Cedar Cove Collection (Books 1-6). Debbie Macomber
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did return, he’d blamed Navy procedures for his delay. He’d tried to explain, but by then Cecilia was tired of it all. Only one reality had any meaning: her daughter was dead. Her husband didn’t know and couldn’t possibly understand what she’d endured in his absence. Since he was on a nuclear submarine, all transmissions during his tour of duty were limited to fifty-word “family grams.” Nothing could have been done, anyway; the submarine was below the polar ice cap at the time. She did write to tell him about Allison’s birth and then her death. She’d written out her grief in these brief messages, not caring that they’d be closely scrutinized by Navy personnel. But Ian’s commanding officer had seen fit to postpone relaying the information until the completion of the ten-week tour. I didn’t know, Ian had repeatedly insisted. Surely she couldn’t hold him responsible. But she did. Unfair though it might be, Cecilia couldn’t forgive him.
Now all she wanted was out. Out of her marriage, out of this emotional morass of guilt and regret, just out. The simplest form of escape was to divorce Ian.
Sitting in the hallway near the courtroom, she felt more determined than ever to terminate her marriage. With one swift strike of a judge’s gavel, she could put an end to the nightmare of the past year. Eventually she would forget she’d ever met Ian Randall.
Allan Harris, Cecilia’s attorney, entered the foyer outside the Kitsap County courtroom. She watched as he glanced around until he saw her. He raised his hand in a brief greeting, then walked over to where she sat on the hard wooden bench and claimed the empty space beside her.
“Tell me again what’s going to happen,” she said, needing the assurance that her life would return to at least an approximation of what it had been a year ago.
Allan set his briefcase on his lap. “We wait until the docket is announced. The judge will ask if we’re ready, I’ll announce that we are, and we’ll be given a number.”
Cecilia nodded, feeling numb.
“We can be assigned any number between one and fifty,” her attorney continued. “Then we wait our turn.”
Cecilia nodded again, hoping she wouldn’t be stuck in the courthouse all day. Bad enough that she had to be here; even worse that Ian’s presence was also required. She hadn’t seen him yet. Maybe he was meeting somewhere with his own attorney, discussing strategies—not that she expected him to contest the divorce.
“There won’t be a problem, will there?” Her palms were damp and cold sweat had broken out across her forehead. She wanted this to be over so she could get on with her life. She believed that couldn’t happen until the divorce was filed. Only then would the pain start to go away.
“I can’t see that there’ll be any hang-ups, especially since you’ve agreed to divide all the debts.” He frowned slightly. “Despite that prenuptial agreement you signed.”
A flu-like feeling attacked Cecilia’s stomach, and she clutched her purse tightly against her. Soon, she reminded herself, soon she could walk out these doors into a new life.
“It’s a rather…unusual agreement,” Allan murmured.
In retrospect, the prenuptial agreement had been another in the list of mistakes she’d made in the past year, but according to her attorney one that could easily be rectified. Back when she’d signed it, their agreement had made perfect sense. In an effort to prove their sincerity, they’d come up with the idea that the spouse who wanted the divorce should pay not only the legal costs but all debts incurred during the marriage. It could be seen as either punitive or deterrent; in either case, it hadn’t worked. And now it was just one more nuisance to be dealt with.
Cecilia blamed herself for insisting on something in writing. She’d wanted to be absolutely sure that Ian wasn’t marrying her out of any sense of obligation. Yes, the pregnancy was unplanned, but she would’ve been perfectly content to raise her child by herself. She preferred that to being trapped in an unhappy marriage—or trapping Ian in a relationship he didn’t want. Ian, however, had been adamant. He’d sworn that he loved her, loved their unborn child and wanted to marry her.
As a ten-year-old, Cecilia’s entire world had been torn apart when her parents divorced. She refused to do that to her own child. In her mind, marriage was forever, so she’d wanted them to be certain before making a lifetime commitment. How naïve, she thought now. How sentimental. How romantic.
Ian had said he wanted their marriage to be forever, too, but like so much else this past year, that had been an illusion. Cecilia had needed to believe him, believe in the power of love, believe it would protect her from this kind of heartache.
In the end, blinded by the prospect of a husband who seemed totally committed to her and by the hope of a happy-ever-after kind of life, Cecilia had acquiesced to the marriage—with one stipulation. The agreement.
Their marriage was supposed to last as long as they both lived, so they’d devised an agreement that would help them stay true to their vows. Or so they’d thought…. Before the ceremony, they’d written the prenuptial contract themselves and had it notarized. She’d forgotten all about it until she’d made an appointment with Allan Harris and he’d asked if she’d signed any agreement prior to the wedding. It certainly wasn’t the standard sort of document; nevertheless Allan felt they needed to have the court rescind it.
Her marriage shouldn’t have ended like this, but after their baby died, everything had gone wrong. Whatever love had existed between them had been eroded by their loss. Babies weren’t supposed to die—even babies born premature. Any sense of rightness, of justice, had disappeared from Cecilia’s world. The marriage that was meant to sustain her had become yet another source of guilt and grief. Experience had taught her she was alone, and her legal status might as well reflect that.
She couldn’t think about it anymore and purposely turned her thoughts elsewhere.
Attorneys milled about the crowded area, conferring with their clients, and she looked around, expecting to find Ian, bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation. She hadn’t seen or talked to him in more than four months, although their attorneys were in regular contact. She wondered if all these other people were here for equally sad reasons. They must be. Why else did anyone go to court? Broken vows, fractured agreements…
“We have Judge Lockhart,” Allan said, breaking into her observations.
“Is that good?”
“She’s fair.”
That was all Cecilia asked. “This is just a formality, right?”
“Right.” Allan gave her a comforting smile.
She checked at her watch. The docket was scheduled to be announced at nine and it was five minutes before. Ian still wasn’t here.
“What if Ian doesn’t show up?” she asked.
“Then we’ll ask for a continuance.”
“Oh.” Not another delay, she silently pleaded.
“He’ll be here,” Allan said reassuringly. “Brad told me Ian’s just as keen to get this over with as you are.”
The knot in her stomach tightened. This was the easy part, she told herself, dismissing her nervousness. She’d already been through the hard part—the pain and grief, the disappointment of a marriage that hadn’t worked. The hearing was merely a formality; Allan had said so. Once the prenuptial agreement was rescinded, the no-contest divorce was as good as done and this nightmare would be behind her.
Then Ian appeared.
Cecilia felt his presence before she actually saw him. Felt his gaze as he came up the stairwell and into the foyer. She turned and their eyes briefly met before they each, hurriedly, looked away.
Almost simultaneous with his arrival, the courtroom doors opened. Everyone stood and began to file inside with an eagerness that defied explanation. Allan walked beside Cecilia through the mahogany doors. Ian and his attorney entered after them and sat on the opposite side of the courtroom.
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