1105 Yakima Street. Debbie Macomber

you please just come home?”

      “No.” She hated to be so inflexible, but she didn’t have any choice. “I told you before and I meant it—I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to see you, Bruce. It only upsets me.”

      “I can’t stay away, Rachel. I’ve tried but I can’t make myself do it.”

      “In other words, you’re determined to hound me.” Thank goodness she’d had the sense not to tell anyone where she was living, not even Teri.

      “I want you back.”

      Apparently he intended to wear down her defenses until he got what he wanted. It sounded as if he planned to wait outside the salon every day until she moved back to Yakima Street. For her, the problem with that was twofold. First, Jane didn’t want him hanging around, and second, Rachel feared that in time he would wear her down to the point that she’d agree.

      “Leave me alone, Bruce.”

      “I can’t,” he whispered. “I love you.”

      She longed to believe they could make their marriage work. For her sake and for the baby’s. But every time she felt herself weakening, all she had to do was picture Jolene’s face, mocking her with that triumphant smile. The girl had won, and for Rachel there was no going back.

      “Don’t come here again, Bruce. I’m warning you, if you do Jane will ask security to step in.”

      “Fine, if that’s what it takes to talk to you, then I’ll gladly let them arrest me.”

      Rachel didn’t respond to his comment and returned to the salon. She wasn’t sure how long Bruce stood there; she did her best not to look in his direction.

      At quitting time, Jane asked the security guard to walk Rachel to her car. While she felt a bit ridiculous, she was grateful to be spared the risk of yet another confrontation with Bruce.

      Once she got home, to the house she shared with Nate Olsen, she opened a can of tomato soup and had that and a few cheese slices for dinner. She wasn’t hungry but she ate because of the baby.

      Nate arrived around seven. Rachel was sitting in the recliner with her feet elevated. She had the television on and was reading a magazine at the same time. She needed as many distractions as she could get.

      Her housemate took one look at her and frowned. “Bad day?”

      “You could say that.”

      “What happened?”

      Unsure how much to tell him, she considered what she should say.

      “Wait.” Nate held up one hand. He sat on the edge of the sofa. “Bruce showed up at work again.”

      She nodded, but didn’t divulge the details of their conversation. “Jane isn’t happy about it, either.”

      “Did he make another scene?”

      “Not really, but he threatened to show up every day until I change my mind.”

      “That’s awkward. It’s going to cause problems for you, isn’t it?”

      She hadn’t mentioned this part of the conversation to her boss. Jane was already upset with her over what had happened a week earlier.

      “I might have a solution,” Nate said slowly.

      “What?” At the moment everything felt hopeless.

      “A temporary position has been posted at the shipyard,” Nate told her. “One of the clerks just had a baby and she’ll be out for five months. The job requires basic computer and administrative skills. Do you think you might want to apply?”

      Rachel bit her lip. “Would I have any chance of getting the job?”

      “As good a chance as anyone else.”

      “Then why not.” Getting on with the shipyard would certainly help her situation. The timing couldn’t have been better. And after the baby was born, she’d have to reassess her options, anyway.

      “I know someone in HR and I’ll drop off a résumé for you.”

      “Wow, that would be great! Thank you.”

      Not surprisingly, the next day after work, Bruce showed up at the salon. Rachel ignored him and after several minutes he left.

      “Rachel,” Jane whispered in warning. “I don’t want Bruce hanging around here. Can’t you do something?”

      “I already have.” Booking an extended lunch hour, she’d gone to the shipyard employment office, had an interview and taken a test. She didn’t know how well she’d done but it didn’t seem that difficult.

      Nate was home early that evening, smiling when he walked in the door. “I talked to Becky, my friend in HR,” he said. He put his briefcase down, opened the refrigerator and removed a cold soda. “You got the highest possible score.”

      “I did? Does that mean they might call me in for another interview? Did you tell her that if she hired me I’d give her a free haircut?”

      Nate laughed. “No, because that might be construed as bribery.”

      Rachel smiled, optimistic for the first time in weeks. Months.

      “The position will be posted for another couple of days and then Becky will notify the applicant who’s been chosen. You’ll know one way or the other by the end of the week.”

      “Thanks again, Nate.”

      He shrugged off her appreciation. “Anything for a friend.”

      Rachel had a good feeling about this short-term position. It was perfect for her. The shipyard obviously agreed because a few days later Rachel received word that she had the job.

       Eight

      “Jack, what’s that in your pocket?” Olivia asked, pulling her husband into the hallway that led to their bedroom. He had the grace to look guilty.

      “Cookies,” he admitted.

      “Jack,” she moaned. He had to watch his diet carefully, and the cookies and cake Charlotte insisted on baking weren’t part of his low-fat eating program. After seeing Jack through one heart attack and bypass surgery, Olivia had been keeping a close eye on his eating habits. He’d been backsliding recently, since temptation, provided by Charlotte, was ever-present these days.

      “Your mother baked them especially for me,” Jack said. “I couldn’t hurt her feelings, could I?”

      “Oh, Jack.” She sighed, and held out her hand. “At least give one of them to me.”

      He snorted. “At this rate we’ll both weigh three hundred pounds by the time your mother and Ben are back in their own house.”

      Olivia had already gained a pound and this cookie wasn’t helping; still, like Jack, she couldn’t resist.

      Thrusting one hand in his pocket, he took out the cookies in their paper napkin, and begrudgingly placed two of the four he’d pilfered in her palm.

      Olivia finished off her last peanut butter cookie before she went into the kitchen. Her mother was busy with the dishes, quietly singing a hymn as she squirted detergent into the hot water. She put the bottle down by the sink and began a song about Jesus washing all our sins away.

      “Mom,” Olivia said, coming to stand next to her mother. She reached for a kitchen towel and slung it over her shoulder while she waited for the first clean bowl. “You could always use the dishwasher, you know.”

      “It only takes a minute to do these few by hand,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t realize you were back.”

      She’d arrived home about ten minutes earlier and they’d chatted briefly before she saw Jack slinking away, looking guilty. “We spoke