Cedar Cove Collection (Books 1-6). Debbie Macomber
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daughter’s grave, never having had the opportunity to hold Allison or tell her he loved her.
Cecilia held open the door. “Okay.”
The hesitation in her voice was unmistakable.
Ian followed her into the compact living room and sat on the edge of the sofa. They’d picked it up second-hand at a garage sale shortly after their wedding. Ian had refused to let Cecilia help him move it, since she was already three months pregnant. His stubbornness had resulted in a wrenched back. This old sofa came with a lot of bad memories, just like his short-lived marriage.
Cecilia sat across from him, her hands folded, her face unrevealing.
“I have to tell you the judge’s decision was kind of a shock,” he said, opening the discussion.
“My attorney said we could appeal it.”
“Oh, sure,” Ian muttered, his anger flaring. “And rack up another five or six hundred dollars’ worth of legal fees. I don’t have that kind of money to burn and neither do you.”
“You don’t know the state of my finances,” Cecilia snapped.
This was the way every discussion started with them. At first they were courteous, almost too polite, but within minutes they were arguing and everything exploded in his face. They seemed to reach that level of irrational anger so quickly these days, or at least since Allison Marie’s birth—and death. Ian sighed, feeling a sense of hopelessness. With the way things were between them now, it was hard to believe they’d ever slept together.
Ian diverted his thoughts from their once healthy and energetic love life. In bed they’d found little to disagree about, but that was before…
“We could always do as my attorney suggested.”
“And what’s that?” Ian had no intention of taking Allan Harris’s advice. The other man represented his wife’s interests, not his.
“Allan recommended we do what the judge said and take our disagreement to the Dispute Resolution Center.”
Ian remembered Judge Lockhart making some comment about that, and he remembered his own reaction at the time. “What exactly is that supposed to do?” he asked, trying to sound reasonable and conciliatory.
“Well, I can’t say for certain, but I think we’d each present our sides to an impartial third party.”
“What will that cost?”
“Does everything boil down to money with you?” Cecilia demanded.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” This divorce had already set him back plenty. He wasn’t the one who’d wanted it in the first place, he told himself stubbornly. Sure, after Allison died, they’d had a few arguments but he’d never expected it to lead to this.
Cecilia had never understood what it’d been like for him, although he’d tried to explain countless times. He hadn’t received her “family gram” until the end of the tour. His commanding officer had withheld the information about the premature birth and death of his daughter, since there was no possibility of a humanitarian airlift or any way of contacting Cecilia. When he finally reached the base, he hadn’t had a chance to absorb the reality of their loss.
His wife gave him a disgusted look. “Do you have any suggestions, then?” she asked in a superior tone of voice that set his teeth on edge. She knew he hated it when she spoke to him as though he was still in grade school.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, and got to his feet.
“Fine. I can’t wait to hear it.” Cecilia crossed her arms in that huffy way of hers.
“I say we simply go on with our lives.”
Cecilia frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you plan to remarry?”
“I—I don’t know. Maybe someday.”
As far as he was concerned, Ian was through with it. Never again would he subject himself to a woman’s volatile emotions or fickle whims. “Not me. I’ve had it with marriage, with you, with the entire mess.”
“Let me see if I understand what you’re saying.” Cecilia stood, too, and started pacing the small living room, passing directly in front of him. He caught a whiff of her perfume, and it was all he could do not to close his eyes and savor the scent. He hated that she still had the power to make him weak, to leave him wanting her….
“You can figure it out, I’m sure,” he said, purposely being sarcastic because he was angry now. He couldn’t be near Cecilia and not feel a rush of resentment. Not just at her but at himself for harboring emotions that wouldn’t go away.
She ignored his attitude. “Are you suggesting we not divorce?”
“Sort of.” He didn’t want her to assume he was seeking a reconciliation. That wouldn’t work; he already knew it. In the months after Allison’s death, they’d both tried to make the best of a painful situation, without success.
“Sort of?” she echoed, then waved her hand at him. “Tell me more. This whole concept of yours intrigues me.”
He’d just bet it did. “We could pretend we’re divorced.”
“Pretend?” Cecilia didn’t bother to hide her anger. “That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. Pretend,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You think we can ignore all our problems and pretend they don’t exist.”
He glared at her, not trusting himself to speak. Okay, maybe she was right. He didn’t want to deal with this divorce.
“You’re always looking for the easy way out,” she said scornfully.
He might be a lot of things, but irresponsible wasn’t one of them. The Navy trusted him with a multi-million-dollar nuclear submarine—didn’t that prove how dependable he was? Dammit, he’d been brought up to meet his obligations, to stand by his word.
“If I was trying to escape my responsibilities, I’d never have married you.” Ian knew the minute he uttered the words that he’d said the wrong thing.
Cecilia flew across the room. “I never wanted you to marry me because of Allison! We would’ve been fine….” She faltered and abruptly looked away. “I didn’t need you….”
“The hell you didn’t. You still do.” If for no other reason than the health benefits the Navy provided, his wife and daughter had needed him.
“You would never have married me if it wasn’t for the pregnancy.”
“Not true.”
She swept the hair away from her face. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“You!” he burst out. Apparently Cecilia thought she was the only one with regrets. He had his own, and every one of them included her.
“Allison and I were…” She hesitated, suddenly inarticulate. “We…”
“Allison was my daughter, too, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow you to tell me what my feelings are. Don’t go putting words in my mouth, or discount the way I felt about her. Just because I couldn’t be here when she was born doesn’t mean I didn’t care. For the love of God, I was under the polar ice cap when you went into labor. You weren’t even due until—”
“Now you’re blaming me.” She thrust her hand over her mouth as if to hold back emotion.
It didn’t do any good to talk. He’d tried, damn it to hell, he’d tried, but it never got him anywhere. He just couldn’t find any middle ground with her.
Rather than prolong the agony, he stormed out of the apartment. The door banged in his wake, and he wasn’t sure if he’d closed it or Cecilia had slammed it after him.
He left the building,