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Suddenly it became obvious. She had to get the number from directory assistance. As she punched it out, she prayed Jon was home and close to a phone.
When there was no answer at his house, she nearly wept with frustration. Panic started to set in; warding it off, she forced herself to remain calm. On the off chance that he was working, she dialed The Lighthouse restaurant.
The woman who answered was polite and friendly. Maryellen was put on hold. After an eternity, Jon came on the line, and his clipped greeting said he wasn’t happy to be called away from whatever he was doing.
Frightened, near desperate, Maryellen whispered hoarsely, “Jon…I need help—”
She wasn’t allowed to finish. “Where are you?”
“Home. My water broke.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Her relief was overwhelming. She blinked rapidly to keep from breaking into grateful tears. “Thank you,” she began, but the line had already gone dead.
Only a few minutes later she heard a car door slam outside her small rental house. By then, she’d called Dr. Abner and learned that her instincts had been right; he wanted her to go directly to the hospital’s birthing center.
Jon didn’t bother to knock but came barreling in the front door. He had on his white chef’s shirt and pants, both of which were stained. Obviously she’d caught him in the middle of the midday rush. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. The last time had been early in the summer when they’d agreed to visitation, and despite the frantic way his gaze darted to her now, he looked wonderful. By conventional standards Jon wasn’t a handsome man. His features were too sharp, his face long and narrow, his nose almost hawklike, but Maryellen had learned a harsh lesson when it came to attractive men. At first glance, Jon wasn’t going to cause hearts to flutter; it was only on closer examination that she’d recognized the strength of character she found so compelling.
“Hi,” she said weakly, staring down at the floor and the watery mess she was standing in.
“So you’ve got yourself in a little predicament here.” His smile warmed her.
“Were you serious about wanting to see Katie’s birth?” she asked. The panic was completely gone now that he was here.
“I’d like that if it’s possible.”
“Looks like you’ve just been nominated to drive me to the hospital’s birthing center.”
In three quick strides he was across the room and scooped her into his arms as if her considerable weight was of little consequence.
She wanted to protest, to suggest she was too heavy for him, but she didn’t. For the first time since she’d tried to reach her mother, Maryellen felt protected. Safe. He helped her change clothes and then carried her out the door.
He carefully placed her inside his vehicle. “Is your suitcase packed?” he asked.
She nodded. “All except my toothbrush.”
“I’ll grab that and your overnight bag and be right back.”
He left her and returned just as she was having a contraction. They’d gotten much stronger in the minutes since her water broke. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and exhaled, trying to remember everything she’d learned in her birthing class.
Jon was in the driver’s seat beside her when she opened her eyes again.
“You okay?” he asked.
He’d gone pale, she noticed. She attempted to reassure him with a smile.
Later, Maryellen remembered almost nothing about the ride from Cedar Cove into Silverdale and the birthing center. Jon didn’t speak, and she didn’t, either, concentrating on the breathing techniques she’d learned while he drove, expertly weaving through traffic.
When they arrived at the center, there seemed to be all kinds of activity going on around her. She was stripped, prepped, helped into bed and had a fetal monitor attached. Jon disappeared, and she wondered if he’d dropped her off and then left again. She supposed that made sense, since she’d clearly called him in the middle of his shift.
Then she was alone in a comfortable room with every modern device to distract her from the pain. There was soft music and a television with VCR should she care to watch, but none of that interested her.
The contractions were far more intense than anyone could have warned her. She mentally counted the seconds as each contraction came over her, working its way from her back to her front, tightening her belly.
“Maryellen?” Jon’s voice was low.
Her eyes flew open and she found him standing in the doorway. Her relief and gratitude were instantaneous. Propping herself up on one elbow, she asked hopefully, “Can you stay?”
“If that’s what you want.”
She did. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she wanted him with her, how much she needed him. Not just anyone. Him.
Coming all the way into the room, he sat on the chair by her side and studied the monitor as it recorded her labor. Although he hadn’t attended a single birthing class, he seemed to know exactly what to say and do to comfort her. When she moved onto her side, he rubbed her back and whispered reassurances. His voice was encouraging as he repeatedly told her what a good job she was doing.
The length and intensity of the contractions continued, and in the middle of one that lasted almost a minute—the longest minute of her life—the pain overwhelmed her. She whimpered softly.
“Do something!” Jon demanded of the nurse who happened to step into the room just then. “She can’t take this pain.”
The woman smiled benevolently. “Maryellen has opted for a natural birth. We’re simply respecting her wishes.”
“I’m okay,” Maryellen said, but she wondered how long she could hold out. “Would it be all right if I held your hand?”
Jon was on his feet and leaning toward her. He braced his elbow against the bed and offered her his hand. From that moment on, she clung to him. When it was time to bear down, Jon was with her, his head close to her own, his arm around her shoulders. Dr. Abner arrived, and that assured her it wouldn’t be much longer.
Jon introduced himself and then in a low, soothing voice, continued to offer Maryellen encouragement and support. Leaning against him, she strained, pushing this child from her body and panting wildly between pains.
With the next contraction she gripped Jon’s hand and pushed, groaning with the effort. Sweat poured off her. Then all at once, her daughter slipped free. Maryellen gasped as she heard Catherine Grace’s fragile cry.
Pride and love filled Maryellen and her eyes brimmed with tears. She smiled tremulously at Jon and was surprised to see that he, too, had tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Welcome, Katie,” she whispered.
Jon looked at her. “Katie, not Catherine?”
Maryellen nodded. She’d gotten in the habit of calling her daughter that. “Catherine seems a bit of a mouthful for such a tiny baby, don’t you think?” Katie was his mother’s name, too, and Maryellen wanted to do that for him—to honor the mother he’d obviously loved.
Jon studied their child’s red face, contorted by angry cries. “Thank you,” he whispered, and his arm tightened around her shoulders. Dr. Abner handed their wailing daughter to the nurse.
“You can come with me, Dad,” the delivery nurse told him. “I’m going to weigh and wash her up, and then you can hold your little girl.”
Jon seemed to be seeking her approval. With tears of joy and jubilation, Maryellen nodded. Nothing in the world could compare to this feeling. This wonderful sense of triumph, of joy, of love. Because Maryellen already knew that she loved her baby. The power of that love settled over her heart unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Jon and the nurse were busy on the other side of the room. Maryellen couldn’t see everything that was happening, but she saw Jon’s face when the woman settled Katie in his arms. His look was one of such awe and elation, she felt profoundly moved. At just that moment, he glanced up and their eyes met.
“She’s beautiful,” he mouthed, cradling her protectively in the crook of his arm.
Wanting to hold her, Maryellen stretched out her arms and Jon crossed the room and placed Katie in her waiting embrace.
This was the way it would be with them, Maryellen realized. They’d have to learn to share their daughter. To work together. To put their own wants and needs aside—to put Katie’s first.
There was a knock at the door, which Maryellen ignored. Instead, she studied Catherine Grace. Her tiny face was still red and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as if the lights were too strong for her.
Jon offered her his finger and Katie’s tiny hand wrapped around it.
A young woman, apparently a volunteer, stuck her head into the room. “A Mrs. Sherman is outside. She says she’s supposed to be your birthing partner.”
“That would be my mother,” Maryellen explained, smiling.
The volunteer smiled back. “I’ll send her in.”
A couple of minutes later, both her mother and Kelly were in the room. Maryellen was bombarded with questions. Before she was even aware of it, Jon had disappeared. She hadn’t had a chance to thank him.
While she waited for the city council meeting to start, Charlotte Jefferson dug out her knitting. It distressed her that more people in the community didn’t concern themselves with local government. But then, this was only her second meeting in seventy-five years. Until recently, she hadn’t paid much attention to civic affairs herself.
“Hello, Louie,” she said, nodding politely when the mayor walked in. She sat alone in the front row.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Louie Benson said as he strolled past her. The Bensons were an old Cedar Cove family. Louie’s younger brother, Otto, was a prominent attorney in town.
“Yes, I have a great-grandson,” she confirmed. “My first.”
“I understand Grace Sherman’s a grandmother now—for the second time, I think.”
“Just last week.” Grace was as proud of her first granddaughter, Maryellen’s baby, as she was of her grandson, Kelly and Paul’s little Tyler. Charlotte thought it had worked out nicely that her daughter, Olivia, and Olivia’s best friend could be grandmothers together. Those two had always been close and a blessing to each other.
“It’s unusual to see you at the council meetings,” the mayor said. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure.”
“I’m here for a reason.” Charlotte jerked fiercely on her yarn as she continued knitting.
“Anything I can do?” the mayor had the good sense to inquire.
Frankly Charlotte had hoped he’d ask. “I want to propose that this town open a health clinic. I think it’s shameful that we haven’t had one before now.” At a minimum, people had to drive ten or fifteen miles to the Bremerton area for medical attention, and it often meant waiting hours in the emergency room. A town the size of Cedar Cove could easily support a clinic. But Charlotte wanted a particular kind of health facility, a place for everyone in Cedar Cove.
“Now, Charlotte—”
“One that’ll take patients on a sliding fee scale,” she added, unwilling to listen to Louie’s objections. “I know Medicare and Medicaid patients would welcome the opportunity to avoid having to go all the way into Bremerton or Silverdale for their health needs.”
“I agree, but—”
“Too many of my friends are reluctant to see a physician for fear of what it’ll cost.”
“Yes, I realize that, but—”
“Louis Benson, you’re talking like a politician.”
“Now, Charlotte, you and I both know this is strictly a figurehead position. The town’s run by a hired manager. If you want to talk to Matthew Harper about setting up a low-cost health clinic, then go ahead, but I can tell you right now there’s no budget for it.”
Fine, if that was what it took, she’d discuss this with the manager. “I will.”
The mayor looked slightly uncomfortable and glanced over his shoulder. When he spoke again, he lowered his voice. “A bit of advice.”
“Anything you can tell me would be welcome,” she assured him, staring down at her knitting as if it demanded her full concentration.
“Get all your facts together before you see Matt Harper.”
“I will,” she assured him. Harper was reputed to be a tough bargainer, scrupulous about town budgets, but he’d met his match if he thought he could roadblock her efforts. If it was the last thing she did before she died, Charlotte fully intended to see that Cedar Cove got a health facility of its own.
The door opened, and the mayor quickly straightened. “How’s everyone at the Senior Center doing?” he asked, as if making polite conversation.
“Laura’s rheumatism is acting up,” Charlotte informed him. “She says it’s going to be a hard winter. Bess has had a cough all summer. I keep telling her she should see a doctor, but she’s afraid of what he might tell her so she refuses to go. If there was a clinic here in town, I’d make the appointment and drag her in myself. And Evelyn…” Charlotte paused when she realized Louie was no longer listening. His attention was focused elsewhere.
When he noticed she’d stopped talking, he patted her shoulder and said, “Good to chat with you, Charlotte. I’ll see what we can do about your suggestion.”
“You do that,” she said, but she already knew her words had gone in one ear and out the other. Louie Benson had given her a bit of helpful advice, however. She needed facts and figures.
Charlotte decided to leave as soon as she finished this purl row. No one wanted to listen to a cranky old woman. Least of all this roomful of men, each one struggling to appear more important than the next. The door at the back of the room creaked open, and assuming it was another councillor, Charlotte didn’t turn to look.
To her surprise, it was Ben Rhodes. He was a tall, distinguished man with a thick head of white hair. She might be seventy-five, but Charlotte had never been immune to a handsome man…and still wasn’t. Some of the ladies at the Senior Center thought of Ben as a Cesar Romero look-alike. He’d recently moved to the area and she didn’t know him well, but he was a popular figure at the center—for obvious reasons.
“Hello, Ben,” she said when he took a seat across the aisle from her.
He glanced in her direction; she could tell from the blank look in his eyes that he didn’t recognize her.
“I’m Charlotte Jefferson from the Henry M. Jackson Senior Center.”
A warm smile transformed Ben’s face as he crossed the aisle and sat one chair away from her. They hadn’t been formally introduced, but she’d seen him a number of times. Ben was at the Senior Center every Monday, the same as she, only he played bridge and pinochle and she was part of the ladies’ knitting group.
Ben always came alone and she’d wondered about his wife, but they’d never had an opportunity to talk. From the way the ladies fluttered around him like bees over a glass of lemonade, she guessed he was a widower.
She’d made a point of saying hello to him the afternoon Olivia was guest of honor at the once-a-month luncheons the center put on. But she’d spoken to so many people that day. It’d been glorious having her own daughter give such an impressive speech. Still, that was months ago now, and Charlotte wasn’t sure Ben even remembered that Olivia was her daughter.
“I didn’t know you were interested in politics,” Charlotte said, starting a fresh row despite her earlier decision to leave. There was no need to rush now that Ben was here.
“I don’t much care for political discussion, but I wanted to make a suggestion to the council. What about you?”
“I’m here for the same reason,” she declared. “Cedar Cove needs a health clinic.”
Ben’s deep-blue eyes widened. “That’s why I’m here.”
“A health clinic with a sliding fee scale,” Charlotte said, “so it’s affordable to everyone, no matter what age or income.”
Ben nodded fervently. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
They sat through the meeting with one empty chair between them. When Matthew Harper asked if there was any new business, Ben stood, resting his hands on the back of the chair in front of him.
“If I might address the council,” he said.
Harper raised his head, glanced curiously at the two of them, and nodded.
Ben spoke eloquently. He talked about people’s right to quality health care and the advantages a clinic would bring to Cedar Cove. He finished with the statement, “Let’s work together to overcome the bureaucratic issues and get the approvals we need. If we can do that, we’ll have done what’s necessary to improve the health of everyone in our community.”
Charlotte felt like leaping to her feet and applauding. He’d spoken far more convincingly than she could have and without emotion. Ben somehow made it sound as though a clinic was eminently possible thanks to the council’s leadership and influence. Charlotte marveled at his finesse.
The council, all smiles, promised to look into the matter and report back at the next meeting.
Then the meeting was dismissed, and Charlotte tucked her knitting inside her bag. “You were wonderful,” she told Ben. “I could never have presented the case for a health clinic nearly as well as you did.”
“Thank you.” He stood and politely stepped aside, letting her exit the row ahead of him.
They walked out into the warm air. It was Thursday evening and music could be heard coming from the waterfront park. “I’ll have you know I skipped tonight’s Concert on the Cove for this,” she said, although it was no real sacrifice this evening. The organizers had hired puppeteers and the program was geared more toward youngsters.
“How about a cup of coffee?” Ben offered.
Charlotte’s heart fluttered wildly. This was silly, but it wasn’t every night she got such an attractive invitation. “All right.”
“Shall we go down to The Lighthouse?” Ben asked.
Charlotte beamed. “That would be perfect. My granddaughter and her husband just opened it, you know.”
Ben looked suitably impressed. “They’re doing a good job.”
Charlotte agreed, but it wouldn’t seem right if she bragged on and on about Justine and Seth. She was thrilled at how well the couple was doing, considering how little practical experience they had with restaurants. What they did have was a wonderful chef, good people skills and genuine business ability.
As it happened, both Seth and Justine were off for the night, which was just as well, Charlotte mused, as she sat out on the patio with a lovely view of the cove. The revolving beam from the lighthouse could be seen intermittently in the distance, and the lights from the shipyard shimmered over the dark surface of Sinclair Inlet.
They both ordered coffee and apple pie with ice cream.
“What a nice suggestion,” Charlotte said, slicing her fork into her warm pie. It was spicy with cinnamon and went perfectly with the rich vanilla taste of the ice cream. Dessert was an indulgence, but life was too short to do without the occasional treat.
“There’ve been times I wanted to stop by here, but it isn’t any fun eating by myself,” Ben confessed. Shaking his head sadly, he told her, “My wife died six years ago. I don’t know if I’ll ever get accustomed to being alone.”
“My Clyde’s been gone twenty years.”
“Then you know.”
Charlotte did understand. Even after all these years, she still felt the dull ache of a deep but long-ago grief. Clyde was her everything: her faithful friend, constant companion, her husband and lover. The empty space his death had left in her life could never be filled.
“I heard you’re retired Navy,” she said, changing the subject before they became too melancholy.
“Forty years,” Ben confirmed. “I enlisted shortly after World War II, when I was eighteen, served in Korea and Vietnam. Retired as an admiral.”
“Children?”
“Two boys. They’re both married and have families of their own. What about you?”
“You met Olivia, I believe.”
He nodded. “The judge.”
So he did remember. “I have a son, too. Will. He lives near Atlanta, Georgia. He’s a nuclear engineer,” she boasted.
“Steven, my oldest boy, lives in Georgia, too. Ever hear of St. Simons Island?”
“Clyde and I visited there one summer. Let me think—it must’ve been back in the sixties, but I still remember how lovely it was. All those giant live oaks dripping with Spanish moss.”
Ben smiled. “Joan used to love visiting the island.” At the mention of his wife’s name, his eyes grew sad. Because Charlotte understood how devastating it was to lose one’s life mate, she gently patted his hand.
“It does hurt less after a while,” she whispered. “Life is never the same, but gradually we adjust. Every year’s a little easier.” Perhaps it would help if he talked, she thought. “Tell me about her.”
Ben looked surprised. “You want me to talk about Joan?”
“Only if you’d like to.”
He did; that was soon apparent. “Joan went with me all over the world,” he said. “I was stationed in Europe and Asia and in a number of states. Never once did she complain. I promised her that when I retired we’d settle down in one place.”
“And you did?”
“California. We built a home there, had about ten years, but then Joan got sick. Cancer.”
“What brought you to Cedar Cove?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. Dusk was descending, the lights’ reflection playing on the still waters. “I couldn’t stay in that house anymore. I moved to a condo in San Diego, but it didn’t feel right. I’d been up to Washington, the Seattle area, several times. Some friends had invited me to visit after the funeral, and then I came back almost every year. I took the ferry across to Bremerton a couple of years ago. On a whim, I went to Cedar Cove and walked around a bit. I liked it. The people were friendly and I was looking for somewhere new to live.”
“What about your sons?”
“David wanted me to move closer to him—he lives in Arizona—but that didn’t appeal to me. He was planning to take care of me, but I don’t ever want to be a burden to my family.”
“I know what you mean.” Charlotte had the same concerns. She sincerely doubted that Ben would ever be a burden to anyone. He was a proud, capable man, independent by nature.
“How long have you been here?”
“Over a year now.”
That didn’t seem possible.
Ben glanced at his watch and seemed surprised by the time. “My goodness, it’s almost nine-thirty.”
“It can’t be!” Charlotte was sure he’d made a mistake. They’d come here shortly after eight, since the council meeting, which started at seven, had lasted only an hour.
“You’re an easy woman to talk to, Charlotte.”
She felt her heart flutter at his praise. “Thank you.” What she didn’t say was that Ben Rhodes was an easy man to listen to—an easy man to like.
Four
Rosie Cox hadn’t taught grade school in years. Sixteen years, to be exact. When Allison was born, Zach and Rosie had made the decision that she’d be a stay-at-home mother. For years she proudly wore her Every Mother Is A Working Mother pin. Her views about women’s role within the family had leaned toward the militant. A mother’s love and care, especially in the early stages of child development, was vital. At one time, Rosie had prided herself on being the world’s best mother, best wife and best housekeeper. Okay, the housekeeping part was a stretch, but as far as parenthood went, she read all the books, talked to the experts and attended the latest classes. She’d been determined to do everything right by her family.
When Allison and Eddie were both in school, Rosie had briefly toyed with the idea of rejoining the workforce as a teacher. She had the credentials, the hours were ideal and she could have summers off with the kids. There hadn’t been any positions available, but she’d dipped her toe in the employment pool one autumn a few years back, when she’d worked as a cashier in a drugstore. That, however, hadn’t lasted long.