Lighthouse Road (Cedar Cove #1)(66)

“I can’t promise you that this pregnancy is going to be different from the first two,” she said solemnly, holding Cathy’s gaze. “No one knows what the future will bring. But I can promise that whatever happens, I’ll be there for you.”

“Oh, Cecilia, you don’t know how much that means to me.” Cathy wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “I’m so emotional when I’m pregnant.”

Cecilia’s laugh was poignant. “You and me both.” The first few months she was pregnant with Allison, she’d wept at the flimsiest excuses. A sentimental television commercial could reduce her to a sniveling, tissue-packing blob. The bouts sometimes lasted for hours.

Cathy touched Cecilia’s arm. “Are you afraid to have another baby, too?”

The mere thought resulted in stark terror. “I…won’t. Ian knows how I feel.” Cecilia stopped just short of confessing that this was one of the reasons she felt compelled to follow through with the divorce.

“Give it time,” Cathy advised, and they hugged once more. “Good grief,” she said, forcing a laugh. “My hair’s dry already.”

Grabbing the plastic hook, Cecilia held it up. “I’m ready to torture you.”

“Just remember I get my turn later.”

The afternoon passed in a whirl of giggles, chatter and popcorn, and by the time Cathy left, Cecilia was tired but exhilarated. The blond streaks were a success. But far more important, their friendship had become stronger and deeper because of what Cathy had shared. Cecilia understood why she’d confided in her. Cathy knew that, of all the women in their small group, Cecilia was the only one who could identify with the trauma and the recriminations that followed the loss of a child. It didn’t matter that Cathy was only a few months pregnant when she miscarried. Her unborn children had laid claim to her heart.

As she readied for bed that evening, Cecilia stared at the one picture she had of Allison. The dried bouquet from her wedding had been fashioned into a heart-shaped frame.

“They’re from your daddy,” she whispered to her daughter.

Then, because she was weak and because her heart ached, Cecilia reached for a pad and pen.

May 16th

Dear Ian,

I wasn’t going to write you again. I probably shouldn’t now. Nothing has changed. Nothing will. Still, I find that you’re on my mind and I hope we can at least be friendly toward each other.

I spent the day with Cathy Lackey. Don’t tell Andrew, but his wife is partially blond now, thanks to me. While she was here, Cathy mentioned that the George Washington would be docking in Sydney Harbour this week. You always said you’d see the Southern Cross. Is it as incredible as you hoped? I imagine it is.

I was going to drop out of school. Really, I couldn’t see the point of sticking it out. At the rate of two classes a quarter, it’ll take me a hundred years to get a degree, but then I decided that it didn’t matter if I ever got one. I like school, and as Mr. Cavanaugh said, knowledge is never wasted. I really like Mr. Cavanaugh. He’s the kind of person I wish my father was, although I have to admit Bobby tries. He does. When the flowers arrived for our anniversary and I started to cry, he patted my back—and then walked away. Oh, well…But later he confessed that every year on the anniversary of his divorce, he gets drunk. I think that was supposed to comfort me. In some odd way, it did.

This isn’t a very long letter and I’m not even sure I’ll mail it. Basically, I wanted to thank you for the flowers and tell you Happy Anniversary, too.

All my best,

Cecilia

May 26th

My dearest Cecilia,

I’ve hardly ever been as excited as I was this morning at mail call. I’d given up on hearing from you. Andrew said my shout was heard three decks below. Thank you, thank you and thank you again for mailing that letter. You have no idea how badly I needed to hear from you.

I’m glad you got the flowers. Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart. It’s been one hell of a first year, hasn’t it? From here on out, it’ll be better. You feel it, too, don’t you?

I did see the Southern Cross, and it was even more exciting than I’d dreamed. That experience could only have been improved in one way—having you beside me when I found it.

I can’t write much. I’m on duty in five minutes and I want to mail this as soon as I can. There’s only one more thing I want to say. You mentioned that your father gets drunk on the anniversary of his divorce. He obviously has more than a few regrets. Don’t make the same mistake he did, Cecilia. We need each other. I love you. There’s nothing we can’t work through. Not one damn thing. Remember that, all right?

Ian

“Anything?” Kelly asked hopefully as she slid into the booth at the Pancake Palace. The restaurant was a local favorite, where the food was good and the portions hearty. Sunday mornings, the lineup to get a table often stretched out the door.

Grace’s daughter had phoned earlier in the week, and they’d agreed to meet Friday after work. With no reason to hurry home, Grace was free to have dinner out. Yet she felt an unaccountable urge to rush back to the house on Rosewood Lane. It was just habit, she decided. Thirty-five years of habit.

“No news,” Grace answered.

“Mom, he can’t have dropped off the face of the earth. Someone must know something.”