50 Harbor Street

“Be careful,” Cecilia warned softly.

“Why?”

“Bad boys can be attractive, which translates into dangerous.”

Allison smiled. “Don’t worry. Like I said, we hardly know each other.”

Cecilia didn’t mean to doubt her, but there was trouble coming; she could feel it. Cecilia just hoped Allison knew what she was doing.

She didn’t have time to think about Allison after she left work because she was meeting Cathy and her three-year-old son, Andy. Cecilia drove straight to her friend’s house without stopping at home. The two of them were putting together Christmas packages to mail off to Ian and Cathy’s husband, Andrew. Cecilia had already filled the trunk of her car with Ian’s gifts. She looked forward to the evening and to the take-out Chinese dinner she and Cathy planned to order.

“Did you get an e-mail from Ian this morning?” Cathy asked.

Cecilia shook her head. “Maybe there’ll be one at home.” Ian never talked about what he did for the Navy. His job had something to do with guided missile systems and involved computers and other advanced technology. Ian couldn’t discuss the details of his Navy life for reasons of national security, and Cecilia accepted that. She didn’t care what the United States Navy had him do, as long as her husband arrived home safe and sound. Currently the George Washington was somewhere in the Persian Gulf, but exactly where was a mystery.

Ian e-mailed her at least once a day. He didn’t have time to send long messages, but even a short note raised Cecilia’s spirits. He insisted that he needed to hear from her, too, and just as often.

Because Cathy was a stay-at-home mom, she’d picked up the necessary mailing supplies. While Andy sat on the floor and played with puzzles, the two women packaged their various gifts.

“You won’t believe what’s in here,” Cathy said, holding up a small jewelry-sized box.

“You’re sending Andrew a ring?” Cecilia asked, puzzled.

“No, it’s a sheer black nightgown—with the promise that I’ll wear it for him when he gets home.”

Cecilia giggled. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” she said, remembering that she herself had done something similar once…

Cathy laughed, too. “I doubt Andrew will think of it that way. I’m ready for a second child. As far as I’m concerned, little Andy needs a baby sister.”

Cecilia managed to smile but quickly looked away and resumed her wrapping. Her life would be so different if Allison had lived. There were no guarantees that the heart ailment that had killed their daughter wouldn’t afflict this second baby. Cecilia prayed with everything in her that the child she carried now would be healthy.

Four

Maryellen Bowman arrived home from her job at the Harbor Street Art Gallery and smiled when Jon stepped outside to greet her. She felt a sense of deep contentment at the sight of her husband. From her car seat behind Maryellen, two-year-old Katie let out a squeal of delight the instant she saw her father. She started kicking and swinging her arms, eager to escape the confines of the protective seat.

“I know, honey, I know.” Maryellen laughed. “I’m happy to see your daddy, too.”

By the time Maryellen had parked, Jon was waiting by the car. He opened the back door and freed Katie, who immediately squirmed and wanted down. Now that she was walking, she was impossible to restrain. Still holding Katie, Jon walked around the front of the car to hug Maryellen.

“Welcome home,” he said and kissed her hungrily. He wove his free hand into her dark hair and brought his mouth to hers.

Between them, their daughter chattered insistently, seeking attention. Katie didn’t take kindly to being ignored. Maryellen, however, barely noticed her objections.

“You make it worth coming home,” she whispered, sighing with her eyes closed. Her husband could win a kissing contest—not that she’d let him enter even if there was such an event.

His arm around her waist, Jon led her into the home he’d built with his own two hands. The property, with its view of the Seattle skyline across Puget Sound, had been an inheritance from his grandfather, and Jon had devoted countless hours to landscaping the grounds. The house was everything Maryellen could possibly want. It had spacious rooms, high ceilings, fireplaces and balconies, and a wide oak staircase to the second floor. A sweeping panorama of the water and the city lights beyond was available from every room. Her artist husband had designed and then painstakingly built the place, at the same time he was making his mark as a professional photographer. Maryellen loved her husband heart and soul, reveling in his many talents.

“I’ve got dinner started,” Jon told her as she stepped inside the house and was met by the scent of roasting chicken. On top of everything else, Jon was a gifted chef. Maryellen had to pinch herself every day, marveling that she was loved by such an extraordinary man.

“How was your day?” he asked, as Maryellen hung up her coat and tended to Katie.

“Busy.”

“I’d rather you were home with me.”

“I know—I’d like to be here, too.” The money Jon earned from his photographs was impressive but not yet sufficient for all their financial needs. Then there was the question of medical insurance, which was currently provided through her employer. They’d already made one giant leap of faith when Jon left his job as chef for The Lighthouse restaurant earlier in the year. Maryellen had managed the Cedar Cove Art Gallery for the past ten years and the owners had come to rely on her. She hoped to train her assistant, Lois Habbersmith, to assume her role, but, so far, that hadn’t worked out as well as she’d hoped. Lois was a good employee but she didn’t want the responsibility of being manager. Only after several months had she finally admitted that to Maryellen.

“I’m planning to leave by the end of next year,” Maryellen said as she reached for the mail, which Jon had placed on the kitchen counter.

“Next year?” Jon yelped.

“I know, I’m disappointed, too, but the time will go fast. It’s already autumn.” Her fingers stilled as she came across the envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jon Bowman. One glance at the return address told her the letter was from Jon’s father and stepmother in Oregon. It remained unopened.

When Maryellen looked up, she found her husband watching her, almost as if he’d anticipated her reaction. “It’s from your family,” she said unnecessarily.

“I know.”

“You didn’t open it.” This, too, was obvious.

“No,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “And I won’t. If it’d been strictly up to me I would’ve tossed it in the garbage. But your name’s on it, too.” Anger burned in his eyes. Years earlier, his parents had betrayed Jon and lied in order to save their younger son, Jon’s half brother, from a prison sentence. In saving Jim, they’d sacrificed Jon. While Jon, innocent of all charges, served seven years in prison, his younger brother continued to abuse drugs and eventually died of an overdose.

After he was released from prison, Jon had supported himself by working as a short-order cook. When he wasn’t working, he was taking landscape photographs, which began to receive good reviews and significant interest from buyers. Among other places, his work was displayed in the Harbor Street Art Gallery, where he met Maryellen. Their courtship was long and tempestuous, and only after Katie was born did they marry.

At the time of her daughter’s birth, Maryellen was convinced she didn’t need or want a husband. She’d married young and unwisely while in college, and it had been a disaster. When she discovered she was pregnant with Katie, she was determined to manage on her own. Other women were single mothers; she could do it, too. She’d quickly learned how wrong she was. Katie wanted her daddy, and Maryellen soon realized she needed Jon in their lives. After their marriage, they were blissfully happy for a short time. Then Maryellen had stumbled upon a stack of unopened letters from Jon’s parents.

Although she knew Jon would disapprove, she’d secretly contacted the Bowmans and mailed pictures of Katie. As Katie’s grandparents, Maryellen felt they had a right to know about their only grandchild. Her letter, unfortunately, had heightened their efforts to make peace with their son, which had only infuriated him. Jon refused to have anything to do with them. And he saw her actions, in contacting them, as another betrayal. He’d been enraged with her. Her duplicity and his stubborn unwillingness to forgive had almost ruined their marriage.

At the time, Maryellen had just learned she was pregnant. She hadn’t told Jon. How could she, when he shut her out—no matter what she said or did? Having failed at one marriage, she believed her actions had killed his love for her and that her second marriage was doomed, too. It was then, at the lowest point of her pain and loss, that she miscarried her baby.

That had been six weeks earlier. Six weeks during which they’d carefully avoided the subject of Jon’s parents. Together they grieved over the loss of this pregnancy and clung to each other, but their ability to trust was still shaky.

Maryellen studied the envelope. Jon hadn’t immediately thrown the letter away, or hidden it, as he had previous ones. That was progress, she supposed. Over the intervening weeks, they’d had numerous talks on forgiveness, and she felt he was finally willing to listen. This letter would be the proving ground.

“What would you like me to do with it?” she asked.

Jon buried his hands in his pockets and gazed up at the ceiling. “You don’t want the answer to that.”

“Yes, I do,” she told him calmly.

“Burn it.”

She’d hoped and prayed that he’d conquered some of his bitterness. “But you didn’t burn it.”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly.

Maryellen noticed that he stood about as far away from her as he could and still be heard. “Why not? I need never have known about this letter. Even if my name is on it.”

He laughed, but it was a defeated sound. “You’d know. I’m incapable of keeping anything from you.”