44 Cranberry Point

“It’s because you, my wonderful husband, are much smarter than I give you credit for.”

Bewildered, Roy watched her fly out of his office.

Chapter Ten

Grace thrust her hands decisively into her garden gloves, ready to head out to the back garden to plant Martha Washington geraniums. It wasn’t the way she wanted to spend Friday evening, but she refused to mope around the house. Buttercup waited for her at the kitchen door, tail wagging.

“We’ll plant these now and see what we can find at the Farmers’ Market tomorrow morning. That sounds like a plan, doesn’t it?” The fact that Grace had begun to carry on whole conversations with her golden retriever had to be a sign of how lonely she was.

The Farmers’ Market had started the first Saturday of May, and although there were only a few homegrown vegetables available this early in the season, Grace enjoyed going there each week. She almost always ran into a few friends. One or both of her daughters was likely to show up, as well.

The phone rang, startling Grace. She pulled off her righthand glove and reached for the wall-mounted receiver.

“Hello.” She forced a cheerful note into her voice, hoping with all her heart that it was Cliff. He’d weighed heavily on her mind since their chance encounter at the restaurant earlier in the week. Her hope was that he’d been thinking about her, too.

“It’s Stanley Lockhart, Grace. How are you?”

Grace felt an immediate stab of disappointment. “Hello, Stan.” She kept her voice cool, not wanting to encourage Olivia’s ex-husband. “I’m fine.”

“Me, too. Listen, would you like to go to dinner tonight?”

She glanced over at the can of clam chowder that was slated to be her evening meal. Still, she preferred to eat soup alone over a three-course meal with Stan Lockhart.

“Sorry, I already have plans.”

“You can’t change them?” He didn’t bother to hide his displeasure.

“No.” How like Stan to expect her to alter her evening because he needed a dinner companion.

“What if I stop by later?” His enthusiasm was back. “It’s important.”

“That won’t work, either.” She couldn’t imagine what he had to tell her that was so urgent. Grace sincerely hoped he got the message, but the subtle approach wasn’t always successful with Stan. Inbred politeness prevented her from being rude and telling him outright that she wanted to avoid him.

The line went quiet as he contemplated her refusal. “I see,” he said, sounding depressed. “Gracie, listen, I hate to be a pest but I’d like to talk to you if we can manage it.”

Gracie. From the time she was in grade school, Grace had detested that nickname. She gritted her teeth. Stan hadn’t been in touch since that one dinner. Now this. She couldn’t even guess what he wanted.

“Why don’t you tell me what you need to see me about?”

He hesitated. “It’s better if I do it in person. Is there anyplace we can meet? Drinks? Coffee? You say when and where, and I’ll be there.” His tone took on a pleading quality. Grace knew that Stan’s second marriage had recently failed; he still seemed to be shaken. She sympathized, but she didn’t want to get involved with him.

“It won’t take much of your time, I promise.”

She hesitated, fearing that he’d hound her until she gave in. “I plan to be at the Farmers’ Market in the morning.”

“Perfect.” He leaped on the suggestion. “I’ll see you there. What time?”

“It opens at nine.”

“Make it later. Nine’s a little early for me.”

So now he expected her to change her Saturday schedule to suit his? What sympathy she felt for him quickly evaporated. “I’ll be there at nine, Stan. If I see you then, that’ll be fine and if I don’t, I don’t.”

“All right, all right. I’ll get there as close to nine as I can. Just remember I’m coming over from Seattle.”

She’d forgotten that, but decided it didn’t matter; he was the one who considered it so important that they meet.

Saturday morning, Grace loaded Buttercup into her car and drove to the Farmers’ Market. Buttercup was a well-behaved dog who loved being around people. The animal shelter had set up an adoption center in the market. Every Saturday the shelter brought down homeless cats and kittens; once a month, Grace took her turn running their booth, which was popular with children and adults alike.

Buttercup strained against her leash in a hurry to view the kittens, and Grace sharply commanded her to heel. She’d been thinking about adopting a cat herself, since she felt bad about leaving Buttercup alone all day and a cat would be company for her.

“Mom.”

Grace turned to find Maryellen pushing Katie in her stroller. “I wondered if I’d see you here.” The back section of the stroller was already full.

Grace bent down and kissed Katie, who gurgled and waved her arms. Maryellen positively glowed with happiness, and Grace was delighted. Maryellen was more confident and relaxed, more carefree somehow, than she’d ever been. And-equally important-Katie would have the benefit of growing up with two parents.

“You’re out and about early,” she said conversationally.

“Jon’s working and won’t be home until late afternoon.”

That meant her son-in-law was somewhere in western Washington photographing trees or birds. Or something.

“I love married life,” Maryellen burst out. “Oh, Mom, how could I have been so foolish? Jon is a wonderful husband and father.”

“Honey, I’m thrilled for you.”

“I’d better get back to the house. I bought three pounds of fresh clams and I need to get them into the refrigerator.”

“I didn’t think you liked clams.”

“I don’t, but Jon does.”

It seemed to Grace that if Jon indulged Maryellen, as she often claimed, her daughter catered to Jon just as much.

Grace bought a pound of clams herself and a jar of marmalade from Carol, the lady who sold homemade jelly. She glanced around and didn’t see Stan and figured that was for the best. After strolling down the other aisles, she made her way toward the parking lot.

“Grace,” Stan called, waving vigorously. He stood on the marina walkway. “Over here.”

With Buttercup trotting beside her, Grace walked to the marina area.

“Seth suggested I sleep in his boat,” Stan explained. He looked like he was ready for a tennis date, wearing white shorts and a white cable-knit sweater with a red-and-blue border.

“How’s it going?” he asked, striking a relaxed pose, studying her as if he wasn’t quite sure where to start.

“Good.” She didn’t elaborate, preferring to skip the small talk. “What can I do for you?”

His smile was strained. “You know, since Marge and I split and Olivia married that newsman, I’ve been at loose ends.”