Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)(10)

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.”