Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(10)

Four

Paul met Ruth at the Seattle terminal at ten the following morning and they walked up the ramp to board the Bremerton ferry. The hard rain of the night before had yielded to glorious sunshine.

Unlike the previous evening, when Paul and Ruth had talked nonstop through a three-hour dinner, it seemed that now they had little to say. The one big obstacle in their relationship hung between them. They sat side by side on the wooden bench and sipped hot coffee as the ferry eased away from the Seattle dock.

“You’re still thinking about last night, aren’t you?” Ruth said, carefully broaching the subject after a lengthy silence. “About you being in the military, I mean, and my objections to the war in Iraq?”

He nodded. “Yeah, there’s the political aspect and also the fact that you don’t seem comfortable with the concept of military life,” he said.

“I’m not, really, but we’ll work it out,” she assured him, and reached for his free hand, entwining their fingers. “We’ll find a way.”

Paul didn’t look as if he believed her. But after a couple of moments, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He brought her hand to his lips. “Let’s enjoy the time we have today, all right?”

Ruth smiled in agreement.

“Tell me about your grandmother.”

Ruth was more than willing to change the subject. “This is my paternal grandmother, and she’s lived in Cedar Cove for the past thirty years. She and my grandfather moved there from Seattle after he retired because they wanted a slower pace of life. I barely remember my grandfather Sam. He died when I was two, before I had any real memories of him.”

“He died young,” Paul commented sympathetically.

“Yes…My grandmother’s been alone for a long time.”

“She probably has good friends in a town like Cedar Cove.”

“Yes,” Ruth said. “And she’s still got friends she’s had since the war. It’s something I admire about my grandmother,” she continued. “Not only because she speaks three languages fluently and is one of the most intelligent women I know. She’s my inspiration. Ever since I can remember, she’s been helping others. Even though she’s in her eighties, Grandma’s involved with all kinds of charities and social groups. When I enrolled at the University of Washington, I intended for the two of us to get together often, but I swear her schedule’s even busier than mine.”

Paul grinned at her. “I know what you mean. It’s the same in my family.”

By the time they stepped off the Bremerton ferry and took the foot ferry across to Cedar Cove, it was after eleven. They stopped at a deli, where Paul bought a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of Washington State gewürztraminer to take with them. At quarter to twelve, they trudged up the hill toward her grandmother’s duplex on Poppy Lane.

When they arrived, Helen greeted them at the front door and eagerly ushered Paul and Ruth into the house. Ruth hugged her grandmother, whose white hair was cut stylishly short. Now in her early eighties, Helen was thinner than the last time Ruth had visited and somehow seemed more fragile. Her grandmother hugged her back, then paused to give Paul an embarrassingly frank look. Ruth felt her face heat as her grandmother spoke.

“So, you’re the young man who’s captured my granddaughter’s heart.”

“Grandma, this is Paul Gordon,” Ruth said hurriedly, gesturing toward Paul.

“This is the soldier you’ve been writing to, who’s fighting in Afghanistan?”

“I am.” Paul’s response sounded a bit defensive, Ruth thought. He obviously preferred not to discuss it.

In an effort to ward off any misunderstanding, Ruth added, “My grandfather was a soldier when Grandma met him.”

Helen nodded, and a faraway look stole over her. It took her a moment to refocus her attention on Ruth. “Come, both of you,” she said, stepping between them. She wrapped her arm around Ruth’s waist. “I set the table outside. It’s such a beautiful afternoon, I thought we’d eat on the patio.”

“We brought some bread and a bottle of wine,” Ruth said. “Paul got them.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Paul.”

While Ruth sliced the fresh-baked bread, he opened the wine, then helped her grandmother carry the salad plates outside. An apple pie cooled on the kitchen counter and the scent of cinnamon permeated the sunlit kitchen.

They chatted throughout the meal; the conversation was light and friendly as they lingered over their wine. Every now and then Ruth caught her grandmother staring at Paul with the strangest expression on her face. Ruth didn’t know what to make of this. It almost seemed as if her grandmother was trying to place him, to recall where she’d seen him before.

Helen seemed to read Ruth’s mind. “Am I embarrassing your beau, sweetheart?” she asked with a half smile.

Ruth resisted informing her grandmother that Paul wasn’t her anything, especially not her beau. They’d had one lovely dinner together, but now their political differences seemed to have overtaken them.

“I apologize, Paul.” Helen briefly touched his hand, which rested on the table. “When I first saw you—” She stopped abruptly. “You resemble someone I knew many years ago.”

“Where, Grandma?” Ruth asked.