50 Harbor Street

At three that afternoon, Allison Cox showed up at the office, just missing her father, who’d left to meet with a client. Allison was willowy and classic-featured, a lovely girl. She wore her dark-brown hair long, all the way to the middle of her back. As she removed her gray wool coat, Cecilia saw that she’d dressed for the office in a green plaid skirt and white turtleneck sweater. When Cecilia had first met her, Allison’s favorite color was black. The girl had rebelled against the destruction of her family and lashed out at those around her. Cecilia liked to think that their friendship had helped Allison. In reality, she supposed, it was her parents’ reconciliation that had changed the girl’s outlook on life. Still Cecilia liked to think she’d been a good influence, and Mr. Cox had frequently made a point of telling her she had.

That was two years ago, and Allison was now a high school senior.

“It’s so good to see you,” Allison said, hugging Cecilia, although it’d been less than a month since they’d spent time together. “How’s our baby doing?”

Cecilia pressed her hand to her stomach. “She’s kicking. Want to feel?”

Allison’s eyes widened. “Sure.”

Cecilia held the girl’s hand over her stomach and watched as Allison stared intently, bit her lower lip and then after a long moment, dejectedly shook her head. “I don’t feel anything.”

“It might be a little early yet,” Cecilia murmured, trying to remember how far along she’d been with the last pregnancy before Ian could feel their daughter’s movements.

Disappointed, Allison dropped her hand. “Well, I guess I’d better get to work.”

Cecilia set her up at a vacant desk across from her own. During tax season, when the accounting firm hired extra help, every square inch of space was used by temporary employees. It got fairly chaotic from January through April of every year.

Allison had been working for an hour when Mary Lou, who staffed the front desk, hurried into their work area. “There’s a young man asking to see you,” Mary Lou said to Allison. She cast a doubtful look at Cecilia as if to say she wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing.

“Did he give you his name?” Allison asked.

“No, but he said you’d know who he is.”

“What’s he wearing?”

Mary Lou edged closer and lowered her voice. “He has a goatee and has on a long black coat that’s got chains attached. He’s wearing a big cross, too. I don’t mind telling you, he looks a bit scary.”

“That’s Anson.” Allison stood and went out to the front. She was gone for ten minutes and was clearly pleased—no, downright jubilant—when she returned.

Cecilia was more than a little curious. “What was that about?” she asked. Without being obvious, she’d managed to get a glimpse of this Anson character through one of the office windows. Cecilia understood Mary Lou’s concerns. The boy’s hair was long, greasy and dark. His overcoat fanned out from his sides, as though he had weapons concealed beneath it. Presumably he didn’t, but still…He wasn’t the type of boy Cecilia expected Allison to be interested in.

“I barely know him,” Allison claimed. “He’s in my French class and he sits beside me. We’ve talked a couple of times and that’s about it.”

“How did he know you were here?”

Allison shrugged. “One of my friends must’ve told him.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Not really. He asked about our French assignment.” She grinned shyly and glanced down at the floor. “That was just an excuse, though, ’cause then he asked what I was doing tonight.”

Cecilia nodded, a little worried about the girl’s attraction to this self-styled rebel.

“He lives with his mother,” Allison added.

“Oh.”

“I don’t think they get along very well,” she said thoughtfully.

Cecilia didn’t know what to say. “Would you go out with him if he asked?” she murmured. Whether Allison admitted it or not, she was attracted to the boy. Everything about her said so.

“I…I don’t know, but it’s irrelevant. Anson hasn’t asked and I doubt that he will. Guys like Anson don’t go out. They hang out.”

It was obvious that Mr. Cox hadn’t met the young man, and Cecilia could only imagine how he’d react if he found his daughter with Anson.

“Be careful,” Cecilia warned softly.

“Why?”

“Bad boys can be attractive, which translates into dangerous.”

Allison smiled. “Don’t worry. Like I said, we hardly know each other.”

Cecilia didn’t mean to doubt her, but there was trouble coming; she could feel it. Cecilia just hoped Allison knew what she was doing.

She didn’t have time to think about Allison after she left work because she was meeting Cathy and her three-year-old son, Andy. Cecilia drove straight to her friend’s house without stopping at home. The two of them were putting together Christmas packages to mail off to Ian and Cathy’s husband, Andrew. Cecilia had already filled the trunk of her car with Ian’s gifts. She looked forward to the evening and to the take-out Chinese dinner she and Cathy planned to order.

“Did you get an e-mail from Ian this morning?” Cathy asked.

Cecilia shook her head. “Maybe there’ll be one at home.” Ian never talked about what he did for the Navy. His job had something to do with guided missile systems and involved computers and other advanced technology. Ian couldn’t discuss the details of his Navy life for reasons of national security, and Cecilia accepted that. She didn’t care what the United States Navy had him do, as long as her husband arrived home safe and sound. Currently the George Washington was somewhere in the Persian Gulf, but exactly where was a mystery.

Ian e-mailed her at least once a day. He didn’t have time to send long messages, but even a short note raised Cecilia’s spirits. He insisted that he needed to hear from her, too, and just as often.

Because Cathy was a stay-at-home mom, she’d picked up the necessary mailing supplies. While Andy sat on the floor and played with puzzles, the two women packaged their various gifts.

“You won’t believe what’s in here,” Cathy said, holding up a small jewelry-sized box.

“You’re sending Andrew a ring?” Cecilia asked, puzzled.

“No, it’s a sheer black nightgown—with the promise that I’ll wear it for him when he gets home.”

Cecilia giggled. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” she said, remembering that she herself had done something similar once…

Cathy laughed, too. “I doubt Andrew will think of it that way. I’m ready for a second child. As far as I’m concerned, little Andy needs a baby sister.”

Cecilia managed to smile but quickly looked away and resumed her wrapping. Her life would be so different if Allison had lived. There were no guarantees that the heart ailment that had killed their daughter wouldn’t afflict this second baby. Cecilia prayed with everything in her that the child she carried now would be healthy.

Four

Maryellen Bowman arrived home from her job at the Harbor Street Art Gallery and smiled when Jon stepped outside to greet her. She felt a sense of deep contentment at the sight of her husband. From her car seat behind Maryellen, two-year-old Katie let out a squeal of delight the instant she saw her father. She started kicking and swinging her arms, eager to escape the confines of the protective seat.

“I know, honey, I know.” Maryellen laughed. “I’m happy to see your daddy, too.”

By the time Maryellen had parked, Jon was waiting by the car. He opened the back door and freed Katie, who immediately squirmed and wanted down. Now that she was walking, she was impossible to restrain. Still holding Katie, Jon walked around the front of the car to hug Maryellen.

“Welcome home,” he said and kissed her hungrily. He wove his free hand into her dark hair and brought his mouth to hers.

Between them, their daughter chattered insistently, seeking attention. Katie didn’t take kindly to being ignored. Maryellen, however, barely noticed her objections.

“You make it worth coming home,” she whispered, sighing with her eyes closed. Her husband could win a kissing contest—not that she’d let him enter even if there was such an event.

His arm around her waist, Jon led her into the home he’d built with his own two hands. The property, with its view of the Seattle skyline across Puget Sound, had been an inheritance from his grandfather, and Jon had devoted countless hours to landscaping the grounds. The house was everything Maryellen could possibly want. It had spacious rooms, high ceilings, fireplaces and balconies, and a wide oak staircase to the second floor. A sweeping panorama of the water and the city lights beyond was available from every room. Her artist husband had designed and then painstakingly built the place, at the same time he was making his mark as a professional photographer. Maryellen loved her husband heart and soul, reveling in his many talents.

“I’ve got dinner started,” Jon told her as she stepped inside the house and was met by the scent of roasting chicken. On top of everything else, Jon was a gifted chef. Maryellen had to pinch herself every day, marveling that she was loved by such an extraordinary man.

“How was your day?” he asked, as Maryellen hung up her coat and tended to Katie.

“Busy.”

“I’d rather you were home with me.”

“I know—I’d like to be here, too.” The money Jon earned from his photographs was impressive but not yet sufficient for all their financial needs. Then there was the question of medical insurance, which was currently provided through her employer. They’d already made one giant leap of faith when Jon left his job as chef for The Lighthouse restaurant earlier in the year. Maryellen had managed the Cedar Cove Art Gallery for the past ten years and the owners had come to rely on her. She hoped to train her assistant, Lois Habbersmith, to assume her role, but, so far, that hadn’t worked out as well as she’d hoped. Lois was a good employee but she didn’t want the responsibility of being manager. Only after several months had she finally admitted that to Maryellen.

“I’m planning to leave by the end of next year,” Maryellen said as she reached for the mail, which Jon had placed on the kitchen counter.

“Next year?” Jon yelped.

“I know, I’m disappointed, too, but the time will go fast. It’s already autumn.” Her fingers stilled as she came across the envelope addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Jon Bowman. One glance at the return address told her the letter was from Jon’s father and stepmother in Oregon. It remained unopened.

When Maryellen looked up, she found her husband watching her, almost as if he’d anticipated her reaction. “It’s from your family,” she said unnecessarily.

“I know.”

“You didn’t open it.” This, too, was obvious.

“No,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “And I won’t. If it’d been strictly up to me I would’ve tossed it in the garbage. But your name’s on it, too.” Anger burned in his eyes. Years earlier, his parents had betrayed Jon and lied in order to save their younger son, Jon’s half brother, from a prison sentence. In saving Jim, they’d sacrificed Jon. While Jon, innocent of all charges, served seven years in prison, his younger brother continued to abuse drugs and eventually died of an overdose.