After he was released from prison, Jon had supported himself by working as a short-order cook. When he wasn’t working, he was taking landscape photographs, which began to receive good reviews and significant interest from buyers. Among other places, his work was displayed in the Harbor Street Art Gallery, where he met Maryellen. Their courtship was long and tempestuous, and only after Katie was born did they marry.
At the time of her daughter’s birth, Maryellen was convinced she didn’t need or want a husband. She’d married young and unwisely while in college, and it had been a disaster. When she discovered she was pregnant with Katie, she was determined to manage on her own. Other women were single mothers; she could do it, too. She’d quickly learned how wrong she was. Katie wanted her daddy, and Maryellen soon realized she needed Jon in their lives. After their marriage, they were blissfully happy for a short time. Then Maryellen had stumbled upon a stack of unopened letters from Jon’s parents.
Although she knew Jon would disapprove, she’d secretly contacted the Bowmans and mailed pictures of Katie. As Katie’s grandparents, Maryellen felt they had a right to know about their only grandchild. Her letter, unfortunately, had heightened their efforts to make peace with their son, which had only infuriated him. Jon refused to have anything to do with them. And he saw her actions, in contacting them, as another betrayal. He’d been enraged with her. Her duplicity and his stubborn unwillingness to forgive had almost ruined their marriage.
At the time, Maryellen had just learned she was pregnant. She hadn’t told Jon. How could she, when he shut her out—no matter what she said or did? Having failed at one marriage, she believed her actions had killed his love for her and that her second marriage was doomed, too. It was then, at the lowest point of her pain and loss, that she miscarried her baby.
That had been six weeks earlier. Six weeks during which they’d carefully avoided the subject of Jon’s parents. Together they grieved over the loss of this pregnancy and clung to each other, but their ability to trust was still shaky.
Maryellen studied the envelope. Jon hadn’t immediately thrown the letter away, or hidden it, as he had previous ones. That was progress, she supposed. Over the intervening weeks, they’d had numerous talks on forgiveness, and she felt he was finally willing to listen. This letter would be the proving ground.
“What would you like me to do with it?” she asked.
Jon buried his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the ceiling. “You don’t want the answer to that.”
“Yes, I do,” she told him calmly.
“Burn it.”
She’d hoped and prayed that he’d conquered some of his bitterness. “But you didn’t burn it.”
“No,” he admitted reluctantly.
Maryellen noticed that he stood about as far away from her as he could and still be heard. “Why not? I need never have known about this letter. Even if my name is on it.”
He laughed, but it was a defeated sound. “You’d know. I’m incapable of keeping anything from you.”
Maryellen moved from behind the kitchen counter and tentatively stepped closer to her husband. “Jon?” she asked again, keeping her voice gentle. “Tell me what I should do with the letter.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” he demanded.
She paused. “Like what?”
“Like I’m such a disappointment to you.”
“Never that,” she whispered. Maryellen wrapped her arms around his waist and lowered her head to his chest. Words weren’t necessary to convey her love and her pride. He was her world, her life, and nothing, not even his relationship with his family, was worth risking the heaven she’d found in him.
It didn’t take long for Jon to slide his arms around her. The tightness of his embrace told Maryellen what she already knew—that he didn’t want to risk losing her, either. After several moments of holding each other, Jon exhaled a long, deep breath.
“Go ahead and read it. I know that’s what you want to do.”
“It is,” she whispered.
“But don’t tell me what it says.”
His response bothered her, but she wouldn’t rush him. That was the mistake she’d made earlier.
When Katie toddled past on her way to the kitchen, Maryellen left Jon to swoop her daughter into her arms. She set Katie in her high chair and handed her a graham cracker, then reached for the letter.
Jon turned away as if he couldn’t bear to see Maryellen tear open the envelope.
The letter was brief. Jon’s father had suffered a stroke. Fortunately, he’d received medical attention in time, so there was no permanent damage. Jon’s stepmother felt Maryellen would want to know and perhaps she could mention it to Jon.
“It’s about your father,” she said, laying down the letter.
Jon bristled. “I told you I don’t want to hear.”
“But he’s had a stroke.”
“Maryellen, how many times do I have to say it? I don’t care. He’s out of my life. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead. That man gave up the right to be my father the day he lied on the witness stand and sent me to hell for seven years.”
Katie set the cracker down in her tray and stared wide-eyed at her father.
“You talk about forgiveness, and that’s real easy for you. You weren’t the one in that rat hole. You weren’t the one who had to endure it.” His voice grew harsher with each word until Katie started to cry.
Jon’s shoulders slumped forward and he hurried to his daughter, lifting Katie from the high chair and cradling her in his arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he cooed. “Daddy didn’t mean to shout.”
Dinner was uncomfortable, but Maryellen made an effort and so did Jon. After Katie’s bath, Maryellen rocked her and read a bedtime story before settling her in the crib. Once there, Katie put her thumb in her mouth and promptly went to sleep.
Jon had the television on when Maryellen walked down the stairs and joined him. She sat beside her husband on the sofa and rested her head on his shoulder. As if he felt the need to have her close, he draped his arm around her and nuzzled her neck.
Maryellen smiled contentedly. Since the miscarriage, their love life had been on hold while her body healed. Letting him know she wanted him, Maryellen slipped her hand around his neck and turned so their mouths could meet. Jon’s hand found its way under her sweater to cup her breast. Her nipples instantly hardened and a sigh rumbled through him.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked, between deep breathless kisses.
“You certainly are.”
He smiled at her bad pun even as he kissed her.
Taking him by the hand, Maryellen led her husband up the stairway to their bedroom.
Their lovemaking was fierce, urgent, powerful. While they held each other in the aftermath, Maryellen ran her hand down Jon’s back. Nothing was worth disrupting the intimacy and love they shared. She hoped that eventually Jon would be able to reconnect with his parents, but she wouldn’t force him into something he wasn’t willing to do.
They released each other, and her husband lay beside her, supporting his weight on one elbow as he brushed the hair from her damp face. He kissed her again, his touch tender with his love.
“How bad is he?” he asked, his voice husky in the darkness. He was referring to his father.
The question pleased Maryellen. “There’s no permanent damage.”
Jon sighed audibly. “Good.”
Perhaps he’d come farther than she realized.
Five
Linnette McAfee stood in the middle of her empty apartment, surveying her new home. The view of the cove was spectacular, with the lighthouse far in the distance. The Bremerton shipyard lay directly across the water, its massive ships glowing in the afternoon sunlight, battleship-gray against an azure sky. Living in a small town would be an adjustment, and yet, her parents had made the transition easily enough. Linnette had every reason to believe she would, too.
“Anyone home?” There was a knock at the open door, and her mother stepped inside.
“Hi, Mom!”
“I saw your car parked outside and decided to see if you were here.”
“How did you know which apartment was mine?”
Corrie grinned. “I haven’t been married to your father all these years without developing a few detective skills of my own.” She walked farther into the room. “The door was open and I took a chance.”
Linnette spread her arms. “So, what do you think?” she asked, pleased with her new apartment. She’d lived on campus while attending the University of Washington and then later shared an apartment with a friend while she did her advanced studies.
“I think it’s great,” Corrie said, moving into the kitchen. The area was compact but well-designed and convenient.
“I like that it has two bedrooms,” Linnette said, eagerly leading her mother down the hallway to the empty rooms. Both bedrooms were larger than the one she had in Seattle. With this new apartment, Linnette was getting double the space for half the rent. Of course, her salary wasn’t nearly as high as what she would’ve earned had she accepted a job in Seattle. But staying in Seattle had never been her intention. From the moment she’d made the decision to become a Physician’s Assistant, Linnette had set her sights on working in a small rural community.
That description didn’t exactly fit Cedar Cove, but the town was lovely and it was familiar—and she’d have the advantage of being near her parents. Which was definitely a bonus, since Linnette had always been close to them.
“I was thinking I’d set up this bedroom as an office,” Linnette explained as they stood in the doorway of the second and smaller bedroom.
“When are you officially moving?”
“The first of the month. Mack’s going to help.”
“Your dad will, too,” Corrie offered. “And of course I’ll be here.”
Linnette shook her head. “Dad’s not helping, not with his back. Besides, you know as well as I do that it’s best to keep Mack as far away from Dad as possible.”
Her mother’s eyes grew sad. “I don’t know what it is with those two.”
Linnette rolled her eyes. “I do. They’re both stubborn and opinionated and too much alike for their own good.”
Corrie agreed. “Mack makes an effort on holidays, but it’s hard for him to hold his tongue.”
The problem, in Linnette’s opinion, was that her father disapproved of Mack. Her brother had dropped out of college and worked as a postal employee, a job he seemed to enjoy. Roy thought that with his brains and background, Mack could do better. His attitude infuriated her brother. Although she kept out of the fray, Linnette sided with Mack. This was his life and he should do as he pleased.
“One of these days,” she said briskly, “we should lock them in a closet and force them to settle this, once and for all.”
Her mother shook her head. “I absolutely refuse to get involved. I hate being caught in the middle.”
Linnette felt the same. She led the way back to the living room, considering where to hang her few pictures and framed posters as she walked. Pride of place would go to a beautiful Jon Bowman photograph her parents had given her for Christmas last year—fir trees on a mountainside. The perspective made it much more than simply a pretty picture. Should she hang it between the two windows or—