204 Rosewood Lane - Debbie Macomber [51]
“The hell I did! You wanted me as much as I wanted you. If you’re going to be angry, fine, but at least be honest.”
“Yes, I wanted you, but I would never have slept with you if you hadn’t blackmailed me into coming out here. You had everything planned—right down to the three glasses of wine, didn’t you?” She flipped the hair away from her face and grabbed her blouse. She jerked her arms into the sleeves and didn’t bother to fasten the buttons before walking over to the closet and grabbing her coat. She yanked it free and left the hanger swinging.
“Maryellen,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave like this. Don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to yourself. I didn’t plan what happened.”
“It’s very clear that you did.” When she was young and naive and a virgin, Clint had lured her into his bed with wine and promises. They’d taken wild, irresponsible chances with pregnancy, just as she’d done now. In all the years since her marriage and divorce, she’d apparently learned nothing.
“Fine,” he snapped. “Believe what you want, but I know the truth and so do you.”
Maryellen stomped out, and it wasn’t until she’d driven halfway home that she remembered the photographs.
Eight
Jack didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to stand having Eric in his house. His very small house. When he went to make breakfast that morning, he discovered an empty bread sack. Eric had eaten the last of the bread. That was just the most recent instance of his son’s thoughtlessness. He wondered how Shelly coped with Eric’s slovenly behavior, cursing as he shoved plates and cups into the dishwasher.
Doing his best to control his irritation, Jack decided he could go without his morning toast. It would be good for his waistline. However his attitude didn’t improve when he discovered that Eric had used up most of the hot water for his own shower and then thrown in a load of wash.
Unaware that the hot water tank was empty, Jack stepped into the stall and turned on the water, only to be drenched in icy spray. Yelping, he slammed open the glass door, scrambled out and grabbed a towel. Unfortunately it was damp from Eric’s shower. His son had managed to use both towels, so there wasn’t a dry one for Jack.
“That does it!” he shouted, flinging down the towel. When Eric had first come to live with him, it was supposed to be for a few days. This had gone on for weeks now, and Jack was putting an end to it.
His disposition was quickly moving from irritation to outrage as he tried to dress, still wet from the shower. Twice he had to stop and take deep breaths in order to calm his thundering heart. As far as he could see, Eric and Shelly were at a stalemate. Neither one of them was going to budge. Jack had hoped they’d patch things up on Thanksgiving Day at Olivia’s. Unfortunately, Shelly had refused the invitation.
Eric had tried to hide his feelings, but they were all too transparent. His son had pinned his hopes on seeing Shelly over the Thanksgiving holiday, and her refusal had left him reeling. He was convinced she was involved with someone else now. That was when Jack had convinced Eric to visit a fertility clinic. Following the visit, Eric had gone into a depression that had lasted for days.
Not knowing what else to do, Jack felt he had no choice but to take matters into his own hands. By the time he reached the newspaper office, he’d formed a plan of action. He was going to call Shelly himself.
Luckily he had her work number, and when they connected, he suggested they meet for dinner. Shelly agreed and they set a time, choosing a place on the Seattle waterfront. Things had to change, and quickly. For his son’s sake…and his own.
At six-thirty that same day, Shelly met Jack at the fancy seafood restaurant. She’d already been seated and was waiting for him. She hadn’t seen him yet and he took advantage of the moment to study her. Shelly was a pretty girl, petite and fragile-looking, especially now. Jack was surprised to see that she was already wearing a maternity top. Easy enough to guess that she