16 Lighthouse Road (9 page)

“No, I'm here to tell you they're married.”

“
Married?
” Olivia came out of her chair and just as quickly
sat down again. “
Married?
Without letting me know? Without a word until the deed is done?”

“James was afraid of how you'd react.”

“He should be a lot more afraid of what I'm going to say now,” Olivia muttered grimly. “Why would he
think
such a thing? What about Selina's family? Was it as much of a shock to them?”

“Apparently not.”

“How do you mean?”

“Selina's father insisted they be married by a priest.”

“James isn't Catholic.”

“He's converting.” Justine could see from the bewilderment in her mother's eyes that she found it difficult to take in the news. The son she'd raised Protestant had converted to Catholicism overnight.

“He must love her very much,” Olivia responded thoughtfully.

“I'm sure he does.”

“So in other words, my son and this young woman I've never met were married in a Catholic ceremony without telling anyone from our family?”

“Yes,” Justine concurred.

“Why?”

Justine held her breath for an instant. “James wanted you and Dad there, but he was afraid you might disapprove.”

“For the love of heaven, why? Because Selina's Hispanic? James knows us better than that.”

Justine shrugged. She disagreed with what her brother had done, but it was too late to worry about that.

“When will I meet her?”

“Mom, there's more.”

Olivia set the cup back into the saucer.

“Selina's pregnant, isn't she?”

Finally, Mom. It took you long enough.
“I talked to Selina myself,” Justine said cheerfully. “She sounds delightful. James is crazy about her and I'm sure she's going to make him a good wife.”

Her mother didn't look nearly as certain. “How far along?”

This was the hard part. “She's due in four months.”

“Four months,” her mother echoed. “I'm going to be a grandmother in four months?”

“It seems that way.”

Her mother didn't say anything for several moments, then her eyes glistened and Justine could tell she was struggling not to cry.

“Mom, does being a grandmother bother you so much?”

Olivia shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with the napkin. “Oh, no… I just wish my son had the courage to tell me himself.”

Justine hugged her close. “He's waiting to hear from you now. Do you want me to dial the phone for you?”

Her mother nodded. “Please.”

C
ecilia arrived for work at four, an hour earlier than she was scheduled to start. The bar at The Captain's Galley was already getting crowded. She slipped onto a padded stool, hoping for an opportunity to speak to her father.

“How you doin', kiddo?” Bobby Merrick asked from the other side of the counter. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Cecilia hated it when he treated her like a customer. “Okay, how about a cup of coffee?”

“You sure you don't want anything stronger?”

“Positive.” In some respects, her father had never grown up, still dressing and acting like he had as a young man. He had shoulder-length graying hair, and his wardrobe consisted of wildly printed shirts that he wore with jeans. While that didn't bother Cecilia, there were times she wanted and needed him to be a father. This afternoon was one of those times.

He brought her a mug of stale black coffee, waited on
someone else, then drifted back to visit with her. “Heard from your mother lately?” he asked.

After her parents' divorce, Bobby—which he insisted Cecilia call him—had left New Hampshire and moved first to New Mexico, then Arizona and had gradually drifted north to Washington State.

“She phoned this weekend.”

“She's well?” To the best of her knowledge, her parents hadn't spoken to or seen each other in years, until last May, when her mother flew out for Cecilia's wedding. Now all of a sudden Bobby was asking about her.

“Mom's doing fine.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” he said, leaning against the bar. “She's one hell of a woman.”

That being the case, Cecilia wondered why he'd abandoned them both, but she didn't want to bring up any unpleasantness. She understood her father. He couldn't tolerate conflict of any kind. He wanted people to love each other and get along, as he'd frequently explained to Cecilia. He couldn't function if anyone was upset with him; he even disliked being around other people's arguments. When a situation became too intense for him, he simply moved on.

He'd asked about her mother, but he hadn't sought her out, hadn't called or written her in years. That made sense. He didn't want to hear about difficulties or disappointments—especially if he'd caused them. When Allison Marie died, he'd stayed away, emotionally and physically. He was incapable of giving Cecilia the support she'd needed so badly; he didn't have it in him. It'd taken her time to reach this conclusion.
She could be angry with him, perhaps should have been, but it wouldn't have done any good. Bobby was Bobby, and she either had to accept him or do without a father, lame as he was in that role.

“I was out at Olympic College this afternoon.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, I signed up for an algebra class and for English.” It was the 101-level, basic stuff, but she had to start somewhere. For the first time in a very long while, she was looking toward the future instead of dwelling on the past.

“Algebra?”

“I was always good with numbers.” Math was something she enjoyed and she'd done well at it in high school. She liked the sense of order mathematics offered her. Everything fell neatly into place, and problems all had solutions. Perhaps that was what appealed to her most.

“How are you going to use algebra?”

Cecilia didn't know that yet, but this was more a refresher course than anything that would lead to a career. “It's important that I know how to solve for
x,
” she said, just for fun. “That's how I can unlock the secrets of the universe. Like Einstein, you know. It all starts with
x.
”

Bobby's eyes widened. “Really?”

It was a joke, and he'd taken her seriously. “Sure. Well, sort of.” Clearly he wouldn't have been any help with high-school math if he'd been around. “What do you think about me taking these classes?” she asked, seeking his encouragement.

His returning look was blank. “Hey, that's cool.”

Cool?

She'd done it again. Once more she'd set herself up for dis
appointment. She should've known Bobby's response would be inadequate at best.

He waited on a customer, and Cecilia slipped off the stool, ready to start her shift at the restaurant.

“We'll talk later,” Bobby called after her.

She nodded. This was about as deep as any conversation went with him. The man just didn't get it, and nothing she said or did was going to change that.

Before long, the restaurant started to fill up. Escorting customers to their tables, answering the phone and manning the cash register kept her busy. She preferred it that way. It was when she had time on her hands that her thoughts automatically drifted to Ian. The
John F. Reynolds
had pulled out of Cedar Cove two days earlier. She'd watched it on the evening news, which had shown the massive aircraft carrier gliding through the protected waters of the cove.

Cecilia had sat intently in front of the television. She couldn't have stayed away even if she'd wanted to. Ian was gone. Deployed for six months. She wondered if he'd write. She could go to the library and e-mail him herself, but she wasn't convinced she should. And yet, that was exactly what she longed to do.

Dammit, everything was so complicated! She didn't understand her own feelings, and certainly not his. All these contradictory emotions—anger and yearning and regret. Well, she had six months to think about the divorce and how she should proceed. Ian had time to think, too. His leaving was good for them both, she told herself. Still, she had to admit she hated the idea of not seeing or talking to him for half a year.

Ever since the news broadcast, Cecilia had thought about
what she should've said the day they met at the cemetery. She was sorry she'd been so quick to take offense and realized Ian hadn't been trying to upset her when he asked about the credit card. He'd been clumsy. It occurred to her later that he was no more skilled at expressing his real feelings than she was. She wished she'd hugged him before they parted. It would have felt good to have his arms around her again.

Cecilia was getting ready to leave for the night when her father came looking for her.

“Did you hear about Ian?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“He might be back.”

“Ian?”

“You said he was on the
John F. Reynolds,
didn't you?”

Cecilia frowned in confusion. “You mean the carrier's returning to Bremerton?”

“That's the way it sounds. I heard two sailors talking, and they said there's something wrong with the navigational gear.”

Cecilia knew she shouldn't be pleased, shouldn't listen to gossip, either. She'd heard rumors such as this before, and they hadn't been true.

“You can ask them yourself,” Bobby said with a shrug.

“I think I will.” She entered the bar, which by this time was thick with cigarette smoke. Two sailors sat at the counter, nursing mugs of beer.

Cecilia walked over to them. Both men turned to her, smiling in welcome.

“Bobby here just told me you have some information about the
John F. Reynolds,
” she said.

The heavier of the two nodded. “Join us?”

“No, thanks, I'm on my way home. Can you tell me what you know?”

The two shared a look of disappointment. “I got a buddy on the
John F. Reynolds
,” the first one said, “and he e-mailed me that they're having some technical problems.”

“Then it's coming back?” Eagerness crept into her voice.

“Maybe. He thinks so, but—”

“For how long?”

“He isn't sure it's returning to port. Won't know for a day or two. Why do you ask?”

“My husband's on board,” she said quickly.

Both men looked at her left hand, where she continued to wear the plain gold ring.

“You'll probably hear from him soon,” the first sailor said.

“But don't get your hopes up,” the second added.

Even though Cecilia knew he was right, she couldn't help feeling hopeful. Ian might be back—but only God and the Navy knew for how long.

 

The phone rang just as Olivia was putting the finishing touches on her makeup for her dinner date with Jack Griffin. She glanced at her watch; she still had fifteen minutes before he was due to pick her up.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully, half expecting it to be her mother. Charlotte had fallen completely under Jack's spell and had been singing his praises ever since they'd met last Friday night.

“It's Stan.”

Her ex-husband always did have a no-nonsense way about him. He got directly to the point. “You've heard from James?”

Olivia had spoken to her son and his wife the afternoon Justine had delivered their news. It had been an emotional conversation, filled with congratulations and with tears, on her part and Selina's. She'd called again after her head had cleared, asking all the questions she'd forgotten the first time. “I spoke to him twice last week,” she responded.

“Then you know.”

“That he's married and about to be a father? Yes.”

“What's all this about James converting to Catholicism?”

“You'll have to ask him yourself.” She paused, wondering why he'd brought up that particular aspect of their son's news. “You're not upset about it, are you?” Olivia would be astonished if he was. Stan had never been too concerned with religion; he didn't object when she attended worship services or brought the children, but it wasn't something that interested him. Sunday mornings were for golf games, in his view.

“I couldn't care less,” he said. “I'm just surprised.”

“That's what I thought,” she murmured. “He sounds happy, don't you think? When did you speak to him?”

Stan hesitated. “Just a few minutes ago. He seemed to be in a rush so I figured I'd get the story from you.”

Her ex-husband apparently believed she knew more than she did. “I'm not sure what to tell you. Our son is married and we're both about to become grandparents for the first time.”

Stan chuckled, sounding slightly chagrined. “I was beginning to doubt that was ever going to happen.”

The tension left her and she smiled. The circumstances weren't what she would have preferred, but she was absolutely delighted at the prospect of a grandchild.

“I suppose you're going to spoil that baby rotten.”

“I certainly plan to,” she said. But Stan was the indulgent one, and they both knew it.

“I wish James had been a bit more forthcoming with the details,” he muttered.

Olivia concurred. “I've decided to fly down once the baby's born and meet Selina and her family and welcome her to ours.”

“Good idea. I cut a five-hundred-dollar check as a wedding gift.”

Stan had always been excessively generous and she said so. “I sent flowers,” she added ruefully. “I'll bring a real wedding gift when I visit.”

“He's the first one of the kids to marry—and he's expecting a baby. It was the least I could do.”

The doorbell chimed and Olivia was surprised to realize they'd been talking for fifteen minutes. “That's my dinner date,” she said.

“You're dating?” There was no jealousy in the question, just curiosity.

Olivia laughed softly. “Don't sound so shocked.”

“I'm not. Who's the lucky fellow?”

“Jack Griffin. He's new in town.”

“Don't keep him waiting, then.”

“Goodbye, Stan. It was good to talk to you.”

“You, too, Olivia, and listen…”

“Yes?” she said, eager to get off the phone.

“Have a good time. You deserve a decent man in your life.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and replaced the receiver. She glanced down at the phone, overwhelmed by an unexpected rush of regret. They'd had a good marriage once…. The divorce had been final years ago, but she'd never stopped
loving Stan. They'd had their problems—every marriage did—only she'd believed that the bond between them was strong enough to survive a crisis. Unfortunately she'd been wrong. Still, she'd always feel connected to him; they shared children and a history, and nothing could change that.

She hurried to answer the door. Jack stood there, looking the same way he did every time she saw him. He wore a raincoat, black slacks and a blue shirt with the top two buttons left unfastened. She was beginning to wonder if he owned more than one set of clothes.

“Ah,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her. “You look fabulous. Wow.”

Assuming something formal, Olivia had gone to a lot of trouble. The navy blue wool dress was new; the straight skirt was a flattering mid-calf length, and the bodice, decorated with a row of gold buttons, was formfitting. She purposely wore heels and dark hosiery, contrasting the outfit with the pearls her father had bought in Japan fifty years ago.

“Am I overdressed?” She asked the obvious. They hadn't discussed where they'd be dining.

“No,” he said. “I'm underdressed.”

“Don't be ridiculous. Where are we going for dinner?” She should have asked much sooner.

Looking embarassed, he told her, “I was thinking about the Taco Shack.”

The restaurant, on the highway outside town, was a roadhouse of sorts, where patrons ordered at the counter and served themselves. The food was some of the best in the area; it was also fast and cheap. The salsa was freshly made every day and known all over the county.

“I'll change,” Olivia offered quickly, and left the room before Jack could protest. So much for a hot date. She'd been thinking they'd linger over wine and candlelight, and he'd envisioned tacos and margaritas. Fortunately she was a flexible person.

When she returned, Olivia had changed into blue-green plaid wool slacks and a matching green turtleneck sweater. “That's better,” she said, hoping to put him at ease.