want him back.” Sadness settled over her. “I’d just like to see him long enough to slap the divorce papers in his hand.”
Eleven
Cecilia had dreaded this day for weeks. May first. Her wedding anniversary. A year ago, on this very day, she’d stood with Ian before a Justice of the Peace and they exchanged heartfelt vows. In a matter of minutes, they’d joined their lives for what she’d believed would be forever.
The pregnancy was just beginning to show, and Cecilia had felt it was silly to wear white. Instead she’d chosen a lovely soft pink dress and made a matching veil herself.
Her mother had flown to Washington for the ceremony, brief though it was, and taken them both out for dinner afterward. Bobby had slipped a fifty-dollar bill in Cecilia’s hand. Ian had insisted they have a honeymoon, and despite their lack of extra money, he’d found a way. They’d spent two glorious days on the Washington coast, the Long Beach peninsula. They’d explored the beach and the small historic towns, like Oysterville and Seaview. At night, they’d cuddled together in front of the fireplace in their rented cottage and discussed the future. Everything had seemed so perfect then. It was on their honeymoon that they’d decided on names for their unborn child and talked about Ian’s Navy career and Cecilia’s role as a Navy wife. She hadn’t understood everything that would require, but had been willing to follow her husband to the ends of the earth.
She’d followed him to the end of her sanity. Cecilia couldn’t possibly guess that within a few months their child would be dead. She couldn’t have known that all joy and purpose would disappear from her life.
A year later, May first was just another workday. Nothing special. Nothing out of the ordinary. As much as possible, she intended to ignore its significance, the same way she’d been ignoring Ian.
For a while, they’d been e-mailing back and forth—until she’d faced up to the reality of their situation. They remained legally bound, but they were no longer husband and wife, despite her lapse in judgment when they’d made love. Their separation had lasted longer than their marriage. What she’d said to him was true; he deserved to be a father. But as she’d told him in her last e-mail, he needed to accept the fact that she would never again risk that kind of heartache.
Ian’s return e-mail had suggested she was overreacting. He’d said she would feel different eventually, that she’d want to have another child. He didn’t understand. She didn’t try to explain, because any response would’ve been an invitation for him to argue—and to continue their correspondence. So she’d stopped e-mailing him, stopped going to the library, stopped caring.
Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she’d managed to rid her thoughts of Ian. It’d been a mistake to write him, a mistake to get involved with him again, even through that series of short e-mails. No, her decision was made. As soon as she could afford it, she was going ahead with the divorce, which would be the best thing for both of them. In time Ian would see that, and in time, he’d find it in his heart to forgive her.
When she’d worked all of that out, she’d parked his car, refusing to drive it again.
Knowing what the future held for her and Ian, Cecilia couldn’t allow the significance of May first to distract her. She headed for her advanced algebra class early that morning, driving her own car, determined to make the best of the day. This was the next level of algebra and far more challenging than her first course. It helped that Mr. Cavanaugh was teaching this one, too. She liked him a great deal.
Despite her efforts to concentrate during class, her mind drifted in various unsettling directions, finally landing on the very subjects she’d wanted to avoid. Ian, her dead baby and the hopelessness of ever getting an education one course at a time. When she finally graduated with any kind of useful degree, she’d be old enough to collect Social Security.
Feeling depressed, she waited to talk to Mr. Cavanaugh after class. Holding her books tightly against her, she walked to the front of the room.
“Yes, Cecilia,” he said, giving her his attention.
“I…I thought you should know I’ve decided to drop out of class.”
He didn’t reveal any overt disappointment. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there a particular reason?”
Several, but none she could mention. Hanging her head, she shrugged. “I’m not sure where I’ll use this knowledge. I’m a restaurant hostess, not some brainy type who’ll have a career in math.”
“Knowledge is never wasted. You’re right, of course, you might never again have the opportunity to use the quadratic formula, but there’s a certain satisfaction in being able to do so. Don’t you agree?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see.” He reached for his books and placed them inside his briefcase, then left the room.
Cecilia walked with him. Part of her had hoped he’d try to talk her out of quitting. “I did want to thank you.”
“What about your other class? What was it again?”
“Business English,” she supplied.
“Do you intend to drop out of that, too?”
She nodded, clutching her books tighter than ever. The school would refund a portion of the course fees if she pulled out before the end of this week.
“I’m sorry, Cecilia,” he said again.
“I am, too,” she whispered, even more miserable now.
“Give it to the end of the week, all right?”
“Okay,” she agreed, but her mind was made up. She would use the money from the classes to pay for another appointment with Allan Harris. She’d ask him to try to get the prenuptial agreement overturned. He’d mentioned that they could appeal Judge Lockhart’s decree, and with Ian out at sea, that was her only option.
After her classes, Cecilia drove her clunker back to the apartment, hoping to nap before work. Normally she started in on her homework, tackling it with enthusiasm, but not today. Not when there was a very real possibility she wouldn’t be returning to Olympic College after Friday.
The light on the answering machine was blinking. Reluctantly Cecilia pushed the button.
“It’s Cathy,” came the cheerful voice of her friend. “A bunch of us are getting together tonight for dinner. Are you interested? It’s a potluck at my place. I hope you’ll come. Give me a call either way. I’d really love to have you here.” Cathy had become a friend, a good friend, and they made a point of seeing each other every week. Sometimes with the other Navy wives, more often not. They’d scouted out garage sales, gone to an occasional movie, met for Sunday brunch.
But Cecilia couldn’t go tonight, not when she was working the dinner shift at the restaurant. Cathy knew her hours and had invited her anyway, making a point of including her. Cecilia hated having to explain, since it should’ve been obvious that she couldn’t get away.
Cathy answered immediately. “Cecilia,” she cried, sounding really pleased to hear from her. “Say you’ll come.”
“I can’t.”
“But it won’t be the same without
