204 Rosewood Lane - Debbie Macomber [109]
Wonder at his skill quickly overcame her ambivalent feelings as she studied the photograph. It wasn’t necessary to see the woman’s face to experience the simple joy she found in feeding the birds. Maryellen had thrown popcorn to the seagulls herself and knew how exhilarating it could be. She’d stood at the end of that very pier and—
Wait a minute!
That wasn’t just any woman—that was her. Jon had taken a picture of her on the pier. Hurrying on to the next picture, she realized, much to her relief, that there was only one photograph in which she was the subject.
Instead of feeling uplifted, Maryellen found that her spirits were low as she boarded the ferry for the fifty-minute sailing into Bremerton. That single photograph told her more than she wanted to know. He’d seen her at the pier without her being aware of him. When? It’d obviously been after their meeting at Christmas—probably during March, judging by the coat she was wearing. She’d gone to feed the seagulls during her lunch hour a few times, and he’d obviously caught sight of her. The fact that he’d taken this picture—his one and only photograph of a person—suggested he’d had genuine feelings for her. Maybe still did. And yet, she couldn’t allow herself to respond to those feelings, nor could she act on her own deep attraction to him. She just couldn’t.
Instead of driving directly home, Maryellen surprised herself and drove to her mother’s. Grace was in the kitchen, doing her weekly cooking. She’d recently gotten into the habit of preparing, freezing and storing everything she’d need for the next six days—until the following Sunday, when she’d start the whole cycle again.
“I’m trying a few new recipes,” she told Maryellen, busily arranging vegetables, cans and other ingredients on the counter. “Have you had dinner?”
“Not yet. I’m still full from brunch.” Her appetite was gone, but it had more to do with her churning thoughts than an empty stomach.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked.
“What makes you think anything’s wrong? It’s Mother’s Day, and I’d like to spend some extra time with my mother. That doesn’t mean anything’s wrong, does it?”
Grace tore a strip of aluminum foil from the box and covered a small casserole dish she’d just withdrawn from the oven. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you sound defensive.”
“Maybe I should just go home.” Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Her mother could read her far too well.
“Did you see him?” Grace shocked her by asking.
Maryellen didn’t bother to ask who she meant. That was obvious. “No,” she said. “No.” For emphasis, she shook her head.
Setting the teakettle on the burner, Grace heated water. It seemed that every time they had something important to discuss, her mother made tea. It signaled that her mother considered whatever was to follow significant, something that required her daughter’s close attention.
“Mom…”
“Sit down and don’t argue with me,” her mother said briskly. She pulled out the kitchen chair and gave Maryellen a slight shove in its direction.
All too soon, the tea was steeping, and the pot rested in the center of the table. “You already know I was pregnant with you when your father and I got married.”
Maryellen knew this and wasn’t interested in learning whether her parents would have married had her mother not been pregnant.
“Getting married was the thing to do in those days.”
“Times have changed,” Maryellen felt obliged to remind her. Statistics said that a third of all children were now born outside wedlock. Other women had raised their children alone and so would she.
“He’s an artist, isn’t he?”
“Mom.” The questions exasperated her. “I’ve already told you I’m not answering any questions to do with the baby’s father, so please don’t ask.”
“You’re right, you’re absolutely right.” Grace tapped the table, as though angry with herself for meddling. “I didn’t mean to do that…. Actually, I’d planned to talk about your father and me. We spent more than thirty-five years together and…well, I don