Rosewood Lane (Cedar Cove #2)(42)
“I told Eric not to, that I’d make the payments on my own, but he’s still covering the rent.” She paused, shaking her head. “I’m grateful. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to manage rent plus everything else.”
“Forgive me for being blunt here,” Jack said, “but I need the truth. Is Eric the father of your baby?”
For the first time Shelly’s eyes met his. “This baby is your son’s. As soon as he or she is born, I’ll be able to prove it without a doubt. Until then, I don’t think it would do any good for Eric and me to see each other again.”
That answered Jack’s other question even before he had the opportunity to ask. “I see.”
“Thank you for your concern, Jack,” she said quietly. “I appreciate it. But it doesn’t matter what that clinic told Eric. Because I know differently. I’ll be giving birth to the evidence in less than five months.”
By the end of dinner, Jack didn’t feel any closer to a solution. When he arrived home, Eric was sitting in front of the television eating from a large bag of potato chips.
“You’re late,” his son said, keeping his gaze focused on the television.
“I had dinner with Shelly in Seattle.”
Eric reached for the remote control and turned off the TV. “You were with Shelly?” He frowned at Jack, as if waiting for him to elaborate. “Did she call you?” he finally asked.
“I called her.” Jack shrugged off his raincoat and considered the best way to approach this dilemma.
“Did you tell her about the sperm test?” Eric demanded. His son was on his feet now, outrage flashing from his eyes.
“There wasn’t any bread left this morning,” Jack said, “and the hot water was used up and then both towels were wet and—”
“You broke my trust because I ate the last stale piece of bread in the house? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No…I was hoping that if I reasoned with Shelly, we might clear this up once and for all.”
“If you want me out of here, all you have to do is ask.” Eric stormed into what had once been the spare bedroom.
“I didn’t say I wanted you to move out,” Jack said, but his words held little conviction.
“Not a problem, Dad,” Eric said, rushing out of the room a minute later with his duffel bag. Clothes spilled out from all sides. “I’m out of here. You weren’t much of a father when I needed one as a kid. I don’t know what made me think you’d be any different now.”
Jack groaned in frustration. He’d made a mess of this when all he’d been trying to do was get their lives back to normal. “Eric, listen, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Eric repeated as if this was the most ridiculous comment he’d ever heard. “It’s a little late for that. Don’t worry, I won’t bother you anymore.”
With that, he was gone and Jack wondered how long it would be before he heard from his son again.
Cedar Cove was a wonderful place to be at Christmastime, Maryellen mused as she opened the gallery the first Friday in December. Evergreen boughs were strung along both sides of Harbor Street
and large festive candy canes hung from each of the streetlights. The gallery itself was decorated with tiny white lights and elegantly draped swags of spruce that scented the air. It was the smell of Christmas to Maryellen, the smell she associated with childhood holidays—and with her father. She had a sudden sharp memory of him, bringing in a fresh Christmas tree, stamping snow from his feet. Maryellen blinked back unexpected tears.
For some reason, she found herself thinking of Jon. It’d been two weeks since Maryellen had last seen him, but, she suspected it wouldn’t be long before he arrived at the gallery with more of his photographs. Especially since she hadn’t brought them with her when she’d left his house. Maryellen had done her best to prepare emotionally for this next confrontation. She couldn’t allow what had happened to taint their business relationship. A thousand times since that night she’d wanted to kick herself for giving in to her baser instincts. She had plenty of excuses to justify her actions, but time and truth had knocked down every one of them. It wasn’t the wine or the moonlight, nor could she blame Jon for seducing her. She’d been fully involved.
Almost as if Jon was aware that she was thinking of him, he showed up shortly after the gallery officially opened for business. Maryellen was busy with a customer when he came into the large open studio. She noticed that he had two framed photographs with him and guessed there were more in his vehicle.
Maryellen was still waiting on the customer as Jon made a second and then third trip, carrying photographs into the back room.
“I’m going to think it over,” Mrs. Whitfield said.
It took Maryellen a moment to realize the doctor’s wife was referring to the watercolor she’d been considering as a Christmas gift for her husband.
“That’ll be fine,” Maryellen said. Then, with far too little warning, she was alone in the back room of the gallery with Jon.
“Hello,” she said stiffly, doing her best to remain cordial and polite. Before leaving his house, she’d told him their relationship, from that point forward, would be strictly business. She’d meant it.
“Hello.” His eyes probed her with such intensity she looked away.