204 Rosewood Lane

Later that afternoon, as she drove toward her apartment, Justine’s spirits were high, higher than they’d been all week. But when she approached the row of mailboxes outside her building complex, she hesitated, afraid to find out if there was a letter from Seth.

She needed to be reassured of his love because her greatest fear was that he regretted their sudden marriage. Her heart pounded as she unlocked the box and slid out the mail.

No letter.

She sorted through the advertisements, junk mail and two bills a second time, just to be sure. Another Friday night alone in front of the television, she thought. She could phone her mother, but Olivia had been dating Jack Griffin from The Cedar Cove Chronicle and was probably busy, anyway. Feeling defeated, Justine walked into her apartment and tossed her mail on the kitchen counter, kicking off her heels.

A few weeks ago, she would’ve relished a Friday night to herself. Warren almost always had plans for them. But all of that was irrelevant now, and feeling sorry for herself didn’t serve any useful purpose. If she missed Seth, then she should do something that would make her feel close to him.

His sailboat came immediately to mind. The SilverBelle was moored at the marina and Seth had given her the key. When he wasn’t fishing in Alaska he lived aboard the vessel. Or at least he had until their marriage. They hadn’t even talked about where they’d live when he got back…. That could wait, but right now, she needed the comfort of being in his home, among his things. If she spent the night there, she could wrap herself in his blanket, sleep in his clothes, breathe in his scent. She’d slept there several times and always felt better.

Pleased with the idea, Justine changed out of her business suit and into jeans and a sweatshirt. She collected a novel, a new CD for her Walkman and fresh clothes for the morning. She’d pick up dinner on the way to the marina.

She’d just reached the parking lot when she realized she’d left her cell phone behind. If Seth phoned, he’d call that number. Heading back to the apartment, she unlocked the door and opened it to hear the muted peal of her phone. She lurched for it, pushing the talk button with a sense of urgency.

“Hello, hello!” she shouted. “Seth? Seth, is that you?”

Only a dial tone greeted her question. Quickly she checked Caller ID—the number was unfamiliar, although prefaced by 907, the Alaska area code. She punched it in, letting the phone ring ten times before finally giving up.

Grinding her teeth with frustration, Justine sagged onto the edge of the sofa and rammed her fingers through her hair. It was Seth; it had to be. He must’ve called her from a pay phone on the wharf.

One minute away from her phone and she’d missed talking to her husband.

“I’m home.” Zach Cox let himself in the back door off the garage and stepped into the kitchen. His jaw tightened at the mess that greeted him. The sink was piled high with breakfast dishes, and the milk from this morning’s cereal was still on the countertop.

“Who left out the milk?” he demanded.

His two children—conveniently—didn’t hear him. Fifteen-year-old Allison was sitting at the computer in their home office, cruising the Internet, and Eddie, who was nine, lay prone on the family-room carpet in front of some mindless television program.

“Where’s Mom?” he asked next, standing directly over his son.

Eddie lifted one arm and pointed wordlessly toward the sewing room.

Zach ambled in that direction on his way to the bathroom. “Hi, Rosie, I’m home,” he told his wife of seventeen years. “What’s for dinner?”

“Oh, hi, honey,” Rosie said, glancing up from the sewing machine. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Six,” he muttered. He couldn’t remember when he’d last come home and found dinner in the oven. “The milk was left out again,” he said, thinking it would need to be dumped after sitting for ten hours at room temperature.

“Eddie fixed himself a bowl of cereal after school.”

Okay, he figured, the milk might be salvageable.

She lined up the shiny black material and ran it rapidly through the machine, pulling out pins as she went.

“What are you sewing?” he asked.

“A Halloween costume,” she mumbled with four or five pins clenched between her lips. “By the way—” she paused and removed the pins “—Eddie’s school is having an open house tonight. Can you go?”

“Open house?” he repeated. “You can’t be there?”

“No,” she said emphatically. “I have choir practice.”

“Oh.” He’d had a long, trying day at the office and had hoped to relax that evening. Instead, he was going to have to attend this event at his son’s school. “What’s for dinner?” he asked again.

His wife shrugged. “Call for a pizza, okay?”

It was the third time in the last two weeks that they’d had pizza for dinner. “I’m sick of pizza.”

“Doesn’t that new Chinese place deliver?”

“No.” He should know; he’d had Chinese just that afternoon. Janice Lamond, a recently hired employee, had picked up an order of sweet-and-sour shrimp for him. “Besides, that’s what I had for lunch.”

“What do you want then?” Rosie asked, busying herself with the cape that was part of the Harry Potter costume Eddie had requested.

“Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and a fresh salad.”

Rosie frowned. “I think there’s a meat loaf entrée in the freezer.”

“Homemade meat loaf,” Zach amended.

“Sorry, not tonight.”

“When?” he asked, cranky now. It wasn’t too much to ask that his wife have dinner ready when he came home from work—was it? As an accountant, Zach made enough money to ensure that Rosie could stay home with the kids. This arrangement was what they’d both wanted when they started their family.

At one time, Zach had assumed that when Allison and Eddie were in school, Rosie would come and work in the office with him. The firm of Smith, Cox and Jefferson often required additional staff. Rosie had always intended to get a job outside the home, but it just never seemed to happen. The school needed volunteers. Then there was Brownies when Allison was eight or nine, and now Cub Scouts for Eddie. And sports, after-school clubs, dance lessons… It soon became obvious that the demands on Rosie’s time wouldn’t be alleviated as the kids grew older. Because they both believed their children’s needs should come first, they’d decided Rosie shouldn’t re-enter the workforce.

“I’m tired,” Zach told his wife, “and I’m hungry. Is it unreasonable to expect dinner with my family?”

Rosie took a deep breath, as though she was struggling to hold on to her patience. “Eddie’s got open house at school tonight, Allison’s coming with me to practice with the junior choir and I’ve got to finish this Halloween costume before Friday. Eddie needs it for his soccer team’s party. I can only do so much.”

He could hear the annoyance in his wife’s voice and resisted asking her what she’d been doing all day while he was at work.

Rosie glared at him. “If you want me to stop everything right now and fix you dinner I will, but I have to tell you, I think you are being unreasonable.”

He considered her words, and then feeling defeated and a bit guilty said, “Fine. I’ll order pizza.”

“Be sure and tell them no green peppers,” she said, refocusing her attention on the costume.

“I like green peppers,” he muttered, not realizing Rosie could hear him.

“Eddie and Allison hate them—they prefer black olives. You know that. Now stop being difficult.”

“All right, I’ll order sausage with olives on one half and green peppers on the other.”

His wife rolled her eyes expressively. “I’m not all that fond of green peppers myself, you know.”

So, in addition to being unreasonable, he was selfish. Well, at least he was batting a thousand. “Sausage and black olives, then,” he said.