He was going home.
Forty-Three
Maryellen stepped out of the shower, hair still wet. It was the afternoon of Charlotte and Ben's wedding. She'd mentioned the ceremony to Jon, but they weren't exactly on good terms. The one time she'd asked, he refused to attend the wedding with her.
He also refused to discuss his parents. He remained civil, but distant and guarded. Every night they slept side by side without touching, without talking. Her beautiful home felt like a prison and Maryellen couldn't bear it.
Being pregnant didn't help. She hadn't told Jon yet. She'd planned to, knowing she should, but as time went on and his attitude didn't change, she realized it was a hopeless situation.
After dressing and blow-drying her hair, she got out an overnight bag and packed as much as it would hold. She added several extra pieces of clothing to Katie's diaper bag, as well. When she was finished, she carried both to the car.
Maryellen was on the verge of tears. She loved Jon and hoped they would be able to resolve their problems, but she'd begun to fear that wasn't possible. Her husband no longer trusted her. He felt she'd betrayed him. He couldn't understand or accept that she'd only been trying to help him reconcile with his family—for his own sake and his daughter's.
With a sleeping Katie over her shoulder, Maryellen gently tapped on the door of the darkroom where Jon was developing film. Whenever he was in the house at the same time as she was, he found a way to avoid her. If she was upstairs, he had some reason to linger downstairs. Meals were a painful experience. They sat across from each other and made polite conversation, but Maryellen simply couldn't connect with him.
"What is it?" Jon called impatiently.
"I'm leaving for Charlotte's wedding now."
"All right."
Maryellen hesitated. "Are you sure you can't come with us?"
"I'm sure."
"Okay." Disappointment settled heavily on her shoulders.
"Give the newly weds my best."
"I will." Maryellen swallowed painfully. "Listen, Jon, I'm thinking I won't come back after the wedding."
"What?"
"I talked to Mom earlier, and Katie and I are going to spend the night with her."
"Hold on a minute," he said and opened the door.
Maryellen stepped back nervously as Jon's gaze held hers. "You're going to your mother's place for the night?"
She nodded.
"Why?"
Maryellen shrugged. "I need time to think."
"About what?" he challenged.
"I can't live like this," she whispered, breaking eye contact.
He didn't respond.
"I'm sorry, Jon, sorrier than you know." Her voice cracked, and she turned away and left the house.
To her surprise, he followed her to the car. When she'd placed Katie in the car seat, she straightened. Jon stood with his hands in his pockets, staring down at the ground.
"Are you coming back tomorrow?" he asked as she walked around to the driver's seat.
"Do you want me to?"
He didn't answer.
"That says it all, doesn't it?" She climbed in the car, started the engine and drove to the end of the driveway. Her heart was about to break. Hands clenching the steering wheel hard, she lowered her forehead and drew in a deep breath.
The minute Maryellen arrived at her mother's house, Grace knew something was wrong. "You'd better tell me," her mother said as Maryellen carried in her bags.
"We'll discuss everything after the wedding," Maryellen insisted, managing a smile. "It's all right, Mom. Everything's going to be fine."
Her mother looked as if she didn't believe her, and rightly so. Maryellen didn't believe it herself.
The wedding was lovely. Standing beside her mother, Maryellen battled tears. Only five months earlier, she'd stood before Pastor Flemming and vowed to love Jon for the rest of her life. It had only taken her five months to screw up her second marriage. Five months. That had to be some kind of record outside of Hollywood.
The church was nearly full. Charlotte's dearest friends crowded the front pews, wearing red hats and purple boas. Olivia and her family took up two pews. So many people had wanted to share in the couple's happiness. Unfortunately, neither of Ben's sons had been able to come; both he and Charlotte must have been disappointed.
Despite the jubilant mood, Maryellen felt a sense of hopelessness and inner turmoil. The church seemed to get hot and stuffy and the room began to sway. Maryellen sat down, taking several deep breaths, fearing she was about to faint.
"Maryellen?" Grace sat down beside her.
She offered her mother a feeble smile. "I'm pregnant."
Her mother smiled from ear to ear and squeezed her hand.
"Jon doesn't know."
"I think it's time for you to tell him, don't you?"
Maryellen couldn't answer.
The music started then, and Pastor Flemming came to the front of the church. Charlotte and Ben joined him and gazed up at each other with such adoration that Maryellen had to blink back tears.
She heard footsteps behind her and hope leapt into her heart. She turned around, thinking, hoping, desperately wanting the late arrival to be Jon. Instead, Cliff Harding slipped into the pew beside her mother. She watched as they looked tenderly at each other and then Cliff tucked her mother's arm in the crook of his elbow and smiled over at Maryellen and Katie.
Somehow Maryellen made it through the rest of the day. The reception at The Lighthouse was elegant, with vintage wines and the best champagne—neither of which she touched—and a selection of delicious hors d'oeuvres. Several people asked about Jon, and Maryellen invented a convenient excuse. He was busy with a photographic commission and couldn' t come; he sent his best wishes. He had, in fact, given the newly weds a framed photograph of the lighthouse, one that Charlotte had long admired.
Knowing her mother wanted to spend time with Cliff, Maryellen drove back to the house on Rosewood Lane
. Katie was cranky and hungry by then, so Maryellen hurriedly heated her dinner. She was giving Katie a bath when she felt the first painful spasm. The sharpness of it caught her unawares and she nearly doubled over.
Kneeling on the floor in front of the bathtub, she watched as her daughter splashed joyfully, unconscious of the turmoil in Maryellen. No, please God, not the baby. Nothing else happened and she breathed easier.
After a few minutes, Maryellen lifted Katie from the tub. The pain shot through her and she gasped as the blood rushed between her legs. Holding Katie against her, Maryellen sank to the floor.
The front door opened a moment later and Maryellen sagged with relief. "Mom...help...oh, Mom."
Grace was in the bathroom in an instant; Cliff was with her. Her mother's eyes were wide with alarm.
Maryellen was weeping by then. Katie was screaming.
"I've lost the baby... I've lost the baby," she wailed in grief and pain, sobbing openly now.
After that, everything happened so quickly, Maryellen had trouble making sense of it. The next thing she knew, she was at the hospital in Bremerton and a doctor was telling her she'd suffered a miscarriage. As if she hadn't figured that out for herself. Maryellen barely heard a word he said, crying as hard as she was. He asked about her husband, but she shook her head. Jon didn't even know she was pregnant.
It was decided she should spend the night in the hospital and after the D&C, she was wheeled into a private room. A lone figure stood in the shadows. Jon. Apparently her mother had called him. Or perhaps Cliff had; it didn't matter. He was with her.
Maryellen looked at him and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. She turned her head away.
"Maryellen," he whispered, moving to the bedside. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She had no answer for him.
"I am so sorry." Each word was carefully enunciated.
Deeply depressed, Maryellen could only shake her head. She was sorry, too. Sorry about everything.
Jon sat down beside her and after a moment, reached for her hand and kissed it. She realized then that his eyes were bright with tears.
She started to sob again and stretched out her arms. Jon wrapped her in his embrace and together, with their arms securely around each other, they wept.
Forty-Four
Roy McAfee always checked his answering machine when he arrived at the office. There'd been a number of hang-ups recently. In light of the mysterious postcard he'd received a few weeks back, these hang-ups troubled him. He expected a few occasionally—any business got its share of wrong numbers—but his office had received more disconnected calls than usual in the last six weeks.
Corrie was making coffee after collecting the day's mail on her way into the office. Sitting down, Roy opened the drawer on the left-hand side of his desk and pulled out the cryptic postcard. He still didn't know what to make of it.
He heard Corrie moving around the outer office and realized she was about to deliver his coffee and the mail. Not wanting her to fuss over the postcard, he slipped it back inside his desk drawer.
Sure enough, Corrie entered his office, handing him a fresh mug of coffee. "There wasn't much mail this morning," she said as she placed a stack on the corner of his desk.
Usually she was the one who stopped at the post office.
It was pure coincidence that Roy had collected the mail the day that postcard arrived.
Corrie remained standing on the other side of his desk; she seemed to be waiting for something.
Roy anticipated a comment that didn't come. "Anything else?" he asked.
"Look it over," she said, gesturing to the few pieces of mail.
Roy reached for them and leaned back in his chair while he shuffled dirough the usual flyers, bills and—he hesitated when he caught sight of the postcard. He stared at the picture of the Space Needle.
"Read it," Corrie said.
Roy turned it over. The message was in the same block lettering as the first one. Only this time it read: THE PAST HAS A WAY OF CATCHING UP WITH THE PRESENT.
"What does it mean?"
Roy stared at the card, as perplexed by this message as he was by the first. "I haven't got a clue."
"There's no signature."
Roy set the card down on his desk. "People who send these kinds of messages generally don't sign their names."
Corrie walked over to the far side of the room and looked out the window. "This isn't the first one, is it?"
At times Roy swore Corrie should be the private investigator. She had real instincts about people, and a reliable sense of what was true and what wasn't.
"Is it?" she demanded, turning to face him.
Roy reluctantly shook his head. Slowly opening the drawer, he brought out the other postcard.
Corrie walked quickly to his desk and picked it up.
He watched her read the short, cryptic message and saw that she was as mystified as he was.
"When did this arrive?"
He couldn't recall exactly. "A few weeks ago."
"Why didn't you say anything?" she cried, throwing down the postcard. "I'm your wife. I have a right to know."
Roy shrugged halfheartedly. "What was the point? Why should you worry because someone's getting their kicks mailing me silly postcards?"
"You're being threatened and you don't feel it's important to let me know?" She raised her voice. "I'm not only your wife, I'm your business partner!"
