Cranberry Point (Cedar Cove #4)(63)

By the time they'd finished their meals, Grace accepted that nothing she said or did had the power to reach Cliff. So she stopped trying. There seemed little point in more small talk about the town or doings at the library or plans for his ranch; that left them with nothing much to say.

After dinner, Grace drove home, even more lonely and depressed. It was hard not to weep and to berate herself—and humbling to admit she'd failed yet again. Olivia and the girls had paid that money for one reason and one reason only. They'd hoped, as Grace had, that Cliff would have a change of heart. He hadn't.

The phone rang at eight o'clock on Saturday morning. Grace was feeding her animals. Automatically she scooped up the receiver and held it to her ear while she doled out the dog and cat food.

"Well?" Olivia demanded. "How'd it go?"

Grace resisted the urge to break into tears. "We had a very nice dinner, but that's it."

"Don't be so sure."

"Olivia," Grace said with an exaggerated sigh. "I was there. I might as well have had dinner with a statue." She switched the phone to her other ear. "The closest I got to seeing the old Cliff was when he showed me a picture of Lisa and her little girl."

"Give him time."

"No." Grace was surprised by the strength of her conviction. "I'm not going to grovel. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. If Cliff Harding can't get past that, then it's his problem, not mine."

Olivia was silent for a long moment. "Grace is that really you?" she finally asked.

"Of course it's me."

"You sound so...emotionally healthy."

"I'm glad you approve."

"I do," Olivia assured her.

Obviously Cliff had chosen to get on with his life— minus Grace. She would let him and at the same time get on with hers.

With a renewed sense of vigor, she weeded and watered her small garden.

At noon, a florist's delivery van parked outside her house. Pulling off her garden gloves, Grace walked around front, wondering if the driver had mistaken the address.

"Ms. Grace Sherman?" The deliveryman held a beautiful bouquet of roses, carnations and irises in a variety of pastel shades.

"Yes." Grace vaguely recognized the young man but couldn't remember his name.

"These are for you." He handed her the vase, turned and left.

Grace carried the arrangement into the house and removed the card. As she read the message, tears clouded her eyes. Life has a funny way of hitting you between the eyes, doesn't it? Thank you for dinner. Cliff.

She didn't know what he meant but she felt this must be a good sign.

Thirty-One

Ben pushed the grocery cart down the produce aisle while Charlotte sorted through the celery. The grocer tended to put the older bunches in front.

"Do you want me to pick up a few bananas?" Ben asked.

"Please." Bananas were the perfect fruit for people their age, in Charlotte's view.

Ben added a small bunch to their cart. He was so helpful in so many ways. Clyde hadn't been the kind of husband who enjoyed shopping, but Ben was more than patient about doing errands. He seemed to enjoy spending time with her. If she had a hair appointment, he drove her there and either waited in the salon or strolled through the mall. After all these years on her own, such open affection—such romantic gestures—were foreign to her. When she was with Ben she felt...treasured. True, his attention had taken a bit of adjustment on her part, since she was so used to her own company. Charlotte slowly pushed the cart ahead, watching as Ben struck up a conversation with the produce manager.

"Charlotte!"

Hearing her name, Charlotte turned to find her son-in-law strolling toward her, wearing a big grin.

"Don't tell me Olivia's got you doing the shopping," Charlotte said.

Jack chuckled and shook his head. "I came to pick up a few things she refuses to buy. Whoever heard of a house without potato chips and pretzels? Olivia said if I was going to eat fat-laden carbohydrates, I'd have to buy them myself. So here I am." He looked over his shoulder, as if he half expected his wife to follow him inside and criticize his food choices. "I don't suppose you know where they keep the microwave popcorn, do you?"

"Aisle five," Charlotte said. "I like the extra-butter kind myself."

"I'm with you," Jack muttered. "I don't know what it is with Olivia these days."

"How do you mean?"

"First she's on this low-fat kick. Okay, I admit I could lose a few pounds, but I looked like this when she married me and it was good enough for her then."

Charlotte knew her daughter's fitness plan had caused arguments between them, but she'd assumed things were better now. Olivia hadn't complained in weeks.

"Then there's this thing with Ben," he added, scowling. "It's ridiculous."

Charlotte stared at him, certain she'd misunderstood. "What thing with Ben?" she demanded. Thankfully Ben was still busy talking.

Jack looked like a man who'd inadvertently stumbled into a swampful of alligators. "Ah...that was a slip of the tongue. Forget it."

"I most certainly will not forget it," Charlotte slammed a bunch of celery into her cart. "You'd better tell me everything!'