Love Letters: A Rose Harbor Novel (6 page)

Maggie reminded Roy of the incident. He chuckled and shook his head. “He’s going to be a good little player.”

“I think Collin might even be more athletically inclined than Jaxon.”

Roy thought for a moment and then shrugged. “It’s hard to tell, but what I do know is that Jax plays with heart.”

“He does everything with heart.” Their sons were true joys. Maggie loved being a stay-at-home mother. It was difficult to watch Roy work as many hours as he did. He was often gone twelve to fourteen hours a day. But she doubted that his hours would change if she worked outside the home. Lately … no, she wouldn’t let her mind dwell on that; she couldn’t, or she’d slowly go mad.

Roy was a man driven to succeed. Maggie felt it was her job to be his support, his helper, and to be at home for their children, especially in these formative early years. Thankfully, Roy’s business enabled her to do that. Many times, especially recently, she didn’t think that Roy understood her role in his home or life. From the outside looking in, it wasn’t much. She didn’t get a paycheck, didn’t manage his schedule or handle the paperwork. Her role was to simply see to everything else so that Roy could go off to the job without worrying about what was happening at home. She took care of the house and the boys, and offered her husband encouragement and emotional support.

They talked nonstop about the boys while they enjoyed their lunch. Maggie found that she could laugh, and it felt amazingly good. She could almost forget …

All at once, Roy went quiet. “Do you realize all we’ve talked about are Jaxon and Collin?”

“We mentioned your parents,” she reminded him.

“True,” he agreed, “but only in relation to them staying with the boys.”

He was right. “What would you like to talk about?” she asked, not understanding his concern. To her, the important fact was that
they were communicating. They’d done far too little of that in the last few months.

“It’s good, I suppose,” Roy said. “I love my sons, and I know you do, too. You’re a good mother, Maggie, a very good mother. Our sons are lucky to have you.”

Roy didn’t pay compliments easily, and his words meant a great deal. She nearly choked up when she spoke. “Thank you. And you’re a wonderful father.” It wasn’t an exaggeration or a ricocheted compliment. She meant every word.

“We need to take the boys out of the equation for a few minutes,” Roy suggested. “You wanted this time away for us to work on our marriage, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s talk.”

“Okay.” The word stuck in her throat like a peach pit.

Her husband was silent for a long moment. “We’ve both made mistakes.”

She looked away and nodded. “I don’t want to focus on our mistakes. At this point, it isn’t going to help. Instead of tearing each other down, I’d like to look for ways to build each other up.”

Roy went silent, then pushed his half-eaten lunch aside. “You’re right.”

She smiled. It was far too infrequent for her husband to admit she was right about anything, especially lately.

“What’s that smile about?” Roy asked. “And don’t bother denying it. I saw you grin just now. Is it because I was willing to admit you’re right?”

She blinked several times and, try as she might, couldn’t squelch a smile. “Okay,” Maggie said, “let’s focus here. We agree; we love our children. This time is for us, though, just you and me. Talking about the boys is off-limits.”

“Okay.”

They smiled across the table at each other. Maggie thought to
mention the work project that had taken up so much of Roy’s efforts in the last three months. Unfortunately, that led to other, more sensitive, subjects she’d hoped to avoid. Katherine, for one. She bristled just thinking of the other woman. No, the subject of Katherine was definitely one to be avoided, and unfortunately the other woman was tied to the job.

Roy looked like he was about to say something important. He opened his mouth and then quickly closed it as if he, too, had thought better of it.

They sat in silence for a full five minutes. As each second ticked away, Maggie had the sad realization that while they deeply loved each other and their two sons, they had become strangers. Their relationship had dissolved to the point that they lived together and shared a bed, but they had become little more than roommates.

Maggie felt her heart swell inside her chest as the sadness nearly overwhelmed her. “You used to talk to me,” she whispered, gazing down at her plate.

“Oh come on, Maggs, don’t go there.”

“Okay, fine, I won’t.”

“This is exactly what I feared would happen; you’re going to use this weekend to remind me what a horrible husband I am and how badly I’ve let you down.”

“No … I don’t want that.”

“Fine, I’ll admit it. I’m a rotten husband, but the truth is, you haven’t been much of a wife, either.”

His words came at her like nails out of a roofer’s gun, striking her squarely in the chest. The pain was so sharp and the hit so solidly on target that she could barely breathe.

Roy instantly looked contrite. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I think you did,” she whispered, and reached for her purse. She was about to slide out of the booth when her phone rang. She hesitated, and reached inside her purse and froze. The phone chirped
again, louder this time, more insistent, as if the message was highly important, urgent.

Maggie read the name on caller ID and then glanced toward her husband. “It’s your mother.”

Roy frowned and scooted from the booth. “She wouldn’t be phoning this soon if it wasn’t serious.”

After my conversation with Peggy, I had the feeling that I’d given my friend the wrong impression regarding my curiosity about Mark. I loved my husband, and that wasn’t going to change. I thought about the letter I received from him, the one he’d asked a friend to give me in case something happened to him while he was on his tour of duty. I kept his last letter to me in the nightstand next to my bed. I read it shortly after I got definitive word that Paul wouldn’t be returning from Afghanistan. His remains had been identified and returned to Washington, D.C., where he was buried in Arlington National Cemetery. I’d attended the ceremony early in June. I hadn’t looked at the letter since that time. I simply couldn’t bear to read Paul’s last words, his love letter to me, again.

For a number of months after I learned Paul and several others had gone down in a helicopter I physically felt his presence with me.
He seemed close and so very real. It was almost as if I could reach out and touch him. In retrospect, I believe that was my mind’s way of dealing with this overwhelming sense of grief. I so desperately wanted Paul to be alive that I conjured him up in my mind. At times I could almost hear him speak … not with audible words that I heard with my ears, but words that spoke to my heart. That hadn’t happened in a long while now, not since I received his letter. I missed that. At times I desperately longed for another chance to feel him with me … and didn’t. Instead, I was alone, so very alone.

In an effort to distract myself from thinking about Paul, I busied myself with projects I’d been putting off. Although it was summer, I tackled spring-cleaning chores that I hadn’t quite gotten around to doing. Today it was the kitchen cupboards. I took the glasses down from a cupboard and set them along the countertop.

“Need any help with that?” I turned around to find Mark standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen.

I hesitated, standing on top of the step stool I kept in the kitchen. The time Mark found me on a ladder, he’d nearly gone ballistic. We’d had a terrible argument about it. He’d ended up walking off the job and I’d threatened to sue him. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the anger to cool on both sides. Since then, Mark had eased up on his dictatorial ways and I’d stopped making threats. We’d treaded pretty lightly with each other ever since.

“I’m tackling some spring cleaning.”

“It’s August,” he reminded me. “It seems you’ve been doing a lot of spring cleaning lately.”

“So I’m a tad bit late.” I wasn’t making excuses, although if he asked, I had several good ones. I didn’t know why it concerned him, anyway. So what if I was behind schedule? “You know what they say: Better late than never.”

He eyed the step stool and seemed to debate whether he should say anything. Apparently, he decided against it. He reached for a mug sitting on the crowded counter and headed toward my coffeepot. “Mind if I help myself?”

“Go ahead.”

“Should I brew you one while I’m here?”

It seemed Mark had something on his mind; otherwise, he wouldn’t be interested in coffee or in me joining him. If I knew anything about Mark, it was that he wasn’t one to sit around and shoot the breeze. Nor was he one who indulged in idle conversation. If he had something on his mind, it didn’t stay there long.

“Coffee?” he repeated, holding up a second mug.

I didn’t realize that I hadn’t answered him. “Sure, I could use a break.”

After he brewed two cups he walked outside with his coffee, which led me to believe I was supposed to follow him, so I did. I found him on the back deck off the living area, where my guests most often congregated. He leaned against the railing with his elbows braced against the freshly painted surface. “It sure is a beautiful afternoon.” His gaze scanned the waterfront.

“It is.” August was often like this. The green trees and the crystal-blue waters never seemed more vibrant. I hadn’t traveled extensively, but Paul had, and he’d reassured me that there was no place on earth as lush and gorgeous as Puget Sound when the sun was overhead.

I didn’t figure Mark had come to discuss the weather; I had known him long enough to understand that he didn’t like to be rushed. He’d tell me whatever was on his mind when he was good and ready.

“Did your guests arrive?”

“All but Peter McConnell.”

Mark turned around, his face tightening. “Peter McConnell? Not the same Peter McConnell who lives in Cedar Cove?”

“Yes, one and the same. Peter phoned for a reservation earlier this morning.”

Mark’s gaze narrowed. “Peter has a house in town.”

“Yes, I know. I believe this has something to do with some plumbing work he’s having done on his house.”

Mark made a harrumphing sound as if to say he didn’t believe a word of it. “And you mean to say he hasn’t got a single friend in this entire town who was willing to put him up for the night? Not even his own daughter?”

“I didn’t ask him. Besides, I’m not about to turn away a paying customer.”

Mark stood his ground. “In this case, I think it might be a good idea.”

I could feel my ire rising. I inhaled a steadying breath and then, as calmly as I could manage, I said, “Mark, stop right now. You’re stepping over the line.”

“What line?”

“The one I just drew in the sand.” I could feel my ears heating up, which was a good indication I was about to blow my cool. “Who I choose to accept as a guest in my inn is my business.” I spoke slowly, making sure he heard and understood each and every word.

Mark looked back at the water view and didn’t speak for several seconds. Tension seemed to vibrate between us. Finally, he exhaled and said, “I don’t trust the man, and if you knew him better, you wouldn’t, either.”

I hadn’t heard anything about Peter McConnell one way or the other. I glared back at Mark.

Apparently, he got the message, because he looked away first. “If I were you I’d collect my fee up front.”

“He owes you money?”

“Just take my word for it, Jo Marie.”

“I will,” I promised, my irritation vanishing as quickly as it came. “Did you have something else on your mind?”

He returned my stare with a blank look, as if the reason he’d stopped by had slipped his mind. “Oh yeah. I have an estimate for the gazebo.”

“You already gave it to me; I trust you to be fair.”

He dug into his shirt pocket and withdrew a folded piece of
paper. “I got everything tallied here. The price of lumber went up in the last week, so I had to revise the figure I gave you earlier. If you want to hold off building the gazebo, I’ll understand.”

I read over the formal estimate. The earlier bid he’d given me was off the top of his head. This time he’d priced the materials, added the cost of his labor, and written me a formal proposal. From the look of it, he’d taken the better part of the morning putting it together. The bottom line was only a two-hundred-dollar increase over the estimate he’d told me earlier.

“It’s fine.”

“You want me to get started, then?”

“I do.”

He grinned as if he was glad for the business, although to hear him, he had more work than he knew what to do with, which was probably true.

“Did you see the reader board at the hardware store?” I asked.

He gave me an odd look. “Yeah. What about it?”

“They’re looking for an experienced sales associate. That kind of work would be right up your alley.”

Mark frowned. “Why would I want to work at the hardware store?”

The answer should be obvious. “You’d be good at it, Mark. You know how to fix just about anything. You could help a lot of people.”