frown deepened. “I suppose Olivia couldn’t wait to come tattling,” he muttered, anger shadowing his face.
“Hardly. I surmised what went on between the two of you all by myself.”
Will exhaled slowly. “Let me assure you, Mother, that your concerns are groundless. I’m delighted for Grace and … her husband. I wish them the very best. Grace made her choice and while I wish she’d chosen to marry me—”
“Marry you!” Charlotte exploded. “You were married to Georgia at the time.”
“We were planning to divorce,” he said with perfect calm.
Charlotte knew he was lying. “Oh, Will,” she whispered, her heart aching. “Do you honestly believe you can lie to me so easily? I’m your mother. I know you.”
Will had never liked being confronted, least of all by her. He bit his lip, the same way he had as a boy. “Let me assure you, Mother, I am not interested in getting involved with Grace. I’m sincere about that. Like I said, I wish her and Cliff happiness. Right or wrong, I lost her and I accept that. I’ll step aside.”
“Do you mean it?” Charlotte asked, meeting his eyes.
Will grinned, and he certainly didn’t look like a man who’d deceive his own mother.
“Scout’s honor.” He held his arms open and when she moved into his embrace, he hugged her gently.
He disappeared again soon afterward without mentioning where he was going. Ben was in the living room reading in his recliner, with Harry, her guard cat, on his lap.
“Feel better?” he asked when she joined him.
“I … think so. I couldn’t go another day without speaking my mind. I had to tell Will how unhappy I am about his behavior.”
Ben set aside his book, the memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant, draping it over the arm of his chair. “Don’t forget, I know what it’s like to have children who disappoint you. You aren’t alone in that, my dear.”
He spoke from experience. Ben’s son David had constant money problems and often came to his father seeking financial assistance. Wisely Ben had made it a policy not to give his son any loans until he’d paid off the money he’d already borrowed.
“In some ways I wish the problem with Will was money,” she said. “He asked me to trust his intentions toward Grace. Really, I didn’t have any choice but to tell him I would.”
“I agree,” Ben said, stroking Harry’s fur from ears to tail. The cat purred with pleasure. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Yes, but what do I do if he goes against his word?” Much as she wanted to believe that Will would do the honorable thing, deep down she suspected he wouldn’t.
“Charlotte, my love,” Ben said. “Don’t borrow trouble. Each day brings enough as it is. Take him at his word until you have reason to doubt him. Then and only then, confront him.”
She nodded. “In other words, I shouldn’t cross that bridge until I come to it—and other assorted clichés.”
Ben stretched out his hand. “Exactly,” he said, smiling widely.
Charlotte walked over to her husband’s chair and slipped her arm around his shoulders. “I’m so glad I married you. You’re a man of wisdom, Mr. Rhodes.”
Ben kissed her fingers. “I was smart enough to marry the most beautiful woman in the universe. Now, didn’t you say something this morning about an apple pie?”
“I did,” she said with a laugh.
“Apple’s my favorite pie for August, you know.”
“I thought that was October,” she teased.
“Hmm. You might be right. But we don’t want to be rigid about these things, do we?”
Unable to stop herself, Charlotte laughed again. She did love this man. She’d found love twenty years after losing the husband she’d adored. All she could hope was that her son would find a woman strong enough to love him despite his flaws. Strong enough to teach him despite his failings.
If such a woman existed.
Fourteen
He was acting like a high-school kid, Troy Davis chided himself. He’d actually started whistling as he got ready for his evening out with Faith. Whistling! Anyone hearing him, watching him, would hardly recognize him as the sober, level-headed sheriff of Cedar Cove—but he didn’t care what anyone thought. This was the first Saturday night in years—yes, years—that was about indulgence, not obligation. He felt a little guilty thinking that, since he’d loved Sandy so much, but surely he was entitled to an evening of simple enjoyment. Surely he was entitled to this sense of joyful anticipation.
Faith had invited him to dinner at her house in Seattle. Late in the afternoon he shaved, then slapped on aftershave, the same brand he’d been wearing for decades. Maybe it was time for a change, he reflected. When he’d finished combing his hair, he searched his closet for a dress shirt. Not the starched-collar type; a knit one that would be considered appropriate for church on Sunday morning. Appropriate for a dinner date on Saturday evening.
Ever since that first call, he’d talked to Faith nearly every night. Usually he wasn’t one to while away an hour on idle conversation, yet he and Faith were on the phone that long and sometimes longer. Then they’d hang up and Troy would remember four or five other things he wished he’d said; he’d have to resist the urge to call her right back.
They’d met a week ago in Cedar Cove for hot, greasy French fries and a diet soda—at the Pancake Palace, of course. The haunt of their youth, as Faith described it. Afterward, they’d wandered down to the marina. They chatted and laughed and reminisced. By the time Faith drove back to Seattle, night had begun to fall.
Troy had waited until he assumed she was home and then phoned, just to be sure she’d arrived safely. They’d spent almost four hours together, and another hour on the phone once Faith was back in Seattle.
They hadn’t kissed. Not yet, anyway. He hadn’t even touched her in more than the most impersonal of ways—fingers brushing as he passed her a drink, a hand on her elbow as they crossed the street. Frankly, he was afraid. He was determined to put those fears behind him, though, and if the opportunity arose, if the moment was right, he’d approach her for a kiss. She had to want it, too. It’d been so many years since he’d needed to read those signs…. Well, he just hoped he’d know.
Before he left the house, Troy rummaged through the bathroom looking for cologne, which, to his utter frustration, he couldn’t find. His daughter had given him some for Christmas. Nice stuff, expensive. That must’ve been a year ago, maybe two, and he was sure he’d tucked it away somewhere in the bathroom. He’d never even opened the bottle.
Now that he thought about it, Sandy had still been living at home so it would’ve been more than two years. By now, it was probably ruined, anyway. Just as well; he didn’t want to be too obvious. And he probably shouldn’t wear competing scents, not that he’d really notice but women tended to have a better sense of smell. Fine. The aftershave was sufficient.
He
