74 Seaside Avenue (Cedar Cove #7)

74 Seaside Avenue (Cedar Cove #7) Page 34

He drove to the cemetery. He’d only been there once since Sandy’s funeral, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about her. He did, every single day. After all the years they’d been together, Sandy was part of him. She always would be. Troy wished he knew how to convey that to his daughter, how to tell Megan that his relationship with Faith or any other woman would never diminish his love for Sandy. He wasn’t sure she’d accept his words. Wasn’t sure she wanted to.

He parked and walked over the damp green lawn to the gravesite. The array of pink carnations told him Megan had recently come by. He suspected she was a frequent visitor, coming as often as two or three times a week.

For long minutes all he did was stare down at the headstone. He was tempted to speak to Sandy, tell her about Faith. But his wife wasn’t there. Not the real Sandy, the person she’d been, the woman he’d loved. Like Megan, he believed she’d gone to heaven, released at last from sickness and pain. He couldn’t imagine her anywhere else.

When he thought about it, he realized there was really nothing to tell her, other than the fact that he’d kissed another woman. What astonished him was how good he felt about being with Faith. In his heart, he believed that Sandy would approve. Megan might have a hard time condoning it, but he didn’t think Sandy would object. More than that, she’d encourage him to grab hold of any chance at happiness.

The marble headstone was polished and new. He bent down to run his finger along the carved letters. Sandra Marie Davis. 1949-2007. That said so little about the kind of woman she’d been. Never in all the years that she’d battled MS had she complained. Nor did she curse her lot or question God. He’d been married to a very special woman and not once had Troy forgotten that. Not while Sandy was alive and not now.

Troy pressed his fingers to his lips and touched them to the gravestone, then walked slowly back to his car. Still unwilling to return to an empty house, he decided to visit his daughter and son-in-law.

Megan flew into his arms the minute she opened the front door. “Oh, Daddy, it’s so wonderful to see you.”

She looked much better than she had a few weeks ago, he thought, hugging her back.

“I can hardly remember the last time you came by,” she said, and he heard the chiding in her tone.

Troy understood what had kept him away. Guilt. He was sorry he’d allowed that to happen.

His daughter had the same gift of hospitality as her mother. He was immediately ushered into the family room and handed a cup of coffee with extra cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. Megan had dessert out and had cut him a slice of pecan pie before he could protest.

“Craig and I are going to the ocean this weekend,” Megan said, carrying in dessert plates for herself and her husband.

Craig thanked her and Megan sat down beside him. “I figured we could both use a weekend away,” his son-in-law explained. “So I booked us into a place at CannonBeach.”

“Excellent idea.” Troy probably exhibited more enthusiasm than warranted. Not only did he think this would be good for Megan, with his daughter away, he’d be free to enjoy Faith’s visit. Okay, fine, so he had his own agenda. But he didn’t want Megan hurt—and he wanted to see Faith. For the moment, he felt as if he’d been handed a reprieve.

Before he left, Troy got the name of the hotel where Megan and Craig would be staying. As soon as he got home, he ordered champagne for their room. A romantic weekend was exactly what his daughter needed—and so did he.

Saturday evening, Troy was dressed by five o’clock. He shaved, combed his hair, then watched the clock for nearly three hours, pacing and periodically turning on the TV to pass the time. Precisely at eight, he parked outside Scott Beckwith’s house on a street close to Rosewood Lane

. He was just climbing out of the car when Faith opened the screen door and stepped outside to greet him. Her son, Scott, was with her and the two of them had a brief conversation. Troy recognized Scott from seeing him around town but hadn’t known, of course, that he was Faith’s son.

After a quick introduction, Faith ran in to get her bag, leaving Troy to exchange awkward remarks with her son. Troy was conscious of being carefully assessed but he didn’t sense that Scott disliked him or disapproved. A far cry from Megan.

He and Faith walked to his car a few minutes later. She’d worn a simple green long-sleeved dress and had thrown a lacy knit shawl over her shoulders. Her beauty left him nearly breathless.

“You look…” He struggled for the right word. “Amazing,” he concluded, convinced he sounded like a tongue-tied nincompoop. Whenever he was around Faith, he had to remind himself that he was a responsible adult in a position of trust.

“You, too,” she said with a light laugh. “Oh, I have your socks.”

“I’ll wear them every day.” They’d remind him of her, not that he needed reminding.

He held open the car door for her, the same way he had in high school—the same way he had for Sandy. His father had drilled manners into him from an early age and they’d stayed with him all these years.

Once inside the car, Faith asked, “Are you ready to tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

“Okay.” She smiled over at him.

Clutching the wheel with tense hands, Troy started his car. He wished he could kiss her right then and there, but he resisted. Not in front of her son’s house! And not where Megan might hear about it…

After ten minutes of driving through back streets, Faith seemed to guess their destination. “Troy?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not going where I think you’re going—are you?”

He took the winding road up Briar Patch Hill. One surreptitious glance told him Faith had figured it out.

“Troy! This is where we used to come to neck.”

“I see you remember,” he said softly, enjoying the tinge of pink that colored her cheeks.

“It had the best view of the lighthouse,” Faith said, her voice husky. “I’m surprised someone hasn’t built a house here.”

“It’s county property.”

“I want to know how many other girls you brought up here,” she said with mock sternness.

“None.” That was true. Not even Sandy. “You’re the only one. Ever.”

“Remember the first time we parked up here?”

Troy wasn’t likely to forget. His father had let him take the car. He and Faith had gone to a basketball game and afterward they’d attended the school dance. About halfway through, he’d suggested that since he had a car, they go for a drive. Faith had agreed. They’d parked up here, on the bluff overlooking the Cove.

Troy, however, couldn’t remember a single thing about the view; what he did remember was kissing Faith. Holding her…They’d returned to their favorite spot many times after that. He liked to consider this place theirs, although a lot of other couples had claimed it, too.

“What do you have in mind, Troy Davis?” Faith teased when he parked the car and turned off the ignition. It was dark now and the lights around the Cove glittered brightly, reflecting on the water.

“It’s a pretty view, don’t you think?”

“Lovely,” she whispered.

Troy stretched his arm across the back of her seat.

“As I recall, the last time we were here, there were no bucket seats and no console between us,” she said.

“We can compensate for that.” Troy leaned toward her. Faith shifted closer to him and their lips met. Although it was a bit clumsy, his arms came around her and she leaned into him. The kiss was everything he’d anticipated, everything he wanted it to be.

When they broke apart, Faith’s head was on his shoulder. He certainly wasn’t comfortable in that position, but he didn’t care. Faith was in his arms. Again.

“I think time has only enhanced the experience,” he whispered.

Faith responded with a sweet smile. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

Because it was too tempting to resist, Troy kissed her again. They were both breathing hard when he finished.

“I took your bra off here, remember?”

“Honestly, Troy.” She sounded flustered that he’d reminded her of that. In retrospect, it’d been a comedy of errors. He’d wanted to be sophisticated, pretending he knew all about a woman’s intimate apparel. As it turned out, the closure had been at the front, not the back, and taking pity on him, Faith had finally aided his addled efforts. No matter how much he’d embarrassed himself, though, the result had been worth it.

“Oh, yeah, you remember.” And so did he—every detail.

“I don’t suggest trying the same technique this time,” she said.

“Oh?” He didn’t intend to, but the memory was a pleasant one.

“I wear support bras now and they’re even more complicated than the ones I wore as a teenager.”

“Heaven help me.” He couldn’t refrain from touching her, just to see. Then they were kissing again, reveling in each other.

All at once there was a flashing blue-and-red light behind them.

Faith pulled away from him and fumbled with the front of her dress. “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness.” She sounded seventeen again.

Troy dragged a calming breath through his teeth, then stepped out of the car.

The young officer instantly paled. “Sheriff Davis.”

“Everything’s all right here, Payne.”

“Yes, sir. S-sorry, sir.” The kid was almost inarticulate in his desperation to escape.

“That’s fine. You were just doing your job.”

“Thank you, sir.” The patrolman was in his car as fast as his feet would move. Within seconds, he’d driven away.

Opening the car door, Troy got back inside. Faith looked at him and they both dissolved into giggles.

Twenty-Eight

Maryellen Bowman was so excited she could barely contain herself. Two important phone calls had come that afternoon, each one bringing good news.

Nursing Drake while Katie sat next to her holding a book and pretending to read to her baby brother, Maryellen let her mind race with the possibilities for Jon and his future as a photographer.

Just a couple of weeks earlier, Maryellen had received news that had distressed her. The owners of the Harbor Street Gallery had definitely decided to close their doors. She felt as if the years she’d spent as the gallery manager, building up the clientele and forging relationships with local artists, had been for nothing. Apparently, without her there to oversee everything, sales had fallen off to the point that it was financially infeasible to continue the business. Lois Habbersmith, who’d assumed Maryellen’s role, felt dreadful and blamed herself. She’d never been comfortable in a managerial position and admittedly wasn’t as good with either the artists or the customers as Maryellen.

Still, Maryellen had hoped sales would pick up during the summer, but that hadn’t happened. Aware of her distress, Jon had suggested she return to work part-time. The owners had wanted that, too.