Cedar Cove Collection (Books 1-6). Debbie Macomber
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The lawn was spongy and damp, and her feet sank into the earth as she walked toward the grave. She squatted down and brushed a few dead leaves away from the small, flat headstone. The vase was too narrow to hold all the flowers, so she sorted through and removed the prettiest ones and arranged those inside. When she’d finished, she divided the remaining flowers among the other graves in the row.
Standing, she found Ian several feet back, watching her.
Neither spoke. He wore his thick Navy coat, with his white sailor’s cap. His hands were buried in his coat pockets, arms pressed against his sides.
“I saw you leave the grocery store,” he murmured.
“You followed me here?” She didn’t like the idea of that.
He nodded. “It isn’t a habit, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just happened to see you and wanted to talk.”
Cecilia thrust her own hands into her pockets, waiting, unsure what to say.
“I wondered if this was where you were heading,” Ian continued, “and I was right.” He paused, shrugging. “I thought we could talk.”
She stiffened. “What’s there to talk about?” The last time she’d seen him, he’d been drinking and argumentative.
Ian sighed, glancing past her, past the row of graves. “I want to apologize for showing up at the restaurant the other night.”
“Andrew told me you’re leaving on the John F. Reynolds.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate, or explain the transfer.
“When did you get assigned to the carrier?”
“You’d know the answer to that if you hadn’t been in such a hurry to file for divorce,” he said with unconcealed bitterness.
“We couldn’t—can’t—even talk without snarling at each other.” Then and now. It hurt so badly to be standing on one side of their daughter’s grave while he stood on the other.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “I’m in the Navy—that hasn’t changed.”
She shook her head. The reasons were unimportant; he didn’t owe her an explanation. Defensiveness had become an automatic response, a means of keeping people at a distance. Especially him…
“Damn,” he said impatiently. “Why is it so hard to talk to you?”
Didn’t he already know? What else could she say?
“Like I said, I’m sorry about the other night. It won’t happen again.” He turned away, his movement abrupt.
“You’re leaving soon?” she called after him, not wanting him to walk off just yet.
He turned back to face her and nodded.
“I’d like to know about the transfer.”
He stared down at their daughter’s grave. “I requested it. If I’d been assigned to the carrier when Allison was born, I could’ve been airlifted home. To be with you…. It’s a moot point now, but I didn’t want to risk anything like that ever again.”
She hadn’t known such a transfer was possible.
“I’ll be away for six months,” he told her.
It sounded longer than a lifetime. Her reaction must have shown on her face.
“I can’t help that,” he said.
“I know,” she whispered.
“I suppose you’re worried about your divorce.”
He always referred to it like that, emphasizing whose decision it had been. “The delay doesn’t matter,” she said. “I don’t have any money for attorney’s fees, anyway.”
“I thought you wanted to take it to the Dispute Resolution Center?”
“I did, but with you at sea, it’d be a waste of time, wouldn’t it?” She could talk to an impartial third party, but without Ian available, they wouldn’t be able to resolve anything.
“We’re still legally married then—right?”
Cecilia guessed this was his way of telling her he regretted last week’s suggestion about pretending they were divorced.
“Yes,” she said. “You don’t need to worry that I’ll be dating anyone else.”
He frowned.
Perhaps she’d read him wrong. “That’s what you were saying, wasn’t it?” She couldn’t help recalling his reaction to the man in the bar.
He looked at her blankly. “No, but I’m glad to hear it. No man likes to think of his wife with someone else, regardless of the situation.”
Now Cecilia was confused. “Exactly what are you saying? Do you want us to be married? Or do you just want me to remember that I’m still legally bound to you?”
“I want you to keep in mind that we’re stuck together—legally and financially—until we can sort this mess out, all right?”
Cecilia nodded, crossing her arms. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like his reasoning.
“The last time I was away…” He paused and glanced toward Allison’s gravestone. “You ran up the credit cards. While we’re still married, I’m legally responsible for those bills, so I’d appreciate it if you used some discretion.”
It would have hurt less if he’d punched her.
“You mean you’re worried about me spending money while you’re at sea?” She couldn’t believe he’d say such a thing. “Every penny I spent, every single penny that went on those credit cards, was so I could bury Allison.” Cecilia started to shake, first with anger, then with outrage. How dared he? How dared he! If she’d needed a reminder of why she could no longer stay in this marriage, he’d certainly given it to her.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said.
“It won’t happen again,” she said in a deadened voice, consciously echoing his earlier words.
Ian shook his head. “I don’t even know why I mentioned that. I’m sorry.”
She ignored him. Her lack of response should be answer enough.
“You do this every time,” he said, sounding exasperated. “I try to talk to you, get things into the open and you clam up on me like I’m not even here.”
Her arms remained folded, her head down. “Every penny I charged was so I could bury our daughter,” she repeated dully. “And the three-hundred-dollar phone bill… I know it upset you, but—”
Suddenly she could no longer control her voice—or her emotions.
“But that was for me!” she cried, shouting the words at him, hurling them in her anger and pain. “So there wouldn’t be two funerals that day instead of one. I’m sorry, Ian, for being so weak, but I’m not like you. I needed my mother…I needed to talk to someone. My dad couldn’t deal with it and you weren’t here. My mother…” Unwilling to have him witness her tears, she whirled around and started searching frantically through her purse.
“Cecilia?”
She found what she was looking for and tore open the small plastic holder. “Here,” she choked, taking out the VISA card and throwing it at him. The card landed on the wet green grass. “Take it! I don’t want it….”
He hesitated before picking it up. “You might need it for emergencies.”
As though the death of their daughter hadn’t been one.
She shook her head vehemently. She’d rot in hell before she’d use any credit card with his name on it again. She’d