16 Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)

16 Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1) Page 5

“All right,” she agreed. She glanced down at her cart, calculating how long it would take her to finish.

“Thirty minutes,” he suggested, grinning triumphantly. “I’ll meet you there.”

That settled, he walked away. Olivia couldn’t help it, she was curious about this man and his comment about almost losing his own son. Perhaps they had more in common than she’d realized.

Twenty-five minutes later, her groceries in the trunk of her car, Olivia entered Java and Juice, the coffeehouse next to the Safeway. Sure enough, Jack was waiting for her, hands cupped around a steaming latte. He sat at a round table by the window and stood when she approached. It was a small thing, coming to his feet like that, a show of good manners and respect. But that one gentlemanly gesture told her as much about him as everything else he’d said and done.

She sat in the chair across from him and he waved to the waitress, who appeared promptly. Olivia ordered a regular coffee; a minute later, a thick ceramic mug was set before her.

Jack waited until the high-school girl had left before he spoke. “I just wanted you to know I meant what I said—I admire what you did last week. It couldn’t have been easy.” Olivia was about to remind him yet again that she couldn’t discuss her court cases when he stopped her, shaking his head. “I know, I know. But in my opinion you made a bold move and I couldn’t let that go unnoticed.”

Olivia would have preferred he not publish his opinions for the entire town to discuss. However, there was nothing she could say or do that would change what had already seen the light of the printed page.

“How long have you been in Cedar Cove?” she asked instead.

“Three months,” he answered. “Are you purposely turning the attention away from yourself?”

Olivia grinned. “I sure am,” she told him. “So—you have a son?”

“Eric. He’s twenty-six and lives in Seattle. When he was ten, he was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer. He wasn’t expected to live….” His face darkened at the memory.

“But he did,” Olivia said.

Jack nodded. “He’s alive and healthy, and for that I’m deeply grateful.” Then he went on to say that Eric worked for Microsoft and was doing very well.

Olivia’s gaze went automatically to his ring finger. Jack had mentioned his son, but not his wife.

He’d obviously noticed her quick look. “Eric survived the cancer,” he said, “but unfortunately my marriage didn’t.”

So he understood on a personal level what had occurred in her own life. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged carelessly. “That was a long time ago. Life goes on and so do I. You’re divorced yourself?” Although he asked the question, she was fairly certain he already knew the answer.

“Fifteen years now.”

The conversation flowed smoothly after that, and before she knew it, she had to leave to meet her mother for lunch. Reaching for her purse, Olivia stood and extended her hand to Jack.

“I enjoyed getting to know you.”

He rose to his feet, taking her hand in his. “You, too, Olivia.” He briefly squeezed her fingers, as if to say they’d formed a bond with one another. When they’d first met today—and definitely before that—she’d been irritated with him, but Jack had managed to thwart her displeasure. By the time she walked out the door, Olivia felt she’d made a friend. She was well aware that Jack Griffin was no ordinary man, though; she wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating him.

Ian Randall sat in his car outside his wife’s apartment building, dreading what was certain to be another confrontation. The judge had made it plain that the prenuptial agreement wasn’t going to be rescinded. Now what? They had a few options, none of which suited him or, apparently, his wife.

Cecilia was the one who wanted the divorce. She’d been the first to hire an attorney. Hell, she’d rammed this whole stupid idea down his throat. She wanted out. Okay, fine. If she preferred not to be with him, he was hardly going to fight for the privilege of remaining her husband. But now they were faced with a stumbling block in their attempt to end the marriage, such as it was. All because they’d written that agreement, intended to safeguard their wedding vows. Some decision had to be made.

There was no point in waiting any longer. He climbed out of his car and slowly entered the building, approaching the first-floor apartment they’d once shared.

Ian was irritated that he had to ring the doorbell to what had recently been his own home. After their separation, he’d had to move on base. Fortunately, his friend Andrew Lackey had allowed Ian to store a few things at his house. He leaned hard against the buzzer now, fighting down his resentment. Releasing the button, he retreated a step and squared his shoulders. He steeled his emotions the way he’d been taught in basic training, unwilling to reveal any of his thoughts or feelings to Cecilia.

His wife opened the door, frowning when she saw who it was.

“I thought we should come to a decision,” he announced in resolute tones. No matter how many times he told himself he shouldn’t feel anything for her, he did. He couldn’t be in the same room with her and forget what it was like when they’d made love or when he’d first felt their baby move inside her. Nor could he forget how it had felt to stand over his daughter’s grave, never having had the opportunity to hold Allison or tell her he loved her.

Cecilia held open the door. “Okay.”

The hesitation in her voice was unmistakable.

Ian followed her into the compact living room and sat on the edge of the sofa. They’d picked it up second-hand at a garage sale shortly after their wedding. Ian had refused to let Cecilia help him move it, since she was already three months pregnant. His stubbornness had resulted in a wrenched back. This old sofa came with a lot of bad memories, just like his short-lived marriage.

Cecilia sat across from him, her hands folded, her face unrevealing.

“I have to tell you the judge’s decision was kind of a shock,” he said, opening the discussion.

“My attorney said we could appeal it.”

“Oh, sure,” Ian muttered, his anger flaring. “And rack up another five or six hundred dollars’ worth of legal fees. I don’t have that kind of money to burn and neither do you.”

“You don’t know the state of my finances,” Cecilia snapped.

This was the way every discussion started with them. At first they were courteous, almost too polite, but within minutes they were arguing and everything exploded in his face. They seemed to reach that level of irrational anger so quickly these days, or at least since Allison Marie’s birth—and death. Ian sighed, feeling a sense of hopelessness. With the way things were between them now, it was hard to believe they’d ever slept together.

Ian diverted his thoughts from their once healthy and energetic love life. In bed they’d found little to disagree about, but that was before…

“We could always do as my attorney suggested.”

“And what’s that?” Ian had no intention of taking Allan Harris’s advice. The other man represented his wife’s interests, not his.

“Allan recommended we do what the judge said and take our disagreement to the Dispute Resolution Center.”

Ian remembered Judge Lockhart making some comment about that, and he remembered his own reaction at the time. “What exactly is that supposed to do?” he asked, trying to sound reasonable and conciliatory.

“Well, I can’t say for certain, but I think we’d each present our sides to an impartial third party.”

“What will that cost?”

“Does everything boil down to money with you?” Cecilia demanded.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” This divorce had already set him back plenty. He wasn’t the one who’d wanted it in the first place, he told himself stubbornly. Sure, after Allison died, they’d had a few arguments but he’d never expected it to lead to this.

Cecilia had never understood what it’d been like for him, although he’d tried to explain countless times. He hadn’t received her “family gram” until the end of the tour. His commanding officer had withheld the information about the premature birth and death of his daughter, since there was no possibility of a humanitarian airlift or any way of contacting Cecilia. When he finally reached the base, he hadn’t had a chance to absorb the reality of their loss.

His wife gave him a disgusted look. “Do you have any suggestions, then?” she asked in a superior tone of voice that set his teeth on edge. She knew he hated it when she spoke to him as though he was still in grade school.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, and got to his feet.

“Fine. I can’t wait to hear it.” Cecilia crossed her arms in that huffy way of hers.

“I say we simply go on with our lives.”

Cecilia frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you plan to remarry?”

“I—I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

As far as he was concerned, Ian was through with it. Never again would he subject himself to a woman’s volatile emotions or fickle whims. “Not me. I’ve had it with marriage, with you, with the entire mess.”

“Let me see if I understand what you’re saying.” Cecilia stood, too, and started pacing the small living room, passing directly in front of him. He caught a whiff of her perfume, and it was all he could do not to close his eyes and savor the scent. He hated that she still had the power to make him weak, to leave him wanting her….

“You can figure it out, I’m sure,” he said, purposely being sarcastic because he was angry now. He couldn’t be near Cecilia and not feel a rush of resentment. Not just at her but at himself for harboring emotions that wouldn’t go away.

She ignored his attitude. “Are you suggesting we not divorce?”

“Sort of.” He didn’t want her to assume he was seeking a reconciliation. That wouldn’t work; he already knew it. In the months after Allison’s death, they’d both tried to make the best of a painful situation, without success.

“Sort of?” she echoed, then waved her hand at him. “Tell me more. This whole concept of yours intrigues me.”

He’d just bet it did. “We could pretend we’re divorced.”

“Pretend?” Cecilia didn’t bother to hide her anger. “That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. Pretend,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You think we can ignore all our problems and pretend they don’t exist.”

He glared at her, not trusting himself to speak. Okay, maybe she was right. He didn’t want to deal with this divorce.

“You’re always looking for the easy way out,” she said scornfully.

He might be a lot of things, but irresponsible wasn’t one of them. The Navy trusted him with a multi-million-dollar nuclear submarine—didn’t that prove how dependable he was? Dammit, he’d been brought up to meet his obligations, to stand by his word.