50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [63]
A long time passed before he did. She’d turned off the light and was lying on her side, half-asleep, when Jon climbed into the bed. He moved close to her and draped his arm over her waist, flattening his hand against her stomach.
Maryellen rested her hand on his.
“You awake?” he whispered.
She sighed sleepily in response. Because he was so still, she asked, “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” came his hoarse reply. “My father’s a bastard. Knowing I was innocent, he sent me to rot in a jail cell. And now…now he gives me a fishing pole for Christmas.”
Maryellen rolled onto her back so she could look into her husband’s face and discovered Jon’s eyes bright with unshed tears. Cradling his cheek with one hand, she kissed him, not sure how else to comfort him.
“He used to take me fishing when I was a kid, before my mother died. Those were the happiest memories of my childhood—fishing with my dad.”
Closing her eyes, Maryellen wrapped both arms around him. She suspected Joseph Bowman had found the one way in which he could reach his son.
Twenty-Five
Cecilia knew Christmas Day without Ian was going to be difficult. She woke feeling melancholy, but was determined to have as merry a Christmas as possible. “Next year your daddy will be with us,” she assured her unborn son, rubbing her swollen belly.
As soon as she was dressed, she logged on to the computer and left her husband a long, detailed message. She sent him all her love on this most special of days and did her best to sound happy and confident. Achieving the right tone required careful thought. If she sounded too cheerful, Ian might think she didn’t miss him. If she seemed depressed and miserable, he’d worry. As a result, she spent almost an hour composing her message. She ended by mentioning the small get-together she was having with Cathy and Carol and added that they’d invited Rachel Pendergast to join them.
A small Christmas tree sat in the window of her duplex, a smattering of gifts beneath. Ian had asked his mother to mail her a lovely gold locket; she’d opened that the minute it arrived. Her in-laws had added a gift of their own—a Pashmina shawl in a lovely shade of soft green. Her own mother had mailed a small box of gifts, mostly baby things, which Cecilia opened that morning. Sandra Merrick had recently married for the third time. Cecilia phoned to wish her a merry Christmas and was given the disappointing news that her mother wouldn’t be able to visit her when the baby was due. She’d used all her vacation time on her honeymoon. They talked for about thirty minutes and Cecilia hung up the phone with mixed feelings. Her mother was happy; Cecilia couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that way after a conversation with her. She was genuinely delighted for Sandra and hoped to meet her new husband soon. Besides, she’d do fine by herself when she was ready to deliver her baby; Cecilia had her friends.
At noon, she drove over to Cathy Lackey’s for Christmas dinner. She saw Carol Greendale’s vehicle parked outside Cathy’s place—Carol and her daughter, Amanda, had already arrived. Amanda had been born the same month as Allison. For a long time, Cecilia could barely look at the little girl without feeling overwhelmed by grief. But now, Cecilia felt only a twinge of pain when she saw Amanda.
“Merry Christmas,” she sang out, letting herself into the apartment. She carried a special chicken pasta salad her mother made every Christmas. It had always been Cecilia’s favorite. She also had a bag filled with small gifts; they’d decided to exchange presents, setting a ten-dollar limit.
“Merry Christmas,” Cathy called from the kitchen. She wore a felt reindeer antler headpiece with bells that jingled as she walked. Cathy’s son, Andy, was playing with Amanda in the living room. “I’ve got the bird in the oven and we should be eating in three hours—if this oven holds up.