Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)(45)

Back at her small apartment, Cecilia tried to do her English homework but her mind repeatedly wandered away from the English Romantic poets and down paths she’d prefer to avoid.

When the phone rang, she was jolted by the sudden noise. With an exaggerated sigh, she picked up the receiver.

“Hello,” she said in a dull voice.

“Hi,” came a cheerful woman’s voice. “You don’t know me, but I figured it was time I introduced myself. I’m Cathy Lackey.”

“Who?”

“Cathy Lackey, Andrew’s wife.”

Ian’s friend. “They’re deployed, aren’t they?”

“Three days ago. Ian didn’t phone?”

“No.” She tried to sound unconcerned, despite the pain it’d caused her.

“That coward! I’d like to give him a swift kick in the behind,” Cathy muttered.

For the first time all day, Cecilia grinned. “You and me both.”

“Listen, I realize we aren’t even acquainted yet, but I’d like it if we could be friends. Andrew and Ian are such good buddies and…well, we were only stationed here a few weeks ago, and I haven’t met very many people.”

“I don’t know a lot of people my age, either.” Not unless she counted the women she worked with, and Cecilia had never truly fit in with the group at The Captain’s Galley. Because she tended to be quiet and withdrawn, and her childhood had been so chaotic, she’d always had trouble making friends. “But sure,” she added, “let’s get together sometime.”

Cathy would be able to tell her about Ian, too; that thought didn’t escape her.

“Great!” Cathy seemed pleased. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

It was one of those rare Saturday nights that Cecilia didn’t have to work. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we could rent a movie and make popcorn.”

That was about all Cecilia could afford. “I’d like that. Do you want to come here or should I drive over to your place?”

“I’ll join you, if that’s all right?”

“Sure.” Cecilia glanced around the apartment to be sure it was clean. She’d run the vacuum and straighten her books and papers; other than that, it was acceptable.

“Can you drive me back later?”

“No problem,” Cecilia said. “Do you need a ride over here, too?”

“No, I’ve got Ian’s car.”

The words struck her like a lightning bolt. Before she could react, Cathy was asking, “Is six too early?”

“It’s fine,” she managed. “But—”

“I’ll give you the keys and the insurance papers and everything then,” Cathy continued.

“The…what?”

“For Ian’s car. He was supposed to call you, but when I didn’t hear from you, I figured he’d lost his nerve. Men!” Cathy giggled and Cecilia found herself frowning, hardly making sense of all this.

“You mean he said I should use his car?”

“He insisted on it,” Cathy assured her.

Cecilia wanted to believe it, but wondered if she should. He’d sucker-punched her once already and she wasn’t up to another round. “Was this before or after he went into the hospital?” she asked.

“After,” Cathy said. “He gave me the keys himself and asked me to make sure you got the car.”

“Oh,” Cecilia said softly, and exhaled a long, slow breath. Despite her refusal to accept the use of his vehicle, he wanted her to drive it anyway. He did care. He did.

“I’ll see you at six. And I’ll get a video on the way—a comedy all right? What about Notting Hill? Have you seen it?”

“No, I never did,” Cecilia said. “And I’d love to.”

This latest recipe Charlotte had picked up—chocolate-chip pecan pie—was the best. She’d got it at the funeral for her next-door neighbor’s elderly father. There’d been a good turnout, but that wasn’t surprising since Herbert had lived in Cedar Cove for eighty-one years. The pie would make a perfect Easter dinner dessert. She’d bake her usual coconut cake, too. Her family would demand that, although she was certain Olivia and Justine didn’t really understand how much work went into that darn cake.

Charlotte believed in doing things the old-fashioned way. She wouldn’t use a cake mix if her life depended on it. Oh no, she baked from scratch, just like her mother had. And her grandmother. The coconut cake took three days and started with fresh coconut, but the result was worth all the effort. Tradition had a strong hold on her.

Thursday morning, as was her habit, she went to the Senior Center and visited with her knitting group. Her dearest friends sat around the large table, each working on her current project. Some knitted for their grandchildren, and others worked on projects for foster children or for charity. There was nothing more comforting than a sweater or blanket created with loving hands and a loving heart.

“Hello, Charlotte,” Evelyn greeted her. She was almost finished with the afghan she was knitting for her daughter. The pattern was a lovely one and it had already been completed by several others in the group.

“Have you seen Jack Griffin lately?” Evelyn asked. Despite reassurances, she continued to have her suspicions regarding The Chronicle’s editor. Evelyn was like that—especially after she’d learned how to log on to the Internet. She had doubts about practically everyone, and for the most part Charlotte chose to overlook her friend’s lack of faith in others.