Harbor Street (Cedar Cove #5)(56)

He looked stunned and remained speechless.

“This isn’t a ploy. It isn’t a game. I’m sincere when I say it would be best if we didn’t see each other again.”

He sat where he was for another few minutes. “Will anything I say change your mind?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

“I see.” He reached for his hat.

“I wish you nothing but good things, Cliff.”

He nodded.

“Goodbye.” She opened the door for him. He walked past, then stopped, bringing his finger to her cheek. She didn’t close the door until he was off the porch and down the steps. A shudder went through her as she sagged against the wall and waited for the pain to pass.

Twenty-Eight

Roy McAfee said little to Corrie, but he knew she was right, felt it in his gut. These mysterious postcards had come from the child he’d never known. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten there was a baby. The fact that he had a third child was always with him, hidden in the back of his mind.

When Corrie had told him, all those years ago, that she’d given birth to his baby, he’d been shocked, then angry. Later, he’d experienced deep sadness and a sense of bereavement. He felt that same emptiness now. He’d never blamed Corrie, and he still didn’t. His own insensitivity and arrogance had led to this, had forced Corrie to make the decision she had.

There was nothing she could tell him about the baby. Not even if they’d had a son or a daughter.

He recalled the year after she’d left him—over a rumor about another girl, a rumor that was only half-true. Her loss, he’d figured. And then there’d been his sudden fall from favor, when the pros were no longer interested and the scouts stopped talking to him. His decline had been rapid and humbling.

Before their reconciliation, he’d seen her in the library one day and remembered all the things he loved about her. Her honesty. Her warmth. Her beautiful dark-brown hair, falling thick and straight to her shoulders. The way she used to kiss him…

The next day he was back, hoping to see her again. If she happened to be there on two consecutive days, he decided, he’d consider it fate.

Sure enough, at the same time as the day before, he saw her outside the library, walking with another girl. It took courage to follow her inside, to call out her name. Roy wondered if she’d ever realized what it had cost him. He’d put every bit of his remaining pride on the line that day. But whatever the price, it was nothing compared to the value she’d given his life.

Roy recognized that he wasn’t an easy man to love. He tended to be stubborn; admitting he was wrong didn’t come easy. Not then and not now.

He’d never forget the day Corrie told him about the baby. He’d wanted to rant at her for withholding the information; he’d had a right to know she was having his child. But he soon acknowledged that he hadn’t given her much choice—and that he wouldn’t have had the maturity to deal with the situation.

Still, he hated the fact that she’d been left to make these life-altering decisions on her own. When he thought about what Corrie and her family must have endured, it made him ashamed. The girl he’d loved and used had given birth to his child alone because she knew, even if he didn’t, that he couldn’t cope with a pregnancy.

Having the baby had changed Corrie. She was as beautiful as before, perhaps more so. However, the changes had come about not in her appearance but in other subtle ways. She’d matured. Already miles ahead of him in that area, she’d developed a dignity and a gentle wisdom that made him yearn to be with her even more.

She didn’t tell him about the baby until they were engaged. He used to wonder why she’d waited. But now he understood that if she’d told him before, she’d never be sure whether his proposal had been offered out of love—or guilt and regret. Waiting until she was utterly convinced of his love might have saved their marriage.

Roy leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. His best detective work was done in this old chair, a relic from his police days. The department had wanted to toss it, but Roy had saved it from a junkyard death, rolled it out to his car and brought it home. He’d been sitting in this chair ever since. Corrie hated it, pleaded with him to get rid of it. He wouldn’t.

The office door opened and then closed. “Dad?”

Roy let his feet fall to the floor. “In here,” he called out to his daughter.

Linnette walked into his office and threw herself onto the chair opposite his desk. “Where’s Mom?”

Roy had exactly the same question. “Apparently she took an extended lunch hour. I guess that’s what I get for hiring family,” he joked.

“Oh.” Linnette looked as if she wanted to weep.

“You need to talk to her?”

His daughter nodded. “Dad,” she said, straightening, “did you always love Mom? I mean, was there ever a time you had questions about the way you felt?”

“Sure,” he admitted, a little taken aback by the question, so close to his own recent thoughts. “Just the other day,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood. He wasn’t much good at giving advice. That was Corrie’s specialty.

“Dad, I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” he said, somber now. “Relationship problems?”