Iâll be damned if Iâll allow you to tell me what my feelings are. Donât go putting words in my mouth, or discount the way I felt about her. Just because I couldnât be here when she was born doesnât mean I didnât care. For the love of God, I was under the polar ice cap when you went into labor. You werenât even due untilââ
âNow youâre blaming me.â She thrust her hand over her mouth as if to hold back emotion.
It didnât do any good to talk. Heâd tried, damn it to hell, heâd tried, but it never got him anywhere. He just couldnât find any middle ground with her.
Rather than prolong the agony, he stormed out of the apartment. The door banged in his wake, and he wasnât sure if heâd closed it or Cecilia had slammed it after him.
He left the building, fury propelling his steps, and got into his car. Feeling the way he did just then, Ian realized he shouldnât be driving, but he wasnât about to sit outside this apartment. Not when Cecilia might think he sat there pining for her.
He revved the engine and threw the transmission into drive. The tires squealed as he sped off, burning rubber. He hadnât gone more than a quarter mile when he saw the red-and-blue lights of a sheriffâs car flashing behind him.
Damn it all. He eased to a stop at the curb and rolled downhis window. By the time the officer reached his vehicle, Ian had removed his military driverâs license from his wallet.
ââMorning, sir,â he said, wondering how good an actor he was.
âIn a bit of a hurry back there, werenât you?â the officer asked. He was middle-aged, his posture rigid, his hair worn in a crewcut. Everything about him screamed ex-military, which meant he just might be inclined to cut Ian a little slack.
âHurry?â Ian repeated and forced himself to relax. âNot really.â
âYou were doing forty in a twenty-mile-an-hour zone.â He glanced at the license and started writing out a ticket, apparently unimpressed by Ianâs military status.
From the looks of it, Ian wasnât going to get the opportunity to talk his way out of this one. He quickly calculated what the ticket would cost him, plus the rate hike in his insurance.
Thanks, Cecilia, he thought bitterly. The price of marriage just kept going up.
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Grace Sherman and Olivia Lockhart had been best friends nearly their entire lives. Theyâd met in seventh grade, which was when students from both South Ridge Elementary and Marinerâs Glen entered Colchester Junior High. Grace had served as Oliviaâs maid-of-honor when sheâd married Stanley Lockhart soon after her college graduation and was godmother to her youngest son, James.
The summer following their high-school graduation, Grace had married Daniel Sherman and they quickly had two daughters. When Kelly, her youngest, turned six, Grace had gone back to school and earned her Bachelor of Library Sciencedegree. Then sheâd started working for the Cedar Cove Library, and within ten years had been promoted to head librarian.
Even while Olivia was attending a prestigious womenâs college in Oregon and Grace was an at-home mother with two small children, theyâd remained close. They still were. Because their lives were busy, theyâd created routines to sustain their friendship. Lunch together once a month. And every Wednesday night at seven, they met for an aerobics class at the local YMCA.
Grace waited in the well-lit parking lot for her friend. She hadnât felt good when she left the house. The sensation was all-encompassing. Physically, she was tired, her weight was up and she didnât have her period to blame anymore. For years, sheâd managed to keep within ten pounds of what sheâd weighed in high school, but during the past five, sheâd gained an extra fifteen pounds. It had happened despite all her efforts. Somehow the