74 Seaside Avenue

“Please.” Even getting out that one word was an effort.

“I’m on my way.”

Jack knew then and there that he couldn’t have found a better sponsor—and friend. He’d linked up with Bob years earlier while living in Spokane and working for the big regional paper, The Review. When Bob and Peggy moved back to their hometown and opened Thyme and Tide, Jack had visited. He’d fallen in love with the town, the landscape and the slower pace.

Up to that point, Jack had pretty much screwed up his life with alcohol, a bad marriage and a mangled relationship with his only son. Eric had moved to Seattle, and it seemed that if Jack was ever going to reconcile with him, his chances would improve if he lived in the area. So he’d come to Cedar Cove, taken a job with the local paper and got himself a place to live.

“Jack?” Olivia’s voice drifted out from the bedroom.

“In here,” he said, trying to pull himself together. Olivia had enough to worry about without him. Dragging in a deep breath, he went down the hallway to the master bedroom, determined to hide his fears. “Do you need anything?” he asked.

She sat up in bed, looking pale and lovely. Jack resisted the urge to hold her in his arms, to protect her and love her. She was frightened. How could she not be? He was scared out of his wits, too. If he lost Olivia, he didn’t think he’d survive.

“Did I hear you on the phone?” she asked.

Jack couldn’t lie. He’d rather she not know he’d called his sponsor, but he wasn’t going to lie about it. “Bob’s coming by. I thought I’d talk to him for a few minutes. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, no, go ahead.” She’d spent part of the evening with Grace and seemed fortified and optimistic afterward.

At the moment Jack could use a dose of that optimism. “I’ll probably be a couple of hours,” he said.

“Can I turn out the light, then?”

“By all means. You need to sleep.”

Olivia gave him a tentative smile. “We’ll get through this, Jack. I promise.”

He should be the one reassuring her, and he hated himself for being so weak. “Of course we will.”

Jack walked over to her bedside, bent down and kissed her, then switched off the lamp. Fearing she might overhear the conversation between him and Bob, he closed the bedroom door.

Halfway down the hallway, he stopped and leaned against the wall, covering his face with both hands, remembering. Remembering. Eric, his son, had leukemia as a kid. That was what had driven Jack to alcohol in the first place. That helplessness, that total dependence on others to care for his son, that inability to alleviate his suffering…Jack had barely made it then, and he wasn’t sure he’d make it this time. Eric had gone into long-term remission, but Jack didn’t know if he could watch someone else he loved endure all the pain and uncertainty. All the grief and fear.

He just couldn’t do it. He just might have to.

Instead of using the doorbell, Bob knocked quietly at the front door. Jack hurried to let him in. When he saw his friend, it was all he could do not to break down. His weakness shamed and humiliated him.

“I’ve been repeating the Serenity Prayer for the last hour,” Jack told him. “I think I’d be face-first in a bottle if I hadn’t.”

Bob nodded, and Jack was grateful that he understood. “You haven’t had a drink?” Bob asked.

“By the grace of God, no.” He was one sip away from a complete mental and physical breakdown. He couldn’t explain why alcohol tempted him when he knew what it did to him. Still, the pull was as powerful as an undertow, and Jack could feel himself being swept away with the need.

He was hanging on by a thread and that thread was Bob.

“Sit down and tell me what’s happened.” Bob led him to the sofa.

Jack slumped down, burying his face in his hands.

Bob pulled the ottoman closer and sat on it.

“Olivia went in for a routine mammogram,” Jack began, his voice faltering slightly.

“Cancer?” Bob asked.

“We don’t know yet. Not for sure. The Women’s Clinic called her back for a second test, a more extensive one, and then for an ultrasound.”

“You’ve seen the doctor?”

Jack nodded. “We went this morning. He has to do a biopsy.”

Bob exhaled loudly. “You’re afraid.”

Jack nodded again. “I don’t think I truly realized how much I love Olivia until this morning.”

To his surprise, Bob smiled. “Olivia said almost those same words to me when you had your heart attack.”

Now that their situations were, in effect, reversed, he could appreciate how hard it had been on his wife. The problem was, love opened you up to that kind of pain. He’d never expected to fall in love again when he moved to Cedar Cove. Even less had he expected to find someone who loved him.

He’d been attracted to Olivia right away. Sitting in her courtroom and watching her deny a divorce—that got his attention. Most family court judges were jaded by the day-in-and-day-out bitterness of marriages gone bad. Not Olivia. She’d seen that the young couple was still in love and she’d intervened. Her compassion had stirred him. Her toughness had impressed him.

Jack knew that if Olivia hadn’t denied that divorce, the couple would have gone their separate ways and carried around that pain for the rest of their lives. She’d forced them to deal with the grief of losing their child, forced them to resolve their differences.

Without knowing it, Jack had fallen in love with her that very morning. In fact, he’d written an entire column in the Cedar Cove Chronicle about her unusual stand. His attention had embarrassed her but she’d eventually forgiven him.

When they got married, Jack felt as though his life had begun again. He was crazy about her, although their relationship had never been easy. They were about as different as two people could get.

“Jack?”

Startled, Jack glanced up to see Bob staring at him. “You won’t know for sure if it’s cancer until they do the biopsy, right?”

His heart pounded against his ribs. “It’s scheduled for this week.”

“You want a drink now?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “A strong drink. Strong enough to take away this ache.” Preferably hard alcohol, Scotch or brandy, something that would melt his teeth.

“A drink’s going to help?” Bob asked.

They both knew the answer to that. “No. But that doesn’t make me want one any less.”

Bob cocked his eyebrow. “One?”

Jack didn’t have to be told that one drink, even one sip, was a fantasy. For alcoholics like Bob and him, it never ended there. Jack had sat through enough meetings to know that. Lived it long enough to recognize the truth when he heard it. This was the lie so many alcoholics tried to believe: that they were strong enough to have one drink, just one, and then walk away. But that wasn’t how it worked for people like him.

“You need a meeting to get your head on straight,” Bob said. He stood up to take his wallet out of his hip pocket, then pulled out a small booklet and unfolded it. “There’s one in Bremerton that starts in ten minutes. I’ll drive.”

Jack nodded. They’d be late but that didn’t matter. A meeting was a meeting. He’d feel better after talking about this with other men and women who understood the addictive power of alcohol.

“Let me say goodbye to Olivia.” Carefully opening the bedroom door a moment later, he paused, hesitant to wake her if she was asleep. Light spilled from the hallway into the bedroom.

“Jack?” Olivia rose up on one elbow. “Is everything all right?”

“It is now. Bob and I are going out for a while.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

“Will you be okay by yourself?” he asked. “I can call Grace if you want.” She was the kind of friend to Olivia that Bob was to him. Any time of the day or night, Grace would be willing to help.

Olivia shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Walking into the room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed and gathered Olivia in his arms. As they clung to each other, he felt her tremble.

“I need a meeting,” he whispered.

“I know, Jack. Go.” She stroked the back of his head, her fingers light against his hair.

It was the same way she touched him after they’d made love. The gesture brought emotion bubbling to the surface and Jack hid his face in her shoulder.

“Wake me when you get back,” she whispered.

“Okay.” He left her then, reluctantly.

Bob was waiting for him by the front door. Jack grabbed a fleece jacket from the hall closet and together they headed into the cold. A sporadic rain had begun, matching his mood, darkening an already dark sky. When they reached the address, they hurried into a church basement that smelled of stale coffee and damp coats. Jack was quickly immersed in the familiar and comforting routine of the meeting; it was exactly what he’d needed, he told himself an hour later.

During his first weeks of sobriety, he’d gone to thirty meetings in thirty days. He’d needed every one of those meetings. That was how he’d made it through the first month—one day at a time and on some days one minute at a time. Alcoholics Anonymous had given him a structure. And Bob had helped him at every step, listening, encouraging, cutting through the bull and self-pity. When his head was clear enough to listen, Bob reminded him that no one had poured the booze down his throat. No one had forced him to drink. He had to take responsibility for his own life, his own happiness.

By the time he let himself into the house, it was two o’clock. He, Bob and a couple of other people from the meeting had gone out for coffee afterward and they’d talked for another hour. Jack felt almost sane again.

He slipped off his jacket and hung it in the hall closet. Olivia had trained him well, he thought. Smiling, he started toward the bedroom. When he walked inside, he was surprised to see his wife sitting up in bed, a book lying open on her lap. She blinked at him, obviously a bit disoriented.

“Oh! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can tell.” Moving to the side of the bed, he kissed her. He’d meant it to be light and easy, but the kiss quickly turned into something more, something urgent.

All at once, Olivia broke away from him. “Jack Griffin,” she cried. “What’s that I taste on you?”

“Ah…”

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “Cherry pie?”

He grinned. “Could be.”

“Jack!”

“Hey, Miss Coconut-Cream-Pie-every-Wednesday-night. You’ve got no call to be criticizing me.”

Her pretend outrage faded, and she set aside the book she’d been reading. “Do you feel better?”

“Much,” he said.

“Me, too.”

Jack knew he was ready for whatever the future held. He could—and would—be the man his wife deserved.

Thirty-Two

Rachel checked her watch, then peered out the living-room window again. Bruce was already five minutes late, and she wondered if he even remembered that he’d agreed to drive her to the airport today. She’d asked him weeks ago—long before he’d kissed her…before the less-than-subtle shift in their relationship. They hadn’t talked since that night.