74 Seaside Avenue

Page 26

“Really?” Rachel knew she sounded doubtful, even though she tried not to.
“I want you to understand the responsibilities of being part of my family.”
“Oh.” That was straightforward enough. “Are you thinking of running for office one day?” she asked. When they’d first met, Nate hadn’t even told her his father was a congressman. He’d joined the navy as an enlisted man in defiance of his family. At the time, he’d felt the need to prove himself. Obviously that was no longer the case.
“I have been thinking about it,” Nate confessed. “That doesn’t mean I will, but it’s in the blood, you know? Just being at one of these rallies with Dad is exciting, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it until he called. There’s an energy to a campaign—it’s contagious. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Oh, Nate, I’m not the right woman for you.” She blurted this out, feeling close to tears. “I hate being in the limelight. I’d be a detriment to you.”
“Rachel, how can you say that? I love you—you’re everything I want in a woman, a wife.”
“But I’m not! How can I be? The mere thought of a political life terrifies me.”
“Don’t be so quick to judge. Meet me in October and you can see for yourself what it’s really like. Don’t be so willing to give up on us.”
The possibility of not having Nate in her future was the deciding factor. “I’ll do it,” she said, her voice resolute.
“Thank you, babe.” He reached for her hand, then raised it to his lips.
The weekend was a whirlwind of activity. Nate and Rachel arrived at the Puyallup Fairgrounds at eleven on Saturday morning and didn’t leave until nearly ten that night. By then they’d experienced just about everything the fair had to offer, from cotton candy to corn on the cob and rides that terrified her. They’d attended a horse show and dog obedience trials and she’d watched a baby chick peck its way out of its shell. At Rachel’s strongly worded request, Nate purchased tickets to see one of the American Idol winners.
“Promise you won’t tell any of my friends I actually paid to listen to someone from American Idol,” Nate protested.
Rachel swatted his arm. “Don’t you dare say a bad word about my all-time favorite TV show.”
Despite Nate’s reservations, he seemed to enjoy the performance as much as Rachel did.
Sunday morning, after brunch at her place, they were on the ferry to the Seahawks game at Quest Field in downtown Seattle. The game was exciting, even for someone who didn’t care much about football. The Seahawks won in the final seconds, and because the game was so close, Rachel and Nate left later than they’d planned.
She had to drop Nate off at the airport; there wasn’t time to go inside with him. He kissed her long and hard, releasing her only when a security guard approached their vehicle.
“Move along, folks,” he said, waving toward Rachel’s car.
Nate kissed her again. “We’ll be together next month.”
Rachel had put the political rally out of her mind. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying not to worry about it. Nate was right—she shouldn’t give up on their relationship without making more of an effort. She could learn to be the kind of wife he needed if he entered politics. She’d just have to learn the social niceties. The protocol. The conversation.
She waited until he’d walked through the glass doors, then drove away with tears in her eyes. Periodically on the drive back to Cedar Cove she had to blink rapidly to clear her vision.
Her small rental house felt even smaller once she got home. She tossed her purse and keys on a shelf in the hallway and ignored the blinking red light that informed her she had phone messages.
When the doorbell rang, she groaned audibly. She wasn’t in any mood for company. She debated not answering but the doorbell rang again. Someone was persistent. Not entirely to her surprise, she found Bruce Peyton standing there—looking as if he was lost and needed directions. Jolene wasn’t with him, either.
“Can I come in?” he’d asked when she didn’t immediately invite him inside.
“Oh, sure, sorry.” She’d put him off when he’d asked, earlier in the week, if they could get together, and felt guilty about that. “I just got home,” she explained. “Not two minutes ago.”
“I know,” he said as he followed her into the kitchen. Without waiting to be asked, he slouched down in a kitchen chair.
She wondered what was wrong, and all at once it occurred to her that this might have to do with his daughter. “Where’s Jolene?” she asked urgently. “She’s okay, isn’t she?”
“She’s roller-skating with friends.” He rested his elbows on the table, then propped up his head. He looked tired.
“What’s the matter with you?” She began to make a pot of coffee. Bruce could obviously use the caffeine and she needed something to do, something to work off her nervous tension.
Bruce studied her with wide blue eyes. “You’re going to marry that navy guy, aren’t you?”
“Bruce, honestly…”
“I know. It’s none of my business.”
The coffee had started to drain into the pot. Rachel waited until there was enough for a cup, then poured it into a mug, which she handed him.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” she said. “It’s too soon.”
“You love him, though?”
“Yes.” She wouldn’t deny it.
“He wants to marry you.” He said this as though making a statement of fact.
Nodding, she filled a second mug. “If I do decide to marry Nate, we’ll work something out with Jolene. She can fly out to visit us in California—or wherever we are—on a regular basis.” Rachel sat across from him at the table.
“She’d appreciate that, I’m sure.”
“I’d miss her. It isn’t like I could just forget her.”
He sipped his coffee, then held the mug with both hands and stared down at it. “I care about you, Rachel.”
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I care about you, too.”
A smile came and went, almost before she could notice.
“Thanks,” he said. “A little while ago, I realized how much I depend on you. You’re a good friend.”
“I consider you a good friend, too.” And she did.
“Have you had dinner?” he asked.
At the game they’d had hot dogs and soda, and then later Rachel had eaten salty, greasy popcorn. In fact, all she’d had since brunch was junk food. “Not really. Want to go out?”
“Sure.” The suggestion seemed to please him. “Do you have anything in mind?”
“Mr. Wok’s?” It was her favorite Chinese place.
“Fine with me.”
Not until she was getting ready for bed later that night did she remember Bruce’s comment that he knew she’d just gotten home. He must have been parked outside her house, waiting.
Twenty-One
Christie Levitt wasn’t sure what to make of Teri’s sudden interest in reestablishing their relationship. As a kid she’d looked up to Teri and followed her like a shadow. Not that it got her anywhere. Teri always lost patience with her little sister, dumping her whenever she could.
It wasn’t until Christie was twelve or thirteen that she discovered she had something Teri didn’t, and that was beauty. Not that Teri was ugly or anything. But Christie had the looks—the classic face and shiny blond hair—and the body to go with them. She’d quickly learned to use that to her advantage, and then she’d gone about proving she could have anything and everything her big sister did. The sense of power and exhilaration she got from stealing Teri’s boyfriends was addictive. Christie wanted her sister to experience a little of the frustration she’d felt when Teri used to exclude her. Rejection hurt. This was payback time—and it went on and on. Christie had never been serious about any of the guys interested in her older sister. If she’d felt remorse for her cruelty…well, she ignored it.
Her charm and beauty had never failed her until she met Teri’s husband. Bobby Polgar had simply ignored her compliments. Nothing she’d said had any effect on him. When Teri left the living room to check on dinner that first night, Christie had made her move. She’d deliberately stood and walked over to Bobby, claiming she needed help with a button at the back of her blouse.
Bobby refused, claiming he wasn’t good with buttons and she should ask Teri. It wasn’t so much what he said as the way he said it. Bobby wasn’t interested in her. He’d fallen for Teri, and this seemed to be the one man who wasn’t susceptible to Christie. He’d shown it that first night and proved it several times since.
“Home, miss?” James asked, breaking into her thoughts.
Christie sat in the backseat of the stretch limo after an early dinner at Teri’s. The car was utterly ridiculous, she told herself scornfully, and yet Bobby Polgar wasn’t pretentious in the least. So why this fancy car and driver? The driver, especially, was annoying.
“Take me to the Pink Poodle,” she instructed. James had what could only be described as a stiff upper lip. Christie couldn’t recall where she’d heard that expression—probably some BBC costume drama—but it fit James perfectly. He was devoid of personality and so polite it made her crazy. She could tell him to jump off a bridge and his response would be something along the lines of “Very good, miss.”
Twice now—since that disastrous dinner with their mother—Teri had invited Christie to the house. On both occasions she’d sent Bobby’s driver to pick her up and afterward deliver her home.
Spending an evening with Teri and Bobby had become surprisingly enjoyable. They might not always agree but they were family—and she hadn’t thought of Teri that way in years. Family hadn’t had much meaning for her until recently, although she’d always been close to Johnny. So was Teri. They had that much in common, anyway. But until recently, Teri seemed to avoid her and, in all fairness, Christie knew why. She’d made it a habit to be as unpleasant toward her older sister as possible. For the first time since childhood, Christie saw potential in their relationship. They were moving tentatively toward something new, a kind of friendship, and that required concessions from both of them.
Teri’s marriage had started it. Christie had never seen her sister this happy, this much in love. Teri’s husband was a bit…unusual, but Christie discovered she rather liked Bobby Polgar.
Teri seemed to want to make up for lost time now. She was reaching out to Christie in various unexpected ways. The long-stemmed red rose that had awaited her in the car both nights was a good example. It was a nice touch, thoughtful and rather sweet.
“The Pink Poodle, miss?”
“Yes,” she snapped. The tone of his voice told her he disapproved. Well, he could think what he wanted. She didn’t care.
Bobby was odd, but that was understandable. He was a famous chess player. As for Bobby’s driver—well, James had no excuse. He wasn’t even English or anything. He just acted like someone on—what was that old show? Upstairs, Downstairs.