Rosewood Lane (Cedar Cove #2)(49)

“Browsing.” Her shopping had been finished months earlier.

He merely nodded.

“I understand you’ve taken your photographs into Seattle.” The rumor mill had been quick to inform her that his work was now being displayed in a large Seattle gallery. It was a coup for him and she was pleased to hear it, although the Harbor Street Gallery would miss the money his work generated.

He nodded again.

“Congratulations, Jon.” She genuinely meant that.

“Thank you.”

No need to stand in the middle of a parking lot. “Well, it was nice seeing you.” That was stretching the truth, but it would be impolite to say anything else. She started to walk past him when he stopped her.

“Maryellen.”

“Yes?” She knew she sounded impatient.

“About that night.”

She closed her eyes, not wanting to hear it. “Haven’t we already discussed it to death?”

“I didn’t plan what happened.”

“So you said.” She didn’t dare look at him.

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t protect you, if you know what I mean.” He shrugged when she failed to respond. “Do you really need me to spell it out?”

“No.” An explanation was the last thing she needed. Not when she knew better than he did exactly what the consequence of that night could be—what, in fact, it was.

“Will you be all right? I mean, is there a possibility that…you know.” His concern was evident in his anxious frown.

She forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I am worried.” His eyes clouded. “I need to know—to be sure.”

For one terrifying moment, Maryellen was afraid he’d guessed. “I’m fine, Jon. I appreciate your concern but the situation’s under control.”

His relief was evident as the tension eased from his shoulders. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

He held her eyes a second or two longer, then abruptly turned away.

Now Maryellen could finally relax. She expelled her breath and hurried into the Tulips and Things Craft Store.

On Friday, five days before Christmas, Maryellen took her lunch break down at the Potbelly Deli, which served wonderful soups and inventive sandwiches. The restaurant was a local favorite, and she went there as often as she could. Enjoying a cup of the seafood chowder, Maryellen sat in the corner by herself, reading an art magazine, when her mother stepped inside.

“I thought I saw you in here,” Grace said. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“I’d love it.” Although they lived and worked in the same town, a week would slip past without the chance to talk or visit.

Her mother ordered a bowl of the tomato bisque soup and a cup of coffee, then sat in the chair across from her. “I had a visitor not long ago.”

It didn’t take Maryellen long to guess. “Cliff Harding?”

Blushing, Grace nodded. “He invited me and Buttercup to see his horse ranch. I went out there on Saturday.” She stirred her soup and didn’t look up. “Charlotte was going to come originally, but she wasn’t feeling well, so it was just Cliff, me, Buttercup and the horses. He has magnificent horses.” After a slight pause she continued, adding comments about the home, a two-story log house, and the acreage—pastures, woods and even a stream.

Maryellen couldn’t remember seeing her mother more animated about anything in quite a while. “That sounds wonderful.” It was a step in the right direction that her mother had agreed to this outing with Cliff.

Grace tasted the soup, crumbled a package of oyster crackers and dumped them in. When she glanced up, she stared at Maryellen for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “My goodness, you’re terribly pale,” she said. “Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m pale?” She tried to pretend this was news.

“You look anemic.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

Her mother studied her, frowning slightly. “I want you to promise me you’ll make a doctor’s appointment.”

“I don’t need to see a doctor,” she said, wanting to laugh off her concern. “The next thing I know, you’ll be lecturing me about eating prunes the way Mrs. Jefferson always does.”

Grace swallowed another mouthful of soup. “If you don’t make the appointment, then I will. I don’t remember ever seeing you this pale. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant.”

The words shocked Maryellen so badly that she choked on her soup. She coughed and wheezed, tears springing to her eyes, and her mother leaped up and pounded her hard on the back.

“Are you all right?”

Maryellen reached for her water glass and sipped. “I’m fine…I think.”

A minute or more passed, and Maryellen could feel her mother’s scrutiny. When Grace finally spoke, her voice was low. “Your father was always closest to Kelly,” she said. “You were the one I identified with most. We’re quite a bit alike. You realize that, don’t you? My hair was once the exact shade of yours. My eyes are the same dark brown.”

Maryellen didn’t know where this conversation was leading, but she had her suspicions. “You’re my mother,” she said lightly. “Of course I look like you.”