LITMIR.BIZ

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the courtroom doors opened. Everyone stood and began to file inside with an eagerness that defied explanation. Allan walked beside Cecilia through the mahogany doors. Ian and his attorney entered after them and sat on the opposite side of the courtroom.

      The bailiff immediately started reading off names as though taking attendance. With each name or set of names, a response was made and a number assigned. It happened so quickly that Cecilia almost missed hearing her own.

      “Randall.”

      Both Allan Harris and Brad Dumas called out.

      Cecilia didn’t hear the number they were given. When Allan sat down beside her, he wrote thirty on a yellow legal pad.

      “Thirty?” she whispered, astonished to realize that twenty-nine other cases would have to be heard before hers.

      He nodded. “Don’t worry, it’ll go fast. We’ll probably be out of here before eleven. Depends on what else is being decided.”

      “Do I have to stay here?”

      “Not in the courtroom. You can wait outside if you prefer.”

      She did. The room felt claustrophobic, unbearably so. She stood and hurried into the nearly empty hall, practically stumbling out of the courtroom in her rush to escape.

      Two steps into the foyer, she stopped—barely avoiding a collision with Ian.

      They both froze, staring at each other. Cecilia didn’t know what to say; Ian apparently had the same problem. He looked good dressed in his Navy blues, reminding her of the first time they’d met. He was tall and fit and possessed the most mesmerizing blue eyes she’d ever seen. Cecilia thought that if Allison Marie had lived, she would have had her daddy’s eyes.

      “It’s almost over,” Ian said, his voice low and devoid of emotion.

      “Yes,” she returned. After a moment’s silence, she added, “I didn’t follow you out here.” She wanted him to know that.

      “I figured as much.”

      “It felt like the walls were closing in on me.”

      He didn’t comment and sank onto one of the wooden benches that lined the hallway outside the courtrooms. He slouched forward, elbows braced against his knees. She sat at the other end of the bench, perched uncomfortably on the very edge. Other people left the crowded courtroom and either disappeared or found a secluded corner to confer with their lawyers. Their whispered voices echoed off the granite walls.

      “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Ian said.

      “I am, too.” Then, in case he assumed she might be seeking a reconciliation, she told him, “But it’s necessary.”

      “I couldn’t agree with you more.” He sat upright, his back ramrod-straight as he folded his arms across his chest. He didn’t look at her again.

      This was awkward—both of them sitting here like this. But if he could pretend she wasn’t there, she could do the same thing. Surreptitiously, she slid farther back on the bench. This was going to be a long wait.

      “Well, hello there,” Charlotte Jefferson said as she peeked inside the small private room at Cedar Cove Convalescent Center. “I understand you’re a new arrival.”

      The elderly, white-haired gentleman slumped in his wheelchair, staring at her with clouded brown eyes. Despite the ravages of illness and age—he was in his nineties, she’d learned—she could see he’d once been a handsome man. The classic bone structure was unmistakable.

      “You don’t need to worry about answering,” she told him. “I know you’re a stroke patient. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Charlotte Jefferson. I stopped by to see if there’s anything I can do for you.”

      He raised his gaze to hers and slowly, as though with great effort, shook his head.

      “You don’t have to tell me your name. I read it outside the door. You’re Thomas Harding.” She paused. “Janet Lester—the social worker here—mentioned you a few days ago. I’ve always been fond of the name Thomas,” she chattered on. “I imagine your friends call you Tom.”

      A weak smile told her she was right.

      “That’s what I thought.” Charlotte didn’t mean to be pushy, but she knew how lonely it must feel to come to a strange town and not know a single, solitary soul. “One of my dearest friends was here for years, and I came to visit with her every Thursday. It got to be such a habit that after Barbara went to be with the Lord, I continued. Last week, Janet told me you’d just arrived. So I decided to come over today and introduce myself.”

      He tried to move his right hand, without success.

      “Is there something I can get you?” she asked, wanting to be helpful.

      He shook his head again, then with a shaky index finger pointed at the chair across from him.

      “Ah, I understand. You’re asking me to sit down.”

      He managed a grin, lopsided though it was.

      “Well, don’t mind if I do. These dogs are barking.” She sat in the chair he’d indicated and removed her right pump in order to rub some feeling back into her toes.

      Tom watched her, his eyes keen with interest.

      “I suppose you’d like to know a little something about Cedar Cove. Well, I don’t blame you, poor man. Thank goodness you got transferred here. Janet said you’d requested Cedar Cove in the first place, but got sent to that facility in Seattle instead. I heard about what happened there. All I can say is it’s a crying shame.” According to Janet, Tom’s previous facility had been closed down for a number of serious violations. The patients, most of whom were wards of the state, were assigned to a variety of care units across Washington.

      “I’m so glad you’re here in Cedar Cove—it’s a delightful little town, Tom,” she said, purposely using his name. She wanted him to feel acknowledged. He’d spent time in a sub-standard facility where he’d been treated without dignity or compassion. In fact, Janet had told her the staff there had been particularly neglectful. Charlotte was shocked to hear that; she found it incomprehensible. Imagine being cruel to a vulnerable person like Tom! Imagine ignoring him, leaving him to lie in a dirty bed, never talking to him…. “I see you’ve got a view of the marina from here,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. “We’re proud of our waterfront. During the summer there’s a wonderful little festival, and of course the Farmer’s Market fills the parking lot next to the library on Saturdays. Every so often, fishing boats dock at the pier and sell their wares. I swear to you, Tom, there’s nothing better than Hood Canal shrimp bought fresh off the boat.”

      She hesitated, but Tom seemed to be listening, so she went on.

      “Okay, let’s see what I can tell you about Cedar Cove,” she said, hardly knowing where to start. “This is a small town. Last census, I believe we totaled not quite five thousand. My husband, Clyde, and I both came from the Yakima area, in the eastern part of the state and we moved here after World War II. Back then, Cedar Cove had the only stoplight in the entire county. That was fifty years ago now.” Fifty years. How could all that time have slipped away?

      “Cedar Cove has changed in some ways, but it’s stayed the same in others,” she said. “A lot of people around here are employed by the Bremerton shipyard, just like they were in the forties. And naturally the Navy has a real impact on the town’s economy.”

      Tom must have guessed as much, with the Bremerton Naval shipyard on the other side of the cove. Huge aircraft carriers lined the waterfront; so did rows of diesel-powered submarines. The nuclear ones were stationed at the submarine base out in Bangor. On overcast days, the gray flotilla blended with the slate colors of the sky.

      Tom jerkily placed his right hand over his heart.

      “You served in the military?” she asked.

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