Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(41)

Faith could feel herself weakening.

“Shall we try again?” Troy asked.

Despite her stubborn insistence that they were through, she wavered. He watched her, waiting, his expression hopeful. Faith forced herself to look away. “I need to think about it.” She paused. “Are you sure this time, Troy?”

“I’m sure.”

Faith wanted to trust him but was afraid to. She knew she couldn’t tolerate another rejection, another betrayal. “I’m not ready to make that decision yet,” she said.

For a fleeting moment Troy seemed disappointed. But his demeanor quickly changed, becoming more businesslike. “Fair enough.” He stared down at his hat as if carefully considering his next statement. “I’ll tell you what. Once you’ve made your decision, you let me know.”

“Fine.”

“I won’t trouble you again, Faith.” He stood, walking toward the front door. “No need to show me out.”

Nevertheless she got up and accompanied him.

Troy’s posture was stiff and straight. She knew he’d stand by his word; he wouldn’t contact her again.

The next move, if there was one, would have to come from her.

Fifteen

Justine Gunderson could hardly wait to see her mother. She called Olivia once or twice a day, but hadn’t been able to visit since Wednesday. She wanted to continue their ongoing conversation about her new restuarant, a conversation that brought great pleasure to them both. The Victorian Tea Room was now under construction and Olivia’s suggestions had made all the difference.

Her mother seemed to be recovering from the surgery well, with her chemotherapy scheduled to begin in early January. “What a way to start the new year!” she’d joked and they’d both laughed. After all, there wasn’t anything to do but laugh—laugh and endure.

Justine finished her Saturday-morning errands: the dry cleaners, then the library and finally the grocery store to buy powdered sugar for the gingerbread house she was making with Leif that afternoon. Throwing everything in the car, she hurried to her mother’s place on Lighthouse Road.

She parked in front of the house and bounded up the porch steps. After knocking once, loudly, she opened the door. “Mom? Jack?”

“In here,” her mother called from the bedroom.

Justine ventured down the hall. It was unusual for her mother to still be in bed on a Saturday morning. Justine knew the surgery and anesthetic had taken their toll on her energy, but despite that, she couldn’t help feeling a little shocked. Olivia was a lifelong early riser, and this was just so…uncharacteristic.

As she entered the darkened room, she found her mother sitting on the side of the bed.

“Could you hand me my housecoat?” she asked groggily.

Justine did. “Shall I open the drapes for you, Mom?”

“Please.”

As she let in the day’s weak light, she asked, “Where’s Jack?”

Olivia stared up at her. “Oh…He’s writing a sports piece on youth soccer in Kitsap County,” she explained. “This was the only time he could get the interview.” Her mother stood and tied the sash to her housecoat. “I’m sure he’ll be back any minute.” Blinking, she asked, “What time is it, anyway?”

“Ten-fifteen.”

Olivia rubbed her eyes. “I can’t believe I slept this late.”

“You obviously needed it. Shall I make us a pot of tea?”

Yawning, Olivia nodded. “Thank you, dear.”

Justine loved this old house, especially the kitchen. She knew it as well as she did her own. She moved confidently from stove to cupboard, putting on water to boil, setting out her favorite white ceramic teapot, choosing peppermint tea bags. She figured it was better for both of them at this point than the strong Irish Breakfast they tended to prefer.

“Is Leif at home?” her mother asked, joining her ten minutes later.

“He’s visiting his other grandparents with his daddy.” Justine had already set two cups and saucers on the kitchen table. She poured the hot tea, breathing in the fresh, minty aroma, as Olivia settled in her chair. She was still in her flannel pajamas with their snowflake pattern and her red fleece housecoat, a get-well gift from Grace Harding.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Justine,” her mother said, smiling over at her.

“You, too, Mom. I meant to stop by yesterday afternoon, but—”

“No, no, I didn’t mean to imply that you should’ve been here. We talk every day.”

Her relationship with her mother was on solid ground. It hadn’t always been, and Justine didn’t want to do anything to impede the progress they’d made since she married Seth.

“You’re feeling well?” her mother asked, looking pointedly at Justine’s stomach.

“Fabulous. A hundred years ago, I probably would’ve been one of those women who gave birth every year or two. I’m perfectly healthy and I love being pregnant.”

Her mother smiled. “I loved it, too. With you and your brother…” She hesitated as she sometimes did when referring to Jordan. Pain shadowed her eyes for a moment, but if she hadn’t known her mother so well, Justine might have missed it. She felt that sense of loss, too. Loss for the twin brother who’d died the summer they were thirteen.