Love Letters: A Rose Harbor Novel (24 page)

He sipped his coffee, and Ellie noticed that his forehead had creased with a thoughtful frown.

“Whatever you heard about me couldn’t have been flattering.”

“I heard next to nothing,” she told him. As a schoolgirl, she’d asked numerous times about her father, but her questions had either been ignored or gone unanswered.

“In other words, as far as you were concerned, I was a nonentity then.” A pained look came over him.

“No,” she said. “Twice, once when I was young and again later, I asked Mom to find you because I wanted to write you a letter.” She’d asked a lot more often, wanting details about her father, but quickly learned Scott Reynolds was a subject best avoided, especially around her grandparents.

“How old were you?”

“Around five, I think, the first time. I wanted a certain doll for my birthday, and in my mind I thought you would want to buy it for me.”

“Did you write me?” he asked. He leaned closer to hear her answer.

“No, it wasn’t necessary. Grandpa bought me the doll.” Ellie remembered how upset her grandmother had been when Ellie had announced she wanted to write her daddy a letter. She was too young to remember much of the incident other than her seeing the tears in her mother’s eyes that night when Virginia tucked Ellie in
bed and listened to her prayers. Ellie had reached up and wiped the tear off her mother’s cheek. When she’d asked her mother why she was crying, Virginia had hugged her and said that she was sad. Ellie had never understood why her mother would be unhappy until now.

“When I graduated from high school I wanted to write you then, too,” she explained.

“And your mother wouldn’t let you?” Again the pained look showed in his eyes.

“She claimed she didn’t know where or how to reach you.”

“I’d left Oregon by that time and moved to Cedar Cove.” His hands cradled the coffee mug, and he looked down into the milky liquid. “I remarried when you were around three. I was lonely, and Deana was a widow who had her hands full with two young boys.”

“Tom and his brother.”

“Yes.”

“Did they know about me?”

“No, but every year on your birthday I brought home a cake. They never did figure it out, and that was all right by me. Talking about the daughter I’d never had the opportunity to know would have been too painful.”

“But you told Tom.” She found it difficult to say his name, seeing how he’d used and manipulated her.

“After Deana passed away so unexpectedly, I realized life holds no guarantees. I told Tom about you and how I’d failed you. My deepest regret was not fighting to have you in my life.”

“And so Tom took the matter upon himself …”

“I would have stopped him had I known what he intended to do,” Scott assured her. “Which, I think, he must have suspected, because he didn’t say a word to me until this morning.”

“He didn’t say a word to me, either,” she muttered, with more than a hint of bitterness.

“Please don’t be angry with Tom,” her father pleaded. “I believe he genuinely cares for you, Ellie.”

Ellie shook her head, refusing to believe it.

Her father held up his hand. “I’ll leave that for the two of you to settle.”

As far as Ellie was concerned, the matter was already resolved in her mind. From this point forward, she never wanted to see or speak to Tom again. What he’d done wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

“Tom was afraid I’d never get the courage to reach out to you, and, sad as this is to admit, he’s probably right.” He swallowed tightly and then boldly met her look. “Can you forgive me for all these years of silence, Ellie?”

Ellie wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “I’d like to have my father in my life.”

“I’d enjoy getting to know my daughter, too.” He smiled then, a genuine smile. “Now tell me everything.”

“Everything?”

“What do you do for a living? Do you like to read fiction? Do you play the piano?” The questions rolled off his tongue with such ease Ellie had to believe he’d stored them up for years.

Taking a breath, she answered him, one question after another. “I’m part of a company that helps people organize their homes or businesses and sometimes their lives. And yes, I love fiction. I’m constantly reading. And I do play the piano.”

“Me, too.” Scott beamed at her answer. “Who was your first love?”

“A boy named Dusty, and he kissed me when we were both four years old. He promised to marry me, but he went the way of all my love interests.” She couldn’t keep from laughing.

“Did you graduate at the top of your class?”

“I did,” she told him.

“I knew it. Your mother was the intelligent one. Did you know she was valedictorian of her high school class? Of course you did. She never liked to brag about her high IQ, but your grandfather found a reason to bring it up in every conversation. He wasn’t a bad man, your grandfather, just overly protective.”

They spoke for a full hour and went through two more cups of coffee. “Can I see you later?” Scott asked. “Can we meet again? I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Ellie assured him. It wouldn’t be long before she spoke to her mother, and Ellie realized this wasn’t something she could keep from Virginia. If Scott had regrets regarding his relationship with her, she wondered how he felt about the woman he’d left behind. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell my mother?” For the very briefest of moments, Scott’s eyes brightened, and then his face went taut as he shook his head. “No … nothing. But please let her know I wish her well.”

“Mom never remarried, you know.”

His head came up, and it was impossible to ignore the surprise in his eyes. “Never?”

“She dated Wally for years.”

“Walter Keller,” her father said, frowning. “That’s the man her parents wanted her to marry. What happened?”

“He died a few years back of a heart attack. It was very sudden and very sad.”

“Why didn’t your mother marry him? I assumed that once I was out of the picture he’d make his move.”

Ellie didn’t know the answer. “You’ll need to ask her. I think Wally would have liked it if they’d married, but frankly I don’t think Mom was interested.”

Her father shook his head as if he didn’t know what to say.

When it was time to leave Scott asked, “Did you park close by?”

“No, I walked down from where I’m staying.”

“Rose Harbor Inn?” Scott said. “Tom mentioned it.”

Ellie stiffened just hearing Tom’s name. Scott pressed his hand on her forearm and looked her straight in the eye. “Give Tom a chance, Ellie. At least hear him out. His heart was in the right place.”

“Maybe I will,” she muttered, “but not right away. I need to think this through.”

It seemed like Scott wanted to say more but stopped himself.
They set a time and place to meet again later for dinner, and then it was time to go. Scott paid for their coffee and held open the door for her. He was a good-looking man, her father, and because her attention was focused on him, she didn’t notice who stood right outside the deli.

“Ellie.”

It was Tom. His eyes held hers for the longest moment. “Can we talk?” he asked. “Please let me explain.”

Ellie looked toward Scott, unsure what to do. His face was blank, giving her no indication of his expectations.

It would be easy to give in, especially now that she’d spoken to her father. She wasn’t sure she could trust Tom again, nor was she completely convinced she should trust Scott.

“No …” she whispered. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’ve said everything I have to say to you already, Tom. Let’s leave it at that.”

I left Mark’s house and headed down the hill to the Saturday farmers’ market, keen on picking up a supply of fresh blueberries and a few baked goods and what I needed for the dinner with my family. I’d meant to get there earlier but had gotten distracted.

Rover enjoyed visiting the market; he got the opportunity to meet up with a number of his dog friends. Several of the vendors were dog owners, and the local animal shelter maintained a booth at the Saturday market. We stopped by each week, and Rover and his friends sniffed butts!

He tugged against the leash in his eagerness to get down the hill, his ears alert. The market is set up in the waterfront park area behind the library. I saw that the vendor from Hood Canal was selling fresh clams and oysters this week in addition to Hood Canal shrimp.

Personally, I have a weakness for steamed clams and decided to
splurge on myself. I’d steam them for dinner and save the broth for homemade clam chowder later in the week. I hoped he had fresh salmon in addition to the other seafood. I’d make a green salad from the lettuce in my garden and dig up a few new potatoes. My mind was so preoccupied with all that I needed to purchase that I walked right past Grace Harding.

“Jo Marie,” she said, stopping me.

“Grace. Hello. My goodness, I don’t know where my head is,” I said, laughing at myself.

“How are you?” Grace asked, her own arms loaded down with produce and fresh flowers.

“Great.” We saw each other in passing once or twice a week, but it’d been a while since we’d spent any real time together. Life gets busy for her and for me. Grace was the head librarian and a wise friend who’d helped me through the shock and grief when my husband’s remains had been positively identified. I’d waited more than a year after his death to receive the final word, much the same as Grace had waited to learn the fate of her first husband, Dan Sherman.

Rover barked, demanding Grace’s attention. In her spare time, Grace volunteered at the local animal shelter. She was the one responsible for bringing Rover into my life. She didn’t have Beau, her golden retriever, with her, and Rover seemed disappointed.

“I mean how are you, really?” she asked again.

Unsure what to tell her, I shrugged. “I’m doing better, I think.” I’d had almost two years to get accustomed to widowhood. Time, however, did little to relieve that deep sense of loss and pain. Even now Paul remained in the forefront of my mind and I didn’t expect that to change anytime soon. Not a day passed when he wasn’t with me in one way or another. I often found myself talking to him almost as if I expected him to answer. I thought to mention the little things—that felt like big things—that I’d noticed I’d lost regarding my husband, but this wasn’t the time or the place.

“And how is Rover?” Grace asked, directing the question to my canine friend.

Rover sat on his haunches, and Grace bent down and rubbed his ears. He stretched his chin toward her, and Grace obligingly ran her hand down the underside of his chin.

Looking back at me, she said, “I read an interesting article recently having to do with therapy dogs.”

“Seeing Eye Dogs?” I asked.

“Well, I suppose a few of them might be, but this had to do with men returning from Iraq and Afghanistan who’d suffered traumatic physical and emotional wounds. The military had taken to giving them therapy dogs as companions.”

Rover had certainly been a companion to me.

“The article said these dogs were extremely helpful to these men and women, offering companionship and comfort. The piece called them ‘comfort dogs.’ ” Her gaze held mine. “I remember you telling me the story of you and Rover and how
he
chose you.”

“Rover is my comfort dog,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark was at the market, weaving his way between booths, chatting with Bob Beldon. The two were clearly friends and seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

“I had Buttercup,” Grace said, redirecting my attention back to her. Right away I noticed that her eyes had grown thoughtful and sad.

“Buttercup?” I repeated. Beau was the only pet I knew about.

“She died a few years back, and it nearly broke my heart. The interesting part is that I got Buttercup through Charlotte Rhodes, Judge Olivia’s mother, shortly after Dan disappeared. Olivia’s my best friend. Buttercup was
my
comfort dog.” Grace glanced at her wrist. “Oh my goodness, I’m late. My husband and I are babysitting grandchildren this afternoon. I better scoot. Good to see you,” she said and gave me a quick hug.

Then before I could say anything more she was off, rushing
toward the library parking lot. I debated whether to seek Mark out or not and felt I wouldn’t.

Rover regarded me as if he, too, was wrestling with the decision. Once Grace was gone, I headed toward the fruit vendor and purchased an abundant supply of freshly picked blueberries and had to resist munching on them. They were ripe and oversized, and sweet. The farmer told me she’d picked them that very morning. I’d use them for more than the blueberry muffins. Blueberry pie was one of my brother’s favorites, and I’d bake one for him for our Sunday dinner.

I had the blueberries in a bag over my arm when I saw Corrie McAfee. She waved, and, because my hands were full, I nodded back. I pulled on Rover’s leash when I saw her weaving through the crowd to get to me.

“Jo Marie,” Corrie said, sounding a bit breathless. “You’re just the person I was hoping to see.”

“Oh?”

“I had a chat this morning with Peggy Beldon.”

I knew the two women were best friends and were often together.