In response Josh snickered. "You could say that."

"Did he ... did he ever abuse you?" she asked. Being a social worker, this was probably a subject she dealt with far too often. It'd been bad, but never as bad as that.

"Never with his fists."

"Verbally?"

Rather than meet her stare, Josh looked away. "Every chance he got."

"Didn't your mother-"

"He was careful around her and she never heard the things he said." Nor had Josh told her. His mother had been happy and Josh wasn't about to destroy the little bit of contentment she'd found in her marriage to Richard Lambert.

Josh stood and opened the drawer in his nightstand. He'd placed his senior year high school yearbook there. He breathed a sigh of relief-it was still there. He set the book on his lap and ran his hand over the slim hardcover as if looking for damage.

"Did he destroy that, too?" Mich.e.l.le asked.

Just from the feel of the annual, Josh knew something was wrong. Opening it, he quickly discovered that several pages had been ripped out. His graduation picture for one, and several others as well. Josh guessed that Richard hadn't sat down and methodically flipped through the book until he found what he wanted, but had blindly ripped pages from the yearbook in a rush of anger and grief. It was all a little nuts-the violence of the act-even all these years later. Josh found it disturbing to be so loathed by his stepfather, although it shouldn't come as a shock.

"What are you going to do?" Mich.e.l.le asked again with trepidation, as if she were afraid of his answer.

"Nothing."

"That's wise," she a.s.sured him. "You're a much more sophisticated, emotionally secure man than he is."

Richard would like nothing better than to get an angry reaction from him. Mich.e.l.le was right; he had to let this go. If he had responded reflexively with rage, it would have only compounded the problem. As difficult as it was, Josh refused to give his stepfather that much power over him.

Mich.e.l.le leaped to her feet.

"Don't worry," he a.s.sured her. "I don't intend to say a word to him."

"Good."

"You know that's what Richard wants, don't you?"

She nodded. "He'll be looking for your reaction."

"I'm not going to give him one."

"He's sorry, you know."

"Richard? I doubt it."

"Actually, I believe he is. He didn't want you to go upstairs and this is why. He's embarra.s.sed by what he did, but he couldn't make it up the stairs to hide the jacket or the yearbook."

Josh wanted to believe his stepfather regretted the rampage that had destroyed his things, but he wasn't sure that he could.

"He's sorry," Mich.e.l.le repeated. "If you can find it in your heart to let it go, then do."

She made it sound easy. He paced the room as though his anger was too hot to hold inside of him. "This is wrong on so many levels. How could Richard do something like this? What kind of grown man does this?"

He didn't give Mich.e.l.le the opportunity to respond. He felt himself getting fired up again. It was hard to rein in his anger and stay coolheaded.

"How can you say he regrets any of this?" he challenged.

She continued to sit on the edge of the mattress and stared up at him, perfectly calm while he vented his outrage. "Did you notice how the yearbook was neatly tucked back inside the drawer?"

"So what?" he snapped.

"He cleaned up the torn-out pages."

"Big deal." But still Josh felt the anger leave him. He appreciated Mich.e.l.le all the more for talking him down. He resisted the urge to take her into his arms and simply hold her.

"At some point Richard returned to the room and cleaned up the mess."

She was right. No one else would have been up here. Richard lived alone. Gradually his pulse returned to normal. Losing Dylan had been h.e.l.lish for Richard. He could only guess what other damage his stepfather had done when he learned that he'd lost his only child. Whatever it was had been righted to the best of Richard's ability. No doubt Josh's dresser drawers had been emptied, too, and then everything had been returned to some semblance of order. That would explain why his socks were in the top drawer and not the second one where he'd always kept them.

Josh's letterman's jacket was hung up, too, which told him that at some point Richard had returned to the room and replaced it on the hanger.

"Richard probably didn't expect me to find any of this until ..." He didn't complete the sentence. The older man a.s.sumed he'd be dead and buried before Josh discovered this damage.

Mich.e.l.le couldn't seem to stand still. "Let's go someplace and talk this out," she suggested.

"Where do you want to go?" His time in town was limited and he wanted to settle matters so he could leave. This was no vacation.

"I need to get away from here ... just a few hours. I still think you can retrieve the things you want of your mother's and say your good-byes, but we need to take it slow."

"All right," Josh agreed.

They came down the stairs and found Richard standing in the hallway, leaning his weight against the wall as if he were braced for a confrontation with Josh.

"We'll be back later," Josh said, avoiding his stepfather's glare.

Richard frowned, almost as if he were disappointed, and then slowly nodded and shuffled back to his recliner.

Once outside, Mich.e.l.le looked at him, her frown as deep and dark as Richard's had been moments earlier. "You're a better person than me," she said.

Josh sincerely doubted that. "Come here," he whispered. When she stepped closer he brought her into his arms and hugged her close. It would have been a simple matter to kiss her, but he didn't. All he wanted was to absorb her softness. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the top of her head. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but the fatherless son in him didn't care. He craved comfort.

"It'll be okay," she said when he released her.

"I know," he admitted. "Thank you, Mich.e.l.le. I mean that. Thank you for everything."

Chapter 9.

Abby waited in her room at Rose Harbor Inn until almost eleven before she gathered the courage to venture outside to buy the toothpaste and hairspray she needed. Staying inside the inn until it was time to meet her family was just plain silly. Eventually she'd need to leave the protection of her room, and it might as well be now. Besides, Jo Marie needed to get into the room to make up her bed and bring in a fresh set of towels.

As Abby descended the stairs, she smelled cookies baking. Chocolate chip? The scent was heavenly. She paused just inside the kitchen doorway to find Jo Marie lifting freshly baked cookies off the cookie sheet and placing them on a wire rack to cool. She glanced up and offered Abby a rea.s.suring smile.

"You're going out?"

"I thought I'd walk down to the pharmacy you mentioned."

"Good idea. It's only a few blocks away. I have an umbrella by the door that you're welcome to use," she offered. It'd been sunny earlier, but now it looked like rain. The weather in Cedar Cove changed on a whim, especially during the winter months, Abby remembered.

"Thanks, but the rain doesn't bother me. It's more mist than real rain anyway." Abby had thought she was an expert when it came to rainfall when she moved to Florida-after all, the Pacific Northwest was known for its rainy weather. That a.s.sumption had been wrong. In her entire life she'd never seen rain come down the way it did in Florida. Many times Abby had been forced to pull over to the side of the road because her car wipers were unable to keep up with the downpour.

Jo Marie busied herself by scooping dough onto the empty cookie sheet. "Have a good walk."

Abby headed for the door, closing it softly, tentatively, behind her. She stepped onto the front porch and froze. Her heart raced like a NASCAR engine. Really, this was ridiculous. So what if someone recognized her? The accident happened years ago. Just because she hadn't moved past it didn't mean that the rest of the world was in the same holding pattern.

This fear, this terror, was absurd. Abby couldn't even name why she was so afraid. True, meeting up with old friends who'd known both her and Angela might be awkward. And she could run into Angela's parents. Whatever the case, it would be better to deal with it now rather than during her brother's wedding.

The first step down the porch steps was the most difficult. Drawing a deep breath into her lungs to stave off a panic attack, she made it all the way down to the sidewalk. So far so good.

With her hands safely tucked inside her coat pockets, she started walking. This wasn't so bad. In fact, she breathed a bit easier. The wind, coming from the north, chilled her and she hunched her shoulders. Living in Florida she wasn't accustomed to temperatures that dipped into the low forties. Then again, she would have been chilled by anything below sixty-five degrees. She hadn't acclimated yet, but it wouldn't take long. She grinned. By the time she was accustomed to the cold, it would be time to fly back to West Palm. She'd already gotten through almost a whole day in Cedar Cove, which meant she only had two more to go.

Thankfully the walk down to the Harbor Street Pharmacy was all downhill. It was a bit steep, but she had on her boots and her footing was secure. The Wok and Roll was still in business, which pleased her. Angela and Abby had thoroughly enjoyed the steamed dumplings there. The service had always been a bit slow, but every bite was worth the wait.

Angela had been able to eat the dumplings with chopsticks, but not Abby. The last time they'd shared an order, Angela had teased Abby about her lack of coordination, flexing her wooden chopsticks with an agility Abby could only envy. Frustrated, Abby had been ready to snap her own chopsticks in two. She finally just speared one dumpling and stuck it in her mouth while her best friend accused her of cheating. Abby smiled at the memory. Even now, all these years later, those moments with her best friend remained vivid in her mind.

The flower shop on Harbor Street was the same, too. Her mother had been good friends with the proprietor. Yvonne? Yvette? Abby couldn't remember her name.

The candy shop was new. The dress she'd purchased for the wedding was a bit snug, otherwise Abby would have been tempted to venture inside. Unable to resist, she stared into the window and saw something that made her smile.

Seagull plops. White chocolate with green swirls. And only available in Cedar Cove. Again Abby was. .h.i.t with memories of her and Angela.

Every spring, Cedar Cove held its annual seagull calling contest, and one year Angela had partic.i.p.ated. The winner was determined by how many seagulls he or she could attract with their unique call. Angela had lost out to a fourteen-year-old boy, but she'd accepted defeat with good humor. She'd always been a good sport about everything. The whole day had been such fun; the two of them had laughed until their sides hurt.

Moving on down the street, Abby spotted the pharmacy. It was small and cozy-definitely the kind only found in small towns. It was a one-stop shop with both a small post office and liquor store included. If it had been there while she was in high school, she didn't recall. Once inside it didn't take her long to find the things she needed. She collected both and took them to the counter.

The woman behind the counter stared at Abby, who recognized her instantly-this was Patty, a friend from high school. One of the very friends Abby had cut off contact with following the accident.

"Abby?" Patty whispered almost as if she couldn't believe it was actually her. "Abby Kincaid?"

Abby hesitated before briefly nodding. "Hi, Patty." She felt the compelling urge to turn and run away.

Patty must have sensed it because she stretched out her arm and said, "Don't go."

While Abby stood frozen in place, Patty came around the counter to face her. Her eyes were bright and her smile was wide and eager. "I don't believe it," she cried out excitedly. "It's really you."

"In the flesh." The comment came off with a sarcastic edge Abby didn't intend.

"My goodness, where have you been all these years?"

She shrugged as though it shouldn't be that big of a mystery.

"Around."

"You live in the area?"

"No," Abby admitted with a certain reluctance; she realized she'd braced herself for blame and accusation.

"Where?"

Abby hesitated.

"It doesn't matter," Patty said. "Oh my goodness, it's just so good to see you." Impulsively she reached for Abby and hugged her. Abby stood with her arms stiffly at her sides, hardly knowing what to make of this reception.

Patty had been a good friend. They'd met in fifth grade and gone through seven years of school together. For a couple of years their families had lived on the same block and they'd walked to school every morning together. Later Patty had moved, but their friendship continued all through high school.

"Are you married?" Patty asked.

"No," she said, and then-drawn in by the warmth of Patty's smile-she asked. "You?"

She nodded. "It's Patty Jefferies now."

"You work in the pharmacy?"

"I'm the pharmacist. My husband, too. Things are a bit slow at the moment, so I help out front when I can. It's difficult for a small pharmacy to compete with the big box stores, but we manage."

"You and your husband own the pharmacy?"

Patty grinned. "We do, and thanks to the local support, we're surviving."

"Good for you," she said, and meant it.

"Abby, it's just so good to see you. Tell me everything."

Unnerved, she lifted her hands. "Like what?"

"I can't imagine why you're still single."

Abby shook her head. "Too picky, I guess, at least that's what my mom says." Right away Steve Hooks, her brother's college roommate, came to mind. Following the accident she'd shunned him, too.

"How long are you in town? Did you know that there's been all kinds of speculation at our cla.s.s reunions about where you were living? No one has seen or talked to you for so long. Someone said they'd heard you'd joined a commune."

"A what?"

"A commune," Patty repeated. "I thought it sounded silly, but you never know. We weren't able to find you for our fifth or tenth year reunion. And we looked. It was like a Where's Waldo hunt," she teased.