311 Pelican Court - Debbie Macomber [39]
“What?” Surely Olivia had misunderstood something.
“Enjoy the movie,” Jack said as he shifted back in his seat.
“What was that all about?” Olivia asked, although she already knew. Jack had told another of his outrageous stories; he should’ve been writing fiction, not newspaper columns. She poked him in the ribs with her elbow when he chose to ignore her.
“Shh,” Jack said, staring at the screen. He glanced away long enough to scoop up more popcorn.
Olivia relaxed, and after a few moments released a pent-up sigh. It felt so good to have him back in her life. They hadn’t settled anything, hadn’t discussed any of the once-important issues. And Olivia wasn’t even sure that was necessary.
She was so caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t notice that Jack had taken the entire bucket of popcorn—until she tried to get some.
“Hey,” she protested.
“You shouldn’t eat any more,” he asserted.
“Why not?”
“Because you won’t be hungry when I take you out to dinner after the movie.”
“Oh.” That answered that, but didn’t explain why he continued to eat, munching down as if he hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. “What about you?”
He shrugged. “I’m always hungry.”
Olivia rested her head on his shoulder, and Jack put the bucket down and slid his arm around her. Like high-school sweethearts, they leaned their heads against each other, holding hands. Olivia hadn’t felt this contented in months.
She had no idea what the movie was about.
Sunday morning, Rosie was awakened by the sound of rain beating incessantly against the apartment window. She closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, without success. She was awake. Wide awake. It’d taken her hours to fall asleep, and now this.
Weekends were the worst for her. During the week, she was in the classroom every day, and the whole issue of the divorce and this ridiculous joint custody arrangement was easy enough to shove aside. But weekends were dreadful. She hated that Zach was at the house on Friday and Saturday nights. When she’d agreed to give him weekends, she’d thought it was poetic justice. With the children constantly underfoot, he wouldn’t be able to date much. If he realized her intention, he didn’t let on, but it gave Rosie a sense of satisfaction to thwart him at every turn, especially when it came to his relationship with Janice Lamond.
Wearing her thin housecoat, Rosie wandered into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She wasn’t scheduled to be back at the house until five that afternoon. What they were doing made no sense—the way they were living, moving in and out of the house every few days. She couldn’t imagine what that judge was thinking.
The rain continued and a chill raced up her arms. The housecoat she wore now was a summer one, inadequate to protect her against the chill of these autumn mornings. This was crazy! One set of clothes hung in her closet here and another at the house. Half the time she didn’t know what was where.
The morning stretched before her, empty and bleak. A year earlier, she’d been so busy with her volunteer work that she couldn’t squeeze in time to cook her family dinner. Her charity work, along with so much else, had gone by the wayside with the divorce. She’d been forced to resign from every volunteer position—positions she’d willingly accepted. She wasn’t even missed. All her responsibilities, which were once so important, had been transferred to other people. Now she moved from school to school. Her days were filled with teaching, and when she wasn’t with the children, her nights were lonely. Her entire life had changed at the sound of a judge’s gavel.
Her friends, most of whom were married, no longer seemed to have time for her. A year ago, Rosie had people to see, appointments every day, plans every night. Now there was nothing but guilt and doubts and an abundance of pain.
When she finished her coffee, Rosie showered, then read the weekend editions of the Bremerton Sun and the local paper, but few of the articles held her interest. The Cedar Cove Chronicle had a brief piece about the mysterious man who’d turned