204 Rosewood Lane by Debbie Macomber
“Lovers? Did I hear someone mention the word lovers?” He wagged his eyebrows playfully and stepped into the house. The music swirled around them and taking Olivia by the waist he bent her dramatically over his arm, then brought her upright.
“Oh, my,” she said, playing along. “You do make my heart beat fast.”
Taking her by the shoulders, Jack faced her and his smile slowly faded. “I want you to go back to the word lovers.”
“It’s young lovers.”
“No,” he said, taking her fully into his arms now. “Forget young. The word is simply lovers, as in you and me.”
His eyes grew darker and more intense. Olivia realized this wasn’t a joke anymore but a question that Jack—her fun-loving, anything-for-a-laugh companion—was presenting to her. “I…” All of a sudden life seemed very complicated. Jack had phoned earlier in the day and suggested they get together; he wanted to talk. He’d sounded lighthearted for the first time in months. Olivia guessed that it had something to do with Eric. A few weeks ago, Jack had mentioned that his son had requested a job transfer and would be moving out shortly. He said he’d miss the boy, but he’d sounded pleased about Eric’s resolve and renewed energy—and no less pleased about having his house to himself again.
Before she was forced to reply, the timer on her oven rang, offering Olivia the perfect excuse to escape Jack and his question.
“The muffins,” she said, and hurried into the kitchen. She grabbed two crocheted potholders and pulled out the tin. She set the muffins on the counter to cool.
When she turned around, Jack stood in the entryway. His eyes met hers. “Eric’s moving out this weekend.”
“I thought that must be it.”
“I didn’t mean to start off with that question about us, but you presented the perfect opening when you waltzed up to the door singing about lovers.”
She’d been caught up in the song and hadn’t meant to suggest they fall into bed together.
“Olivia, listen,” Jack said, slowly advancing toward her. “I adore you.”
She felt the same way about him, but she also felt afraid. She hadn’t been with a man since her divorce, sixteen years before, and she trembled at the thought of sexual intimacy. Her hesitation frightened her, too; if she wasn’t ready after all these years, then she might never be. And yet she wanted passion and that kind of closeness.
Feeling as though it was now or never, she threw open her arms. “Kiss me, you fool,” she intoned dramatically. All at once, her life had become the lyrics to a Broadway musical—and she loved it.
Jack reached for her and their lips met in a wild and thoroughly passionate kiss. Her legs were shaky and her head was swimming. It’d been a long time since they’d kissed with such abandon, almost as if they both understood that true intimacy was irrevocable. Making love meant everything between them would change….
Jack shuddered as he wrapped her completely in his arms. The music had ended, so when his cell phone rang, it startled them both. He ignored it. Instead, he kissed her again, with the same frantic need as earlier. “Come to my house,” he whispered, his voice husky. “I changed the sheets this morning.”
“Jack!” This was supposed to be seductive?
“I’ve dreamed about us there, overlooking the cove, making love.”
The phone rang five more times before it finally stopped.
The silence seemed louder than the ringing phone. Olivia took his face between her hands and gazed deeply into his eyes. “Does this have anything to do with Stan?” she asked, needing to know.
They’d argued over Stan, and in her opinion, Jack was being utterly unreasonable. He seemed to think Stan wanted her back—which would be news to Marge, who’d been married to him for more than fifteen years.
“No,” he said, kissing her. “It has to do with you and me. Leave Stan out of it.”
“Why now?”
“Why not now?” he countered.
She wasn’t sure how to reply. As she tried to think clearly, to emerge from the fog of kisses and music, the doorbell rang. Saved by the bell—again.
When she hurried to open the door she found Jack’s son, looking flustered, still leaning on the doorbell. “Dad?” he shouted urgently.
“Eric, what is it?” Jack asked, appearing behind Olivia.
“Shelly. She’s in labor. She doesn’t have anyone.”
“She phoned you?”
“No, a friend did. Her water broke last night and she’s about to deliver. Could be anytime now. Her friend couldn’t stay.” He paused. “I should be there, don’t you think? She might need me.”
“True,” Jack agreed.
“But she doesn’t want me around, at least that’s what she said the last time we spoke.” He splayed his fingers through his hair. “I should be there. I feel it.”
“Then go.”
“I’m packed up, ready to leave for Reno.”
“Yes, I know.”
Eric seemed to be asking something and Olivia knew what it was, even if Jack didn’t. “Do you want your father to go with you?”
“Would you, Dad?”
Olivia loved Jack even more for the way he responded. He hugged his son, cast Olivia an apologetic look and said, “Let’s go.” He turned back to her and stretched out his hand. “Want to tag along?”
She considered it for a moment, then decided against it. “You two go on. Call me when the babies are born.” Pleased that Jack had placed his son’s needs above his own, she took his hand in hers and gave him an encouraging squeeze.
Three hours later, her phone rang and it was Jack, calling from the hospital. “Identical twin boys,” he said triumphantly. “Eric stayed with Shelly, and she was happy he came to be with her. Both boys are strong and healthy.”
“Congratulations, Grandpa.”
“I am their grandfather,” he said. “Those babies are the spitting image of Eric. No one’s going to doubt who their father is again. Especially my son.”
“What’s he going to do about his job?” Eric had accepted the transfer and was expected to start at his new job in Reno in a week or so.
“I don’t know, that’s up to him. Fortunately he’s got a few days before he has to decide.”
Seth and Justine had decided to call their restaurant The Lighthouse. Justine liked the name because it reminded her of the home where she’d grown up, on Lighthouse Road. The lighthouse at the far end of the cove was one of the community’s most distinctive landmarks. Seth seconded the name because it underlined the fact that this was a seafood restaurant.
The idea of opening a restaurant had been in the back of his mind for years, but he loved fishing and the money was too good to turn down. Living aboard the sailboat, his expenses had been minimal and he’d invested wisely. After he’d married Justine, he realized that the long separations fishing demanded no longer appealed to him. Now, with a baby on the way, the time was right to start his new business.
His father agreed and offered to invest in the restaurant as a silent partner. It was a bold move on both their parts. Seth had done his research and was well aware that almost half of new restaurants failed in their first year. He was determined to minimize the risks, to do everything right. Menu, staff, prices, décor, promotion—he and Justine had thought everything through. Seth was a decent cook, but he didn’t have the expertise and knowledge that running a full kitchen would require. He advertised for kitchen staff and asked other restaurant owners for advice. He soon learned that Jon Bowman had an excellent reputation. When Jon applied for the position, of chef, Seth studied his resumé, then called and asked for an interview.
On the second Friday of March, Jon Bowman arrived, walking into the ongoing construction mess.
The renovations were only partially finished. A crew of carpenters were constructing new booths while electricians hung the light fixtures. The floors had been sanded and refinished, the walls had their first coat of paint and the windows had been replaced. Seth and Justine h
Seth led Jon into the room that would be his office and gestured toward the chair. “I like what you’ve done,” Jon said as he sat down. “When are you planning to open?”
“We’re hoping for the first week in May.”
Jon glanced over his shoulder as though to estimate how much still needed to be done. “Everything should be finished by then,” he said confidently.
“As you know, we’re looking for a chef. One who’ll oversee the menu and work with us closely as we grow.”
“That’s why I’m here. I’ve been cooking at André’s for the last three years. I created their menu, which has an emphasis on seafood.”
“And before then?” Seth had already reviewed the résumé, but he wanted to hear the details from Jon. He and Justine had made a point of visiting André’s twice to sample Jon’s signature dishes.
“I was at the VFW in Olympia. I have references if you want.” He handed Seth a single sheet of paper with a list of names and telephone numbers.
“Where did you get your training?” The résumé had been decidedly light on that kind of information.
He tensed a little, but that might have been Seth’s imagination. “Picked it up here and there. I don’t have a lot of formal education. I started out as a short-order cook for a breakfast place in Tacoma and worked my way up. It isn’t like I’m going to have my own TV show soon, if that’s the kind of chef you’re looking for.”
“It isn’t,” Seth assured him. He couldn’t afford a celebrity chef, anyway. He remained curious about Jon’s background, but didn’t press the issue. “I understand you’re also a photographer.”
Jon nodded. “I’m a damn good chef, but my passion is my camera.”
He didn’t hide his love for his work and that suited Seth.
“If you’re willing to give me a chance, you won’t be sorry,” Jon said fervently.
Every instinct Seth possessed told him to hire the man. “I’m going to start stocking the kitchen in a month’s time. Can you be ready by then?”
Jon nodded. They discussed wages, benefits, recipes and other details. When they’d finished, Seth took him around the restaurant and was pleased when Jon offered him design and decorating tips. He liked his ideas and shared them with Justine that evening.
“I had a feeling Jon Bowman was going to be the one,” she told him as Seth worked in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
“I did, too.”
Justine sat in their living room with her legs propped up to keep down the swelling in her ankles. At six months, the swelling was only slight, but still a concern. Seth had taken over the cooking and been inventive with eliminating salt.
“I feel like a walrus,” she complained, planting her hands on the small round bulge of her abdomen.
Seth leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed her neck. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured. “Not like a walrus at all—although they do have their charms.”
“Get serious, Seth.”
“I am serious.”
She turned her face to him and they kissed, and he realized—as he did every day—how much he loved his wife.
“Tell me what you know about Jon Bowman,” he said, a few minutes later as he dished up seafood fettuccine.
“Like what?”
“His background. Do you know anything about it?”
Justine needed to think. “Not much. He used to sell his pictures through the gallery on Harbor Street. Why?”
“He seemed a bit…edgy when I asked about it.”
“Where did he go to school?”
“He didn’t say, but I talked to two of his references. Both were managers at restaurants where he’s been employed and they sang his praises.”
“Have you ever seen his photographs?”
Justine moved toward the table, where Seth held out her chair. “Maryellen showed me a few of them before Christmas. They’re absolutely fabulous. You can feel the emotion and the beauty.”
“Hmm. Maybe we should buy a few. Hang them in the entrance. What do you think?”
“I think my brilliant husband has just had another wonderful idea.”
They smiled at each other, fully satisfied with their lives.
Fifteen
Rosie had the house completely to herself. A hundred times over the years she’d yearned for a few hours alone, especially before a major holiday. Zach never understood how much work went into these family celebrations. For Easter, there was a dinner to prepare, to which they usually invited friends and other family—although things would be different this year. Then there was dyeing eggs and making up Easter baskets for the children. Although Allison and Eddie were older, Rosie felt obliged to maintain tradition.
Now that she had the time to do all this without interruption, she found herself fighting off a sense of melancholy. The children were spending the day with their father, and it went without saying that Janice Lamond would find some reason to join them.
Curious though she was, Rosie refused to drill the children about the other woman. Naturally she was dying to know if Janice and her son were at the apartment at the same time as her kids. But she refused to drag them into this divorce, no matter how tempting it was to learn what she could about the other woman’s activities.
Working in the kitchen, Rosie mixed up Eddie’s favorite gelatin salad and placed it in the refrigerator to set. For Easter she always served ham but only because that was what Zach preferred. Since she no longer had to accommodate her husband’s likes and dislikes, she’d bought a prime rib roast. It was a small act of defiance, one that made her feel—just a bit—like an independent woman who made her own choices.
She began baking her usual Easter cake.
Her heart wasn’t in it, but she persevered for the sake of her children. With the divorce in progress, they had enough upheaval in their lives without her subjecting them to more changes. The roast was enough of a deviation from tradition for this year, but next Easter they might do something completely different, such as take a trip.
The white bunny-shaped cake was Allison’s favorite. Using two eight-inch round cakes, she artfully cut one layer to form ears with the center section serving as a bow tie. After frosting it, she used thin threads of licorice for the whiskers and brown M&M’s for the eyes. In past years the children had helped her with the decorating.
She missed them, despite finally having the private time she’d always craved, which confused her. She was also worried about Allison and Eddie being influenced by their father’s girlfriend. That wasn’t jealousy, she told herself; it was a reasonable reaction.
By the time Zach dropped the children off at the house, Rosie had worked herself into a nasty temper thinking about her husband and his perfect-in-every-way office assistant. He must’ve been in a hurry to get rid of the kids, because he didn’t stay in the driveway a moment longer than necessary, she noted resentfully, peering through the living-room window. The instant the children were out of the car, he pulled away.
“We’re home,” Eddie called as he came in the front door. He shucked off his backpack and dropped it in the entryway.
Allison followed him, her ears covered by a headset as she listened to her CD player. She seemed to be doing that constantly, and Rosie disapproved. She wanted to know exactly what kind of music Allison was listening to, but she wasn’t up to the challenge of confronting her. She’d finally decided that if Allison needed her CDs, she could have them, at least for the moment.
“Did you have a good time?” Rosie asked, injecting some enthusiasm into her voice.
Eddie shrugged. “We stayed at Dad’s most of the day.”
“What about the Easter Egg Hunt the Rotary Club held?”
“That’s for juveniles,” Allison informed her, removing the headphones long enough to snarl a reply. She flopped down on the sofa in the family room, and Eddie headed for his Game Boy, sprawling on the carpet in front of the television
Okay, Rosie thought. Apparently they didn’t want to talk to her. Well, that was fine because she wasn’t in a talkative mood herself.
Allison’s eyes were closed and her head bobbed to the beat of her music, whatever it was. After a minute or so, she lifted the headset again and looked at her mother. “What’s for dinner?”
“Your father didn’t feed you?”
Her daughter looked at her as if that was the stupidest question she’d ever heard. “Dad doesn’t cook.”
“You spent the night with him. Do you mean to say he didn’t provide you with a single meal?” And this was the man who’d criticized her for not making cooked-from-scratch dinners!
“We ate breakfast at McDonald’s.”
“Did he take you out for every meal?” Rosie muttered.
“Not really,” Eddie told her.
Allison didn’t bother to answer.
“Dad said we should eat lots of ham for him tomorrow,” Eddie said, keeping his gaze on the television screen.
“We’re not having ham.”
Allison’s eyes widened and she tore the headset off. “Did you say we aren’t having ham?”
“No, I bought a roast.”
“I hate roast,” she shouted.
“Allison…”
“We have ham every Easter!”
Rosie’s heart sank. “I thought we’d have roast this year, instead.”
Allison leaped to her feet and scowled at Rosie. “You did that on purpose!”
“Did what?” Rosie asked, barely hanging on to her own temper.
“You know exactly what you did,” Allison said and ran into her bedroom. The house reverberated with the sound of her door slamming.
Rosie looked to her son for an explanation. Eddie rolled onto his side and stared up at her. “Dad likes ham.”
“But your father won’t be eating with us. I thought we’d have dinner a little differently this year. I didn’t think Allison cared one way or the other.”
“She doesn’t,” Eddie told her, rolling back onto his stomach. Without a pause, he returned to his invader game. “She’s just upset with you and Dad about the divorce.”