311 Pelican Court. Debbie Macomber

now sold. It had been taken on a foggy afternoon while she stood on the pier next to the marina; she’d had no idea he was there. Her back was to the camera and she’d raised her arm to toss popcorn to the seagulls. The photograph had an exciting, dynamic quality, and yet the misty air gave it a sense of whimsy, too.

      Jon seemed a bit flustered that she’d noticed the photograph. “That’s one of my favorites,” he said. “Do you mind that I have it here?”

      The odd thing was she didn’t. It gladdened her to see that he kept it in this room, although she didn’t dare analyze the reasons. “I don’t mind,” she said.

      “Good.” With that, he took her down the hallway to Katie’s room.

      Maryellen swallowed a gasp of delight when she saw the charming room. Jon had painted a zoo scene on one wall. Giraffes and elephants, zebras and monkeys appeared in a variety of realistic poses.

      “You did this?” she asked, astonished.

      “I haven’t quite finished.” He pointed to an area that had been drawn but not yet colored.

      All the furniture was new. He’d bought an infant swing and a crib with a canopy. A high chair stood in the corner; presumably he’d move it down to the kitchen when Katie was ready for it. Maryellen’s previous worry seemed even more ridiculous.

      “It’s wonderful,” she told him. “I made a fool of myself coming out here like this.” She couldn’t look at him. “I’ll go now.”

      Jon stopped her by stretching out his arm. “Katie and I want you to stay,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

      The lump in her throat eased as she gave him a smile. She wanted very much to spend this day with Jon and Katie.

      Six

      Tuesday evening, as the setting sun cast golden shadows over the cove, Grace left the library. She’d spent much of the day training a new assistant, so had stayed late to deal with her own paperwork. She was tired to the point of exhaustion. Times like these, she missed Dan the most. It would’ve been good to go home, have a quiet supper with him, maybe relate an anecdote or two. He’d disappeared the year before last, vanished without a word and without a trace. He’d hidden in a trailer deep in the woods, where he’d eventually committed suicide. His experience in Vietnam had never left him—the guilt and the horror of it.

      After his body was found, Grace had been assailed by doubts, wondering if she could’ve known, could’ve helped, could’ve reached him somehow. She suspected it would not have been possible because of the agony that consumed him, an agony he’d never spoken about. To her or anyone….

      Most recently there’d been this sadness, this emptiness she couldn’t shake. Her husband was dead and she’d lived without him for a long while and yet she couldn’t get used to his absence. That confused her. Theirs had never been a vibrant, happy marriage, but they’d made the best of it. They’d loved each other; that much she knew. She’d been wrong to think she’d be ready for another relationship so soon. She’d assumed all the grieving was over. Now she wondered if it would ever end. What she wanted was the life she’d had before Dan disappeared.

      While he’d never been an overly affectionate husband, there was a certain comfort in the routines they shared. He’d bring in the mail and the newspaper every afternoon. She cooked the meals. In the evenings, they’d sit side by side and watch television or talk, whether about their daughters or about inconsequential things—incidents at work, household concerns, local news. Once a week, she’d go off to aerobics class with Olivia. Dan hadn’t liked having her gone, but he’d never asked her to stay home. He understood how important Olivia’s friendship was to her. Now the evenings were silent. Lonely. Now it was Grace who dragged the garbage can out to the curb, Grace who struggled with the lawn mower and edge trimmer, Grace who read the fine print at the bottom of the car insurance policy—and she hated it.

      Walking to the parking lot behind the library, she tried to shake off her depression, reminding herself—as she often did—that she had much for which to be grateful. After years of longing, she was a grandmother twice over. Her daughters were close to her and to each other. She had good friends, especially Olivia. Her finances were in order, and while she was a long way from living a life of luxury, she earned enough to support herself. She had the answer about Dan’s disappearance, even if she didn’t like it.

      Life was good, or it should be.

      Buttercup greeted her happily when she got home. The dog came through the pet door at five-thirty every day to wait for her; she’d been well trained by her previous owner and didn’t budge from her appointed place until Grace arrived, even if she was late, as she was today. She collected the day’s mail and the newspaper, murmuring apologies and endearments to Buttercup. She flipped through the advertisements and bills as she walked back to the house and paused midstep when she came across a letter from Atlanta. The return address told her it was from Will Jefferson, Olivia’s older brother. Grace eagerly ripped open the envelope. She’d always been fond of Will.

      Standing on the sidewalk, she quickly scanned the neatly typed, one-page letter. While in high school, Grace had idolized Olivia’s brother from afar. He’d been a heartthrob way back then, and the years had done little to diminish his appeal. She’d seen him just recently when he’d flown home for Charlotte’s surgery. Grace was amazed at how attractive she found him even now, thirty-seven years after she’d graduated from high school.

      His letter was one of condolence. He told her how sorry he was about Dan, then wrote briefly about the changes he’d noticed in Cedar Cove. He said it had felt good to be home for more than just a brief visit after all these years. He added that he’d enjoyed seeing her. Since his return to Atlanta, he’d been talking to his wife about retiring in a few years and said he’d like to consider moving back to Cedar Cove.

      Grace knew Olivia and Charlotte must be thrilled at the prospect. Then she saw that under his signature, Will had included his e-mail address. He didn’t ask her to write, but there it was, like an open invitation.

      On her way into the house, Grace went through Will’s letter a second time, trying to read between the lines. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, nothing beyond his sincere sympathy and a bit of chatty news about his future plans.

      She replaced the letter inside the envelope, fed Buttercup and then turned on the television. These days her TV was more for companionship than entertainment. The evening was unseasonably warm and she dug around her refrigerator, deciding she’d just have a salad. She found herself humming as she shuffled the milk carton around two small yogurt containers.

      Grace stopped abruptly and straightened. When she’d left the library, she’d been feeling melancholy, but now her spirits were soaring. A feeling of happy anticipation filled her. The only thing she could attribute this change to was Will’s letter. Was she so fickle, she wondered with some dismay, that a letter from an old friend—a high-school crush—could improve her mood so radically?

      She didn’t get the opportunity to consider that. Buttercup barked once and trotted to the front door just seconds before the bell rang.

      Grace walked over to answer it and discovered Olivia standing on the other side of her screen.

      “Do you have a minute?” her friend asked. She looked upset, which shocked Grace, since Olivia was normally so composed.

      “Olivia! Of course. What’s happened?”

      Her friend gestured hopelessly as if she didn’t know where to start. “I can’t believe this.”

      “Believe what?”

      “First I hear from Stan, and then after weeks of silence, from Jack, too. This was within a few hours of each other—it’s as if those two have radar and know exactly what the other is doing.”

      This was fabulous news as far as Grace was concerned. “Jack? You heard from Jack?” She sat down on the sofa.

      Olivia nodded. “The man is a weasel, that’s what