing to the conversation. The quieter he was, the harder she tried to draw him out, to no avail. Practically every evening he settled in front of the television and didn't move until it was time for bed.

This was no marriage. They might as well be college roommates for all the love and affection they exchanged.

Their marriage had never fulfilled Grace's expectations. She'd been eighteen and pregnant with Maryellen when she married Dan. He'd enlisted in the Army and almost immediately been shipped to Vietnam. The two years he'd been away were hell, for him and for her. When he returned, Dan was a different person from the young man who'd left. He'd become bitter and cynical, prone to rages; he'd also experimented with drugs and when she refused to allow them in the house they'd briefly separated.

For Maryellen's sake, they'd managed to patch things up long enough for Grace to get pregnant a second time. Later, because of their daughters, Dan and Grace had tried hard to make their marriage work.

The war still haunted him and for years Dan used to be awakened by nightmares. He never spoke of his experiences. Those, along with everything else, were hidden away inside his head. Throughout their marriage, Grace had continually hoped things would improve. Once the girls were in school, once she finished her own studies and got the job at the library, once the girls graduated from high school—surely then everything would be better. Year after year of hoping, of looking for signs…

It wasn't all bad. There'd been good times, too. When the girls started grade school, Grace had entered Olympic College and later commuted into Seattle to attend the University of Washington. Dan had been wonderfully supportive, working two jobs and helping with all their daughters' assorted activities.

Maryellen and Kelly had both been difficult teenagers, but
they'd turned into responsible young women. Dan deeply loved his daughters. Grace never questioned his devotion to them, but she seriously doubted he was still in love with her.

These last few years had been hard on his pride. His career was over, and his job with the tree service wasn't nearly as satisfying as logging had been. Her salary now paid a larger share of the expenses, and she suspected that bothered him—not that he'd actually said so. But then, they didn't talk about money, mainly because she avoided any subject that might distress him.

Although she was half an hour later than usual, Dan didn't comment when she walked into the kitchen, carrying her groceries.

“I'm home,” she announced unnecessarily as she set the sack on the countertop.

Dan had already positioned himself in front of the television, watching the local news. His boots were off and his sock-covered feet rested on the footstool that matched his old overstuffed chair.

“I thought we'd have taco salad for dinner. How does that sound?”

“Great,” he answered without enthusiasm.

“How was your day?”

“All right.” His eyes didn't waver from the television screen.

“Are you going to ask about mine?” she asked, growing irritated. The least he could do was show some interest in her and their life together, even if it was just a token effort.

“How was your day?” he muttered, his voice impassive.

“Terrible.”

No response.

“Aren't you going to ask why?”

“You can tell me if you want.”

The man she'd lived with for thirty-five years couldn't have cared less. Grace couldn't stand it any longer. Each attempt to draw him out was met with denial and accusation. If she was unhappy, it was her fault, not his—that was his argument the last time she'd tried to talk to him.

Walking into the living room, Grace reached for the remote control and muted the sound. Sitting down on the footstool, she faced her husband.

“What?” he demanded, annoyed that she'd disrupted his news program.

Grace stared at him. “Do you love me?”

Dan laughed as though she'd made a joke. “Love you? We've been married for thirty-five years.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“What do you want me to say? Of course I love you. I can't believe you have to ask.”

“Is there someone else?”

He sat back and looked hard at her, then shook his head. “That's a ridiculous question.”

“Is there?” she repeated.

“No. When's dinner going to be ready?”

Grace had another question first. “Do you remember the last time we made love?”

“Are you keeping track?”

She wasn't fooled. Answering a question with one of his own was a familiar trick of his. “No, but I can't remember. Can you?”

“I hate it when you do this.” He shoved the footstool forcefully away and got up, burying his hands in his pants pockets.
“If we're going to have an argument, let's make it over something worthwhile. I didn't realize you were so insecure that you need to be told I still love you.”

“What I need is some affirmation that you want to be in this marriage.”

“I had no idea you were so paranoid.” He walked to the other side of the room.

“I'm not!”

“You suggested I'm having an affair.”

She didn't believe it, and in fact, there was no real evidence, but she'd felt it might shock him enough to get his attention.

“What do you want from me?” he asked irritably.

“Some sign of
life,
” she cried.

He glared at her. “Did it ever occur to you that I might be tired?”

“Too tired to talk?”

“I've never been a conversationalist. You knew that when you married me. I'm not going to change at this stage of my life. I don't know what's bothering you, Grace, but get over it.”

“That's not fair! I'm trying to get you to take some responsibility for what's happening to us.”

“You're the one who's so unhappy.”

“Because I want more from our marriage than this.” She motioned with her arms in a futile effort to explain.

He frowned. “I'm giving you everything I have to give.”

So was she. Dear God, so was she.

“If it isn't enough, I don't know what to tell you.”

Her throat thickened with heartache. This was all there was, all there would ever be, and it
wasn't
enough.

The phone rang and they both jerked their attention toward the kitchen wall. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them aside as she hurried into the other room.

“Let the machine get it,” Dan said.

“Why, so we can talk some more?”

“No,” he responded gruffly.

“That's what I thought.” She reached for the receiver and cleared her throat before she spoke. “Hello,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm.

“Mom? Oh, Mom, you'll never guess what?” Kelly cried. “I just got the news. We're pregnant!” The joy in her youngest daughter's voice was as pure and sweet as anything Grace had ever known.