1105 Yakima Street. Debbie Macomber

the line before he heard any more. He kept his hand on the receiver and hung his head, fighting back his disappointment.

      “Dad,” Jolene muttered. “You wanted that call to be Rachel, didn’t you?”

      “Yes.” He wasn’t going to deny it.

      “We don’t need her,” Jolene insisted, looking up at him from the kitchen table. “It’s been a lot better since she left. I’ve made dinner all week, haven’t I?”

      Bruce didn’t agree or disagree. Jolene had done her best to fill in, and while the meals weren’t always palatable, his daughter had tried.

      “I know I overcooked the macaroni and cheese.”

      “I hardly noticed,” he said, and it was true because he’d covered the entire plate with ketchup.

      “The meat loaf was good, wasn’t it?”

      “You did an excellent job.” Not exactly, but at least he’d found it edible, again with the addition of ketchup.

      Jolene beamed with pride. “Like I said, we don’t need Rachel.”

      It wasn’t Rachel’s cooking Bruce missed, it was Rachel herself. He missed holding her in his arms and chatting in bed. He missed pressing his hand over her stomach and silently transmitting his love and excitement to their baby. He missed Rachel’s smile when he walked into the house at the end of the day and the way she hugged him, welcoming him home. They’d only been married a short while and yet Rachel had filled every nook and cranny of his world. He hadn’t realized how alone and lonely he’d been until she’d come into his life. Without her nothing felt right.

      “Dad, my homework, remember?”

      “Yeah.” He’d do his best but he wished Rachel was the one helping Jolene….

      It took him nearly an hour. He wasn’t a natural teacher and had to grit his teeth several times, but made it through the ordeal without losing his patience. Still, once he’d finished, Bruce was cranky and ready for bed.

      Walking into his room, he looked despairingly at the crumpled sheets and the bedspread, which had slipped off and pooled on the carpet. Rachel made the bed every morning before she left for the salon. Apparently the aunt who’d raised her had insisted on it, and the habit had stuck. Then every night Rachel would remove the decorative pillows and neatly fold back the covers. The twisted and disheveled bedding depressed Bruce. He sagged onto the end of the mattress and came to a decision.

      He was going to the salon tomorrow, and he’d try his hardest to talk Rachel into giving him a second chance. He had to believe she missed him as much as he missed her. Surely she’d want to come home. That belief was the only thing that got him through the day.

      Friday morning, Bruce woke in good spirits. He had coffee brewing and Jolene’s glass of orange juice poured before his daughter even wandered out of her bedroom.

      She stared at him a moment before taking her glass off the counter. “You seem to be in a happy mood this morning.”

      “Do I?” He was seeing Rachel today and he couldn’t help feeling a sense of anticipation.

      “Dad …” Jolene regarded him skeptically. “You aren’t going to see Rachel, are you?”

      He didn’t answer.

      “She’s the one who left us, remember? If she wanted to come back she would have by now, don’t you think?”

      Bruce ignored his daughter. “Do you have your lunch money?”

      “Quit avoiding the subject.”

      “I have to leave now or I’ll be late for my first appointment.”

      “Dad!”

      Bruce wasn’t listening. He scooped up his keys and headed out the door, letting Jolene precede him. If he stopped work at four, which he fully intended to do, then he should be at the salon no later than four-thirty. He was his own boss and set his own hours. While he did his utmost to keep his computer clients happy, he had his priorities. Oh, yes, he’d see Rachel, and once she heard how desperately he missed her, how much he needed her, she’d move back home. Bruce couldn’t wait. He found himself humming, but stopped when he caught Jolene scowling at him. He didn’t care, but he didn’t want to set her off, either.

      At four o’clock sharp, Bruce was in his car, driving back into Cedar Cove after finishing an on-site call in Gig Harbor.

      He parked in the lot outside the shopping mall, and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a haircut. Rachel had been cutting his hair for the past few years. Jolene’s, too. Sooner or later his daughter would realize how much Rachel added to their lives—and it was a lot more than free haircuts! He just hoped Jolene smartened up soon.

      He chose the entrance closest to the Get Nailed salon. The salon storefront looked out on the mall and for several minutes Bruce stood there and simply watched Rachel work. His heart felt like it might pound straight out of his chest. He loved his wife.

      A moment later, Rachel must have felt his stare because she turned and their eyes met. The brush she held dropped to the floor. She’d lost weight, Bruce noticed, which wasn’t good. It told him she wasn’t eating enough and that the pregnancy was taking a toll on her health.

      His first instinct was to chastise her for not looking after herself. She also seemed exceptionally pale. Stephanie, when she was pregnant with Jolene, had suffered from an iron deficiency and Bruce wondered if that was the case with Rachel, too.

      While Bruce waited, Rachel finished with her client, then met him just inside the salon doors.

      “What are you doing here?” she whispered before he’d had a chance to greet her.

      “Shouldn’t it be obvious?” he returned, unable to take his eyes off her. “I came to see you.”

      “You said you wouldn’t.”

      “I did?” Bruce didn’t remember that. If so, he’d agreed under duress and had since changed his mind, although he said none of that. “I miss you,” he whispered, and reached for her hand.

      Rachel looked down, but not before he saw tears in her eyes. “I miss you, too.”

      “Come home, Rachel,” he pleaded as his thumb stroked the top of her hand. “I’ll do whatever you ask. Just come home.”

      “I wish it was that easy.”

      “But it is.”

      “Jolene—”

      Rachel had barely begun to speak when his daughter rounded the corner with two of her schoolfriends.

      “I thought so!” Jolene yelled, hands on her hips. Bruce recognized the girls, although he couldn’t recall their names. “I knew you were coming to see Rachel.”

      Next she glared at Rachel. “I don’t care what my dad says, I don’t want you in our house ever again.”

      “Jolene!” Bruce snapped. “You’re being rude and your behavior is unacceptable. This is between Rachel and me. Now please leave. We’ll talk later,” he said in as ominous a tone as he could manage.

      “I have as much of a right to be here as anyone.” Her eyes sparked with indignation. She was obviously drawing strength from the presence of her friends, who stood with her, forming a silent barrier. Turning to confront Rachel, Jolene continued, “Having you out of the house has been great and I don’t want you back.”

      “Jolene, stop right this minute!” Bruce shouted. He lunged and grabbed his daughter by the shoulders. “I told you, this is between Rachel and me!”

      “No, it isn’t,” his daughter insisted. “I live in the house, too, and it’s either me or Rachel because if she comes back, then I’m leaving.”

      That was an empty threat if there ever