50 Harbor Street (16 page)

R
achel tried, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d learned from Carol Greendale on Christmas Day. Nate was the son of a powerful East Coast politician. She was living in a dream world if she had any hopes for this relationship. The sooner she cut her losses, the better. And she decided to do just that, sending Nate a terse but perfectly polite e-mail. She hadn’t turned on her computer since.

Friday night, Bruce phoned her at the salon and suggested they get together. Rachel’s first inclination was to decline. She wasn’t in the mood to be sociable, but on second thought, she didn’t go out that often. Bruce was usually good company.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t seem full of enthusiasm, either.

Half the time Rachel figured the only reason he called her was that he didn’t know any other women. But that wasn’t true; he knew plenty of women. She suspected he had an irrational fear of unmarried females trying to trap him into marriage. That wasn’t an issue with her and he knew he was safe.

“Want to go to a movie?” she asked.

“We could.”

“Where’s Jolene going to be?” She tried to think of something that might appeal to both of them.

“Slumber party.”

“Dinner?” Rachel suggested.

They didn’t even talk in full sentences anymore. They were like an old married couple so attuned to each other that their communication was a form of shorthand.

“Sure.”

That was fine with Rachel, too. “Where?”

“You choose.”

“Taco Shack.”

“Meet you there?”

“Fine. Six?”

“Great.”

By the time she left the salon and drove out to the Taco Shack, Bruce had arrived and scouted out a table. The Taco Shack was a popular Friday-night spot. The food was good and plentiful and, best of all, cheap.

“I already ordered for you,” he said when she joined him.

“How’d you know what I wanted?”

“Cheese enchiladas. That’s what you order every time.”

“I do?” Rachel hadn’t realized that. As a matter of fact, she read the entire wall-mounted menu on each visit. Apparently she was even more predictable than she’d known.

She got herself a Diet Coke—Bruce had a bottle of water—and their dinner was delivered two minutes later. If she ordered the same thing every time, then so did Bruce. Without instructions, the server set the cheese plate in front of her and the chicken enchiladas in front of Bruce.

As though synchronized, they both reached for their forks. “Do you want to watch a DVD later?” Rachel asked between bites.

“What have you got?”

She named a few movies that had been going around the salon. The girls at Get Nailed had a better system than most rental places, and if a DVD didn’t get returned in a timely manner, the teasing was ruthless. Rachel had borrowed several for the weekend, a couple of comedies and an emotional drama, reputedly a tear-jerker.

“I haven’t seen any of those.”

They decided on one of the comedies, then ate in silence for a few minutes.

“Have you heard from lover boy?” Bruce asked, picking up his water.

“If you mean Nate, then no, I haven’t.”

“No?” This seemed to surprise Bruce.

“I ended it.”

Bruce set down his water and studied her. “This is news. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You didn’t write this guy a Dear John letter for no reason. That’s not like you.”

“I e-mailed him.”

“Okay, a Dear John e-mail. Tell me what’s going on.”

Bruce was right; she hadn’t done this lightly. She’d thought about the situation for almost two weeks and concluded that it couldn’t work. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss it.”

“All right.”

Rachel’s appetite was gone, and she pushed her food around while Bruce finished his. He moved his empty plate aside. “This is bothering you, isn’t it?”

Bruce was stating the obvious, a typical male trait in her experience. Because she found it impossible to conceal her emotions, she simply nodded.

They left, and he followed her back to her rental house, parking at the curb. She unlocked the front door and let him inside. The first thing she noticed in the dark foyer was the red light flashing on her answering machine. Instead of listening to her messages, she turned on the house lights and drew the living room drapes, then brought out the DVD they’d selected.

While he put the disk in the slot, she poured them each a glass of wine. He liked the reds, especially merlot, and so did she. Tucking her legs under her, Rachel sat on the sofa. Bruce sat next to her.

The previews had just started when the phone rang. Unfolding her legs and setting her wineglass on the coffee table with a sigh, she hurried into the hallway to answer it. She wasn’t expecting any calls, but there was always the possibility that Jolene might be trying to get in touch with her father.

Using the remote, Bruce sped ahead to the movie portion and hit the pause button.

“Hello,” she said, slightly out of breath.

“Rachel, it’s Nate.”

“Nate?”

Bruce’s eyes flew to hers and she whirled around, unable to look at him while talking to another man. She instantly felt guilty, although she told herself there wasn’t a single reason she should.

“Thank heaven you’re home. I’ve been trying for the last half hour. Where were you? Damn, I wish you’d turn on your cell phone.”

“Did you call to yell at me?”

“No, no. I just want to know what the hell is going on.” His words were followed by a slight echo. “Why won’t you answer my e-mails?”

“I’ve already said everything I feel is necessary. I think we should end this right now.”

“Fine, whatever, but the least you can do is tell me why.”

Rachel didn’t want to talk about this now, especially with Bruce listening to every word.

“Is there someone else? It’s that Bruce guy, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Did I do anything?”

“No.” She twisted the cord around her elbow.

“Do I have to play a guessing game with you?”

“No…I found out you’re Congressman Olsen’s son.”

Her announcement was met with a brief hesitation. “That’s a problem?”

“Yes!” she cried. “It’s a very big problem.” He needed to understand what that information had done to her. And if it wasn’t a problem, why hadn’t he told her himself, instead of leaving her to discover it on her own?

“Does this change who I am?”

“No,” she acknowledged reluctantly.

“Then I don’t see why it’s a problem.”

“I do,” she said. “You’re a congressman’s son and I work in a salon doing nails and hair.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“If you don’t know, then I can’t explain it.”

“I’m Nate Olsen, a Warrant Officer in the United States Navy. Why can’t you accept that and that alone?”

“Because.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Why did you enlist?” she demanded.

Her question seemed to take him off guard. “I had something to prove.”

“It’s the same with me, isn’t it? You’re using me in the same way.”

“No.”

“I’m just one more stone to throw at your father. I can just imagine what he’d think if he learned about me.”

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks.”

“Well, I do,” she said forcefully.

“Then you aren’t the woman I thought you were.”

She braced herself against the wall. “No, I guess I’m not.”

He didn’t have anything more to add, it seemed. She heard a soft goodbye, followed by a click. He’d disconnected. The phone droned in her ear, and a long moment passed before she replaced the receiver.

When she turned around, Bruce was standing in the doorway. “You okay?” he asked.

She was going to lie, to shrug it off, but couldn’t. “No, not really,” she finally said.

He slipped his arms around her for a gentle hug and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“J
ack!” Olivia complained, sitting on the end of their bed. “When are you going to start using that treadmill?” She hated to nag, but he’d been procrastinating ever since Christmas morning, when she’d unveiled her gift. Although he’d made an effort to look pleased, she’d seen the disappointment in his eyes.

“I will,” he said, sauntering out from the bathroom in his underwear. “Soon.”

“You promised to start last week.”

“I know, I know.” He had the resigned look of a convicted man on his way out of the courtroom and into jail. His eyes brightened. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Jack, you know darned well that I got you a pair of sweats. Don’t tell me you forgot, either.”

“I didn’t forget,” he admitted, “but I don’t feel right sweating in brand-new clothes.”

“Jack Griffin, that’s the most ridiculous excuse I’ve ever heard. Enough. Exercise.”

“Now?” he gasped.

“Now!”

“But I’ve got to get to the office.”

“Not until you’ve walked a mile, minimum.”

“A
mile?
”

“You’ll be too tired tonight after work.”

“I might not be,” he said hopefully, looking more than a little ridiculous as he pouted while standing in their bedroom wearing only his underwear and dark socks.

“You’re walking, Jack.”

Olivia was through listening to his excuses. The week following Christmas was too soon, Jack had said, but right after New Year’s, he’d be on that treadmill every morning. Olivia had foolishly believed him. It was already the second week of January and he had yet to plug it in. Olivia wasn’t leaving this room until he began walking.

“I’m actually not feeling that well.”

She rolled her eyes.

Grumbling under his breath, Jack opened his bottom drawer and pulled out the gray sweatpants and shirt. “I hope you’re happy,” he muttered as he returned to the bathroom.

“You’ll feel much better when you finish.”

“If I live.”

“Very funny,” she said. “Start slow and increase your speed gradually. Don’t overdo it,” she advised. He refused to look at her, but Olivia felt only mildly guilty when she followed him into the bathroom. “Grace and I complain every week about aerobics class, but we both feel good afterward. You will, too.”

“If you say so.” Jack sat on the edge of the bathtub to lace up his sneakers.

“Tell you what,” Olivia said. “I’ll make you breakfast while you’re walking.”

Jack smiled for the first time that morning. “Bacon, eggs, two slices of toast. Wheat,” he added, knowing she disapproved of white bread.

“Oatmeal.”

“Oatmeal,” he spewed back.

“With raisins, but only if you stop your complaining.”

The grumbling was back and, despite herself, Olivia laughed. He was being so childish about this.

“Call the office for me, would you?” he said as he walked back into the bedroom, giving her a list of instructions. One would think he was going to be away for a week instead of an hour. Standing in front of the treadmill, he stared at it, as if searching for one last chance to avoid this.

After a moment, he apparently reached a decision and plugged it in, then stepped onto the flatbed. Frowning at the display panel, he began pushing buttons.

“Don’t you want to read the instruction book first?” she suggested.

He ignored her. The machine made a loud humming noise and started moving, nearly throwing Jack off his feet. Olivia swallowed a hoot of laughter, knowing he wouldn’t appreciate her reaction.

Given no option but to move with the machine, he began walking. But after a few minutes, he was huffing and puffing, reconfirming the fact that he was in terrible shape. Olivia wanted to tell him to slow down, but she could see Jack wasn’t in a listening frame of mind.

Retreating to the kitchen, she heard the hum of the treadmill in the background as she put water on the stove to boil for his oatmeal. He might complain, but she noticed that he’d finished the entire bowl the last time she’d made it.

Next, she reached for the phone and called the newspaper office. When Steve Fullerton, the assistant editor, answered, she rattled off the instructions Jack had given her. By then, the water was bubbling and she added the oats and turned off the burner to let them cook slowly.

Wondering how Jack was doing, she went back to the bed
room. As she rounded the corner, she realized he’d quit already. He’d only been at it for fifteen minutes. She hoped that in time he’d increase his stamina. She also hoped it wouldn’t be a battle every morning the way it had been today.

When she entered the bedroom, Olivia found Jack sitting on the treadmill, dragging in deep breaths. His color was a sickly gray and he was sweating profusely.

“Jack?” she whispered and hurried toward him. “Jack? Jack, are you all right?”

He pressed his hand over his heart, shaking his head.

“I’m calling 9-1-1.”

“No,” he gasped. “I’ll be all right. In a minute.”

Olivia wouldn’t chance that. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. She punched out the three numbers.

“9-1-1 Emergency,” a woman’s voice answered.

“This is Judge Olivia Lockhart,” she said as authoritatively as she could. “I need an aid car at 16 Lighthouse Road. My husband is having a heart attack.” She heard the panic in her own voice but couldn’t restrain it. It felt as if her own heart was in danger of failing.

“Judge Lockhart, please stay on the line.”

“No—my husband needs me. Just hurry! In the name of God, please hurry.” She dropped the phone, remembering something she’d read months ago—that an aspirin might help a heart attack victim.

Her hands trembled as she took the aspirin bottle from the kitchen cabinet and shook it into the palm of her hand. Several tablets tumbled out and in her panic, she flung what she didn’t need onto the floor.

Jack looked bad when she returned, lying prone and gasping for air. “Jack, oh, Jack,” she sobbed. She managed to get him to swallow the aspirin. A siren wailed in the distance, and she ran to unlock the front door.

An aid car parked outside the house and two EMTs dashed toward the front steps, carrying their equipment. Olivia’s relief was so great she nearly sank to her knees.

From that point on, events blurred in her mind. Both men worked on Jack for the first few minutes. He was unconscious by then and for one horrifying second she thought he’d died. Terror gripped her. She couldn’t breathe. Before she’d even noticed what was happening, Jack had been loaded onto a gurney and transported to the aid car.

“We’re losing him!” one of the technicians shouted.

“No!” Olivia screamed as she stood in the middle of her yard. “No—” Unable to watch, she covered her face. The aid car sped off.

She went back into the house, found her car keys and realized how badly she was shaking. In this condition, she’d be incapable of driving. It took three tries to dial Grace’s home number correctly.

“Olivia,” her best friend said when she answered. “I was almost out the door. You’re lucky you caught me.”

“Jack—heart attack.” The three words fought their way through the tightness in her throat.

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

It was the longest five minutes of Olivia’s life. All she could think about was the day her son Jordan had drowned. She remembered what a lovely August afternoon it had been when the sheriff’s deputy came to the house. At first she didn’t believe him—didn’t
want
to believe him. Then she’d wanted her husband with her as quickly as possible.

The officer had called Stan, but her husband worked in Seattle. It took him nearly two hours to get home. Two hellish hours as the reality of their son’s death started to set in. Olivia
remembered how she’d gathered Justine and James around her. The three of them had sobbed and clung to one another. Grace had been the first person Olivia had phoned that day, too. She’d come over and sat with her and the children until Stan arrived.

Olivia would never forget the wrenching ache in her stomach that horrible day in August and now she experienced it all over again. She didn’t know if Jack was dead or alive.

Jack hadn’t wanted to get on the treadmill. He’d tried every excuse, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Oh, no, she knew best and she wasn’t going to let him off. Then she remembered that he’d claimed he wasn’t feeling well. She’d insisted despite that. In fact, she’d badgered him into it.

Grace pulled up, and the moment Olivia saw her friend, she sprinted across the lawn, weeping and nearly hysterical.

“Get in,” Grace said. “We can talk on the way to the hospital.”

“I—I don’t think he made it,” she sobbed.

“We won’t know until we get there.”

Her dearest friend was the voice of reason, but Olivia was afraid to hope, afraid to believe that Jack would be given a second chance. Losing him now, so soon after finding love again, was unthinkable. Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel to her.

“Did they take him to Harrison?” Grace asked as she negotiated the curves on the winding road at well above the speed limit.

“I—no, the new medical clinic, I think.” All of a sudden she didn’t know. The Emergency Medical Technicians must have told her, but at that point she’d been beyond comprehension.

Sure enough, the aid car was parked outside the new Cedar Cove facility. Olivia hurried inside and to the front desk. “My husband is here—Jack Griffin.”

“Yes, Mrs. Griffin, the doctors are working on him now. If you’ll have a seat, they’ll be with you as soon as they can.”

“No,” Olivia argued. This woman didn’t seem to understand that the man behind those closed doors was her
husband.
Damn the rules and regulations! Jack could be dying and it was her right as his wife to be with him. In all the years she’d served as a family court judge, Olivia had never used her position for personal gain. In this instance, however, she didn’t care. She refused to remain silent.

“I’m a judge. And I need to be with my husband.”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t allow that.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice raised and nearly hysterical. “I need to be with my husband!”

Grace stepped up to the counter and placed her arms around Olivia. “The doctors will be out shortly,” she said.

Olivia stood her ground. “I want to be with him.”

“You will be,” Grace promised in soothing tones.

“He needs me.”

“Right now he needs those doctors more. It won’t be long, Olivia.” Grace led her back to the waiting area and with only a token protest, Olivia sat down.

An eternity passed. Two eternities.

Charlotte and Ben arrived.

“Ben has a police scanner,” Charlotte explained. “When we heard the dispatcher say 16 Lighthouse Road, we knew it must be Jack.”

Charlotte sat next to her on one side, Grace on the other. Each held her hand.

When the physician finally emerged, Olivia saw that his name tag said Dr. Timmons. He walked over to her.

She stood, mentally preparing herself for the worst.

But Dr. Timmons gave her a reassuring smile. “We have him stabilized.”

“Thank God.” Her relief was so great she felt her knees buckle. Thankfully Grace was there to support her.

“He’s a fortunate man. Another five or ten minutes, and there would’ve been no saving him.”

Olivia stared at the physician blankly. “What do you mean?”

“Without the medical clinic here in Cedar Cove, your husband would have died on his way to the hospital.”

“Oh.” Olivia was only beginning to grasp the implications of what he was telling her.

Dr. Timmons continued. “We’ll need to transport him to Harrison Hospital, where he can be examined by a heart specialist.”

“Of course.”

“There’ll be some paperwork for you to sign before we do that.”

She nodded, and remembered how embarrassed she’d been when her mother and Ben and their friends from the Senior Center had been arrested for unlawful assembly after demonstrating for a medical clinic.

Little did Olivia realize that her mother’s demand for a medical facility in town would one day save Jack’s life.