74 Seaside Avenue. Debbie Macomber

I was so sorry to hear about your wife. How very special she must have been. I’ve almost forgiven her for stealing you away from me.

       My husband died three years ago and I truly understand how difficult the adjustment can be.

      Faith Beckwith was the married name of Faith Carroll, his high-school sweetheart. Faith had mailed him a sympathy card? He smiled and almost before he could rationalize what he was doing, Troy reached for the phone. Directory assistance gave him the Seattle number he sought and without hesitation he dialed it.

      Not until it began to ring did he consider what he should say. He’d never been an impulsive man. But he didn’t need to think about what he was doing. Instinctively he knew this was right.

      “Hello,” a soft female voice answered.

      “Faith, this is Troy Davis.”

      The line went silent, and Troy felt her shock.

      “Troy, my heavens, is it really you?”

      She sounded exactly the same as she had when they were high-school seniors. Back then, they’d talked on the phone for hours nearly every night. They’d been in love. The summer after their graduation, he’d gone into the service. Faith had seen him off with kisses and tears, promising to write every day, and in the beginning she had.

      Then the correspondence had abruptly stopped. He still had no idea what had gone wrong. Soon afterward, a friend told him Faith was dating someone else. It’d hurt, the way she’d handled their breakup, but that was easy to forgive now. They’d both been so young. Besides, Troy wouldn’t have married Sandy if Faith hadn’t severed their relationship. And he couldn’t imagine his life without Sandy….

      “I got your sympathy card,” he said, explaining the reason for his call. “How did you know?”

      “My son lives in Cedar Cove,” Faith said. “I was visiting him and the grandkids, and I saw the Chronicle. I always read the obituaries and …”

      “That’s where you read about Sandy?”

      “It is. I’m really sorry about your loss, Troy. I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me. That’s why I didn’t mail the card right away.”

      Troy didn’t know what else to say until he glanced down at the sympathy card and reread her short message. “What did you mean when you said Sandy stole me away?” His memory of their breakup was quite the opposite. Faith had dumped him.

      Her laugh drifted over the phone. “Come on, Troy. You have to know you broke my heart.”

      “What?” He shook his head in bewilderment. She couldn’t have forgotten the callous way she’d treated him. “As I recall, you’re the one who broke up with me.”

      There was a silence. “How can you say that?” she said. “You quit writing to me.”

      “I most certainly did not,” he returned. He’d always wondered what had happened and wasn’t too proud to admit she’d hurt him badly. But none of that was important anymore. Hadn’t been in years.

      “Hold on,” Faith said. “One of us seems to have developed a selective memory.”

      “That’s what I was thinking.” Strangely, Troy found he was enjoying this. He knew beyond a doubt that the selective memory was Faith’s—but he was willing to forgive her.

      “Yes,” she said, “and it’s not me.”

      “Well, then,” he said, “let’s review the events of that summer.”

      “Good idea,” she concurred. “Practically as soon as we graduated from high school, you went into basic training.”

      “Right.” Troy was with her so far. “I remember clearly that you promised me your undying love when we said goodbye.”

      “I did and I meant it.” She spoke without hesitation. “I wrote you every single day.”

      “In the beginning.” He’d lived for Faith’s letters, and when she’d stopped writing he hadn’t known what to think.

      “Every day,” she reiterated, “and then you stopped writing.”

       “Me?”

      “Yes, you.”

      Troy grew quiet. “I didn’t stop writing you, Faith.”

      “I didn’t stop writing you, either.”

      “I phoned,” he said, “and your mother said you were out. Later, someone else told me you were seeing some other guy. I got the message.”

      “I didn’t date anyone other than you until after I left for college that September.”

      The silence seemed to hum between them.

      “My mother,” she breathed slowly. “My mother was the one who took out the mail every day and collected it, too.”

      “She didn’t like me?” Troy couldn’t remember Mrs. Carroll being particularly hostile toward him.

      “She liked you fine, but she thought we were too young to be serious,” Faith said. “I made the mistake of telling her I hoped you’d give me an engagement ring for Christmas.”

      The irony was, Troy had planned on doing exactly that.

      “You mean to say you believed I’d just stopped writing?” Faith asked. “Without saying a word? You honestly believed I’d do that to you?”

      “Well, yes,” Troy admitted. “Just like you believed I’d given up sending you letters.”

      She hesitated, then reluctantly agreed. “Did you try to get in touch with me when you finished basic training?” she asked. “You came home on leave, didn’t you?”

      “Of course I did,” Troy told her. “I went to your house—that was in late August—but by then you’d already left for college. I wanted to talk to you, but when I asked for your new address, your mother said it was probably best not to contact you.”

      “My mother,” Faith groaned. “I never suspected she’d do anything like that.”

      “I didn’t, either.”

      They both seemed at a loss as to what to say next.

      Finally she whispered, “You broke my heart.”

      He hadn’t come out of the relationship unscathed, either. “You broke mine,” he told her.

      Faith exhaled softly, then said, “It seems my mother has a great deal to answer for.”

      “Is she still alive?” Troy didn’t figure there was much point in dwelling on the sins of the past.

      “No. She died ten years ago.”

      “Despite everything, our lives worked out well, didn’t they?” he said. “Maybe not the way we expected, but …”

      “Yes,” Faith said. “I met Carl at Central Washington and we got married in 1970.”

      Funny little coincidences. “Sandy and I were married the same year. In June.”

      “What day?”

      “The twenty-third. What about you?”

      “The twenty-third.”

      This was too weird. They’d each been married on the same day and in the same year—to someone else.

      “Children?” he asked.

      “Two—a boy, Scott, and a girl, Jay Lynn. Scottie lives in Cedar Cove, like I said, and teaches at the high school. Jay Lynn’s married and the mother of two. She’s currently a stay-at-home mom. What about you?”

      “One daughter, Megan. She works at