50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [82]
Inside the card was a letter, consisting of four sheets of paper, folded into fourths. Before she read it, she studied the inside verse and blinked back tears at the sentiment.
“Soon,” Anson had written at the bottom of the card, “we’ll be together again.” Then he’d signed his name.
Allison devoured the letter, reading it as fast as she could. When she’d finished she went back and read it all the way through a second time.
Anson told her about his job and how hard he was working to make a good impression. Being a dishwasher wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and he struggled to keep up with the demand. He liked his boss. Seth Gunderson was a big Swedish guy who didn’t put up with any nonsense. Anson claimed he didn’t mind that, because he knew where he stood.
He also told her that if he continued to work extra hours, he could have the reimbursement monies paid by the middle of the summer. As soon as that happened, they could see each other again. She noticed he didn’t refer to any of his troubles with this other guy, Tony.
Six months, Allison reflected. It would be six very long months, but she could wait.
The last part of the letter was the best. Anson wrote how difficult it was to see her every day and not be able to talk to her. In French class, he said, he found it almost impossible to keep his promise to her father. But he’d do it because of everything her father had done for him. He told her that some nights he dreamed about her and always woke with a happy feeling inside.
She dreamed of Anson, too. She hated knowing it would be another six months before they could see each other. Anson was of legal age now and she would be soon. All of this seemed so junior high and yet, at the same time, it was the only way they could be together and not alienate her parents.
She sighed heavily as she folded the letter and slipped it back inside the card. She ran her finger over the embossed image—an old-fashioned picture of cupids and flowers. It was an expensive card bought at a specialty store.
Even when he was putting aside almost every penny he earned in order to pay restitution to the town, he’d bought her a lovely Valentine card. There’d been no need to purchase the best one available, but that was what he’d done.
Her heart was so full of love for him that she wanted to weep. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sudden movement, a flash of darkness. She rose from her bed and hurried to the window.
Anson.
He wore his long black coat and a black knit hat that covered his ears.
Anson walked across the yard and stood on the other side of the window.
She smiled and he smiled back, her eyes looking into his.
He pressed his bare hand to the cold glass. She pressed her hand to his. Through the glass they mouthed “I love you” to each other. Seeing him, reading his card and letter—it was the best Valentine’s gift she’d ever received.
Thirty-Three
Maryellen Bowman sang a soft lullaby as she finished bathing Katie and dressed her daughter for bed. Katie stuck her feet in her footed pajamas, chattering happily, the volume of her comments rising when Jon walked into her room. He wrapped his arms around Maryellen’s waist, resting his palm against her still-flat stomach. It was a sweet gesture acknowledging the baby nestled in her womb.
“Let me read to Katie tonight,” he offered.
Maryellen agreed. She’d had a busy day at the gallery and was exhausted. She’d experienced this same fatigue when she was pregnant with Katie—and the baby she’d miscarried, too. She felt as though all her energy was used up by eight o’clock. Jon never complained, but she worried that she wasn’t giving her husband enough attention.
“Come to bed early tonight,” she suggested, caressing the side of his face. “I miss spending time with you.”
“You’ll be asleep.”
“I won’t be if you wake me up.”
Jon slowly grinned. He knew exactly what she meant and what she wanted. They hadn’t made love since