74 Seaside Avenue. Debbie Macomber
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town to see her family; they could have run into each other at any time, yet never had.
“So you’re the sheriff these days,” Faith said.
“Yeah, Cedar Cove’s always been my home. I never wanted to live anywhere else. There aren’t that many of us from our graduating class around anymore.”
“I heard about Dan Sherman’s death,” Faith told him. “Poor Grace. Scottie called me when his body was discovered.”
“That was a rough one,” Troy said. He knew Dan but they’d never been close friends. “Grace is remarried—to a local rancher.” He paused. “You’d like Cliff. He’s a down-to-earth, no-nonsense kind of guy.”
“What about Olivia?”
As he recalled, Faith and Olivia had been fairly good friends in high school.
“I always meant to keep in touch with Olivia, but life sort of crowded in.”
“Olivia married a guy called Stan Lockhart when she graduated from college. They were divorced the year their son died.”
“I knew she’d become a judge but I hadn’t heard that she’d lost a child. Or that her marriage broke up.”
“It all happened more than twenty years ago now. You never attended any of the class reunions, did you?” He should know; he’d been to every one.
“No. What about you?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Troy would’ve preferred to avoid them, but it was hard since he lived in town. And he’d been one of the senior class officers, so people expected him to plan the event. Against his will, he’d done it for most of the reunions, thanks mainly to Sandy and her organizational skills. His daughter had helped with the last reunion. He’d rather have stayed home.
“You were going to be a nurse, weren’t you?”
“I was … am,” she said, correcting herself. “Although I don’t work in the medical field now. I burned out about ten years ago.” She hesitated, as if uncertain she should continue. “I write a little but it’s no big deal. Articles about health, that sort of thing.”
“Really? I’m impressed.” Troy had never been good at putting his thoughts on paper. Other than crime reports, of course, and that was a matter of getting the facts and stating them clearly.
“Don’t be. I dabble at it.” He could almost see her shrug. “I guess it’s a way to use some of my medical background.”
They chatted for another few minutes and then there didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Troy searched for something to keep Faith on the line. All he knew was that he didn’t want to break the connection for fear it would be half a lifetime before they spoke again. If ever … “How often do you get to Cedar Cove these days?”
“Not a lot. But Scottie’s been encouraging me to move back to town and I’m considering it.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, “that we could get together the next time you do.”
“Okay,” she said immediately.
“We could have coffee and pie at the Pancake Palace.” They used to go there on dates, only it’d been a soda and fries.
“Not Coke and French fries?”
“You remember that, too?” he asked.
“Of course I do. We always shared both. I liked more salt than you did.”
“Do you know when you’ll be in town?” he pressed. “I could come next Saturday,” she said, “if that’s convenient.”
It was convenient. In fact, it couldn’t have been better.
Nine
This was the last day of Anson Butler’s two-week leave from army training. In the morning he’d be flying to the east coast for advanced study in computer technology, working with army intelligence. Allison Cox was proud of him, proud of his success and determination. And she dreaded not being able to see him for another eight weeks.
Her parents had been wonderful to him. Together, as a family, they were sending Anson off with a big barbecue dinner. Even Eddie, her annoying younger brother, had helped decorate the patio with streamers and balloons. All their friends from school would be there, even the ones who’d believed Anson had been responsible for the fire that burned down The Lighthouse restaurant. He’d forgiven them, and if Anson could, then so could she.
Allison had baked a cake that afternoon and was putting the finishing touches on it—smoothing out the chocolate frosting, adding candied flowers. After that, she’d go and pick up Anson at his mother’s place.
“You invited Mrs. Butler, didn’t you?” her mother asked.
Allison nodded, although she knew even before issuing the invitation that Cherry Butler would refuse. The truth was, she’d never been much of a mother. “Cherry said she’d think about it.” Allison would definitely prefer it if his mother decided not to come. Cherry’s presence would be uncomfortable and, especially if she drank, she was almost guaranteed to embarrass her son.
The kitchen door opened and her father came in from the garage. “Looks like there’s a party going on here,” he teased.
“How’d it go with Allan Harris?” her mother asked, referring to a local attorney who’d asked to meet with him, despite the fact that this was Sunday afternoon.
Allison’s parents exchanged a brief kiss.
Her father started to loosen his tie. “Martha Evans died last night.”
Her mother’s face went soft with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Rosie, she was more than ninety years old and ready to go.”
“You’re the executor of her estate?”
Zach nodded. “Allan asked me to notify Martha’s family, none of whom live in town. They’ll be making the funeral arrangements.”
Allison watched as her father sighed. “Martha’s lived on her own all these years. Pastor Flemming’s the one who found her body. He’d been going over there once or twice a week to check on her.”
“He’s a good man.”
Allison liked Pastor Flemming, too. Everyone did.
“Charlotte Rhodes has offered to organize the wake.”
“When will Martha’s family—”
Her mother didn’t get a chance to finish the question before Eddie shouted through the open sliding glass door. “Should I light the barbecue?”
“Not yet,” Zach answered. “I want to change clothes first.”
“Eddie!” Allison cried, irritated by her brother’s impatience. “I haven’t even gone to pick up Anson yet.”
“All right, all right. I was just trying to help.”
“We appreciate that, Eddie,” Rosie said, mixing chopped green pepper and tomatoes into the lettuce greens. She turned to Allison. “Perhaps you should drive to Anson’s now.”
“In a minute,” Allison said, arranging tiny silver pearls on the border of Anson’s cake.
“Be sure and let his mother know she’s welcome to join us.”
“I will,” Allison promised. With a last critical look at the cake, she collected her purse and the car keys and headed out the door.
Anson’s mother lived in a trailer court off Lighthouse Road. Allison remembered the first time she’d met Cherry Butler, who’d been if not hostile, certainly unwelcoming. Even she—his mother—had believed