and as much as he regretted the miscarriage, he had his own life.
In fact, he doubted he could stay away from Scott Beckwith’s house, knowing Faith was in town. Now that he’d given himself permission to see her, the guilt shrank, replaced with a sense of anticipation. He’d be with her in a couple of days!
“I knit you something,” she said. “I’ll bring it on Saturday.”
“What did you knit?” The idea of her doing this thrilled him and the happiness he felt warmed him from the inside out.
“Socks,” she murmured.
“Two?”
Faith giggled. “Yes, silly.”
“I have big feet.”
“I remember that about you,” she said in a wry voice that made him laugh. “Those high-school dances. My poor scuffed shoes.”
That led to a brief reminiscence of the Friday-night dances at Cedar Cove High and the songs they’d particularly liked.
“I’m taking my son and his family to dinner,” Faith said next. “Would you like to join us? We’re going to D.D.’s on the Cove.”
He considered the invitation and then decided to decline. It was one thing to see Faith privately, another to flaunt it. Megan would find out soon enough and he’d rather be the one to tell her. He didn’t want her hearing gossip from some busybody.
“I’d better not. Should I pick you up at your son’s house at eight? Will that give you enough time?” He already knew where he’d take her…. But he’d save it for Saturday night. Surprise her.
“That would be fine. Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
His mood was almost jovial as he put down the phone. Then, on impulse, he reached for his car keys and headed out the door.
He drove to the cemetery. He’d only been there once since Sandy’s funeral, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about her. He did, every single day. After all the years they’d been together, Sandy was part of him. She always would be. Troy wished he knew how to convey that to his daughter, how to tell Megan that his relationship with Faith or any other woman would never diminish his love for Sandy. He wasn’t sure she’d accept his words. Wasn’t sure she wanted to.
He parked and walked over the damp green lawn to the gravesite. The array of pink carnations told him Megan had recently come by. He suspected she was a frequent visitor, coming as often as two or three times a week.
For long minutes all he did was stare down at the headstone. He was tempted to speak to Sandy, tell her about Faith. But his wife wasn’t there. Not the real Sandy, the person she’d been, the woman he’d loved. Like Megan, he believed she’d gone to heaven, released at last from sickness and pain. He couldn’t imagine her anywhere else.
When he thought about it, he realized there was really nothing to tell her, other than the fact that he’d kissed another woman. What astonished him was how good he felt about being with Faith. In his heart, he believed that Sandy would approve. Megan might have a hard time condoning it, but he didn’t think Sandy would object. More than that, she’d encourage him to grab hold of any chance at happiness.
The marble headstone was polished and new. He bent down to run his finger along the carved letters. Sandra Marie Davis. 1949-2007. That said so little about the kind of woman she’d been. Never in all the years that she’d battled MS had she complained. Nor did she curse her lot or question God. He’d been married to a very special woman and not once had Troy forgotten that. Not while Sandy was alive and not now.
Troy pressed his fingers to his lips and touched them to the gravestone, then walked slowly back to his car. Still unwilling to return to an empty house, he decided to visit his daughter and son-in-law.
Megan flew into his arms the minute she opened the front door. “Oh, Daddy, it’s so wonderful to see you.”
She looked much better than she had a few weeks ago, he thought, hugging her back.
“I can hardly remember the last time you came by,” she said, and he heard the chiding in her tone.
Troy understood what had kept him away. Guilt. He was sorry he’d allowed that to happen.
His daughter had the same gift of hospitality as her mother. He was immediately ushered into the family room and handed a cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. Megan had dessert out and had cut him a slice of pecan pie before he could protest.
“Craig and I are going to the ocean this weekend,” Megan said, carrying in dessert plates for herself and her husband.
Craig thanked her and Megan sat down beside him. “I figured we could both use a weekend away,” his son-in-law explained. “So I booked us into a place at Cannon Beach.”
“Excellent idea.” Troy probably exhibited more enthusiasm than warranted. Not only did he think this would be good for Megan, with his daughter away, he’d be free to enjoy Faith’s visit. Okay, fine, so he had his own agenda. But he didn’t want Megan hurt—and he wanted to see Faith. For the moment, he felt as if he’d been handed a reprieve.
Before he left, Troy got the name of the hotel where Megan and Craig would be staying. As soon as he got home, he ordered champagne for their room. A romantic weekend was exactly what his daughter needed—and so did he.
Saturday evening, Troy was dressed by five o’clock. He shaved, combed his hair, then watched the clock for nearly three hours, pacing and periodically turning on the TV to pass the time. Precisely at eight, he parked outside Scott Beckwith’s house on a street close to Rosewood Lane. He was just climbing out of the car when Faith opened the screen door and stepped outside to greet him. Her son, Scott, was with her and the two of them had a brief conversation. Troy recognized Scott from seeing him around town but hadn’t known, of course, that he was Faith’s son.
After a quick introduction, Faith ran in to get her bag, leaving Troy to exchange awkward remarks with her son. Troy was conscious of being carefully assessed but he didn’t sense that Scott disliked him or disapproved. A far cry from Megan.
He and Faith walked to his car a few minutes later. She’d worn a simple green long-sleeved dress and had thrown a lacy knit shawl over her shoulders. Her beauty left him nearly breathless.
“You look …” He struggled for the right word. “Amazing,” he concluded, convinced he sounded like a tongue-tied nincompoop. Whenever he was around Faith, he had to remind himself that he was a responsible adult in a position of trust.
“You, too,” she said with a light laugh. “Oh, I have your socks.”
“I’ll wear them every day.” They’d remind him of her, not that he needed reminding.
He held open the car door for her, the same way he had in high school—the same way he had for Sandy. His father had drilled manners into him from an early age and they’d stayed with him all these years.
Once inside the car, Faith asked, “Are you ready to tell me where we’re going?”
“You’ll
