Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3 (104 page)

Olivia nodded. “I know.” But the person they needed to convince was their mother.

“It's a shared kitchen,” she pointed out. “Mom's used to her own pots and pans and, well, her own kitchen.”

“That kitchen is gone,” Will said.

He was right. The fire had destroyed more than a few cupboards, the walls and flooring. What had once been the heart of their childhood home had become a pile of ashes. In its stead was a sterile room that lacked the familiarity, the memories, of the past sixty years. In many respects Olivia felt the same disappointment her mother did. She wanted everything to go back to the way it was, although that was obviously impossible.

“What do you suggest we do now?” Will asked.

“I…I don't know.” Olivia didn't expect it would be easy for Charlotte to make the transition, leaving the only home she'd known all her adult life. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Will shook his head. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged. “This is hard.”

“You're telling me?”

“I hoped Ben would see the wisdom of moving and smooth the way.”

“It's as unsettling for him as it is for Mom,” Olivia commented.

“After all the moves he's made in his navy career, one would think it'd be old hat.”

“One would think,” Olivia murmured. “The thing is, I don't want Mom to feel we're kicking her out of her own home. We can't force her to leave, nor should we. She has to accept this and she hasn't. Not yet.”

“Part of the problem,” Will said, “is that she's afraid of what'll happen to the house if she isn't there.”

It was a point worth considering. “She loves this house.”

“The first question she asked was if we'd sell it,” Will reminded her, frowning. “Eventually we'd have to do that, and I get the feeling that upsets her more than the need to move.”

Olivia sighed. “We wouldn't have any option. Renting it out could be a nightmare,” she said half to herself, remembering the troubles Grace had encountered when she rented out her house on Rosewood Lane. Olivia hated the thought of anyone vandalizing her family home, which was exactly what had happened to Grace's house. No, renting wasn't an option she wanted to consider.

“Ben might be more amenable to the idea than he's led us to believe.”

“Really?” Olivia could only hope her brother was right. “Did he say anything to you?”

“Not directly, but I could tell how concerned he was when Mom first saw the new stove. He loves Mom, and realized right away how flustered and unsure she is with all these changes.”

Olivia nodded; she'd seen the same doubt and hesitation in her mother's eyes and it had shaken her. Charlotte seemed almost childlike in her reaction to the changes taking place around her.

“If you have any ideas, let me know,” Will said. He reached for his car keys.

“Any plans tomorrow?” Olivia asked.

“Not really. What have you got in mind?”

“Jack wants to watch the Seahawks game on TV and you'd be welcome to join us.”

“One o'clock?” he asked.

“Perfect. See you then.”

Olivia hoped she and Will could continue their conversation the next day. Surely they could come up with a solution. The problem had seemed less immediate while Charlotte and Ben were living with them, since both Olivia and Jack were able to help. Despite various incidents with the laundry and so forth, Olivia had grown accustomed to having her mother close. It was comforting to find Charlotte waiting for her at the end of the day with a cup of tea and one of her many baked treats. Necessary as Olivia knew the transition to an assisted-living environment was, she found it painful. The loss of Charlotte and Ben's independence, the loss of their familiar surroundings and, most of all, the loss of the person her mother had been… Olivia hated it. And yet
she had to be practical and protect their safety and well-being above all else.

A moment after Olivia got home, Jack pulled into the driveway behind her. He'd been to an AA meeting and, as was his habit afterward, had gone for coffee with his friend and sponsor, Bob Beldon.

“How was the meeting?” she asked, walking back to join him.

“Good.” Jack wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her. “How'd everything go with your mother and Ben?”

She blinked back tears, and Jack leaned forward to get a better look at her. “Liv?”

“Not good…”

“Come inside and tell me about it.”

The early evening was dreary and overcast, and it reflected how Olivia felt. With his arm around her waist, Jack led her into the house through the back door.

While he removed his coat, Olivia put on the kettle for tea. This was something her mother had done all her life. Whenever it was time to have a serious discussion, Charlotte would reach for the teakettle and her favorite ceramic teapot with the butterflies painted on it.

Olivia remembered the day she'd come over to tell her mother that she and Stan were separating. Olivia had been emotional and weepy. That had been the most horrible year of her life, and her mother, teapot in hand, had been a constant source of love and support.

In a one-year span, Olivia's oldest son had drowned and her marriage had fallen apart. She didn't know what she would've done if not for her mother and, of course, Grace.

“Olivia?” Jack asked gently. “You've been standing in front of the stove for five minutes.”

“I have?” Embarrassed, she brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I was just remembering all the talks I had with my mother over tea,” she whispered.

Jack guided her toward a chair, then set out two mugs. At the moment Olivia felt incapable of performing even that simple task. Reaching across the table she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous.”

“No, you aren't,” Jack said.

“I was thinking about the day Mom made me tea when Stan and I decided we couldn't stay married.”

“What brought that up?”

“I…I don't know exactly. It's just that she was so wonderful, so reassuring and supportive. That wasn't the only time, either. I could always count on her to see me through whatever crisis I faced.”

“And you can't now?”

She shook her head. “Everything's reversed—I'm the one taking care of Mom. She needs me more than I need her. So does Ben.” She held the tissue to her mouth and swallowed a sob.

Jack stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “You have me and your brother and your kids.”

“Yes, I know. But this is…different.”

The kettle whistled and Jack returned to the stove. He poured the water into the pot and carried it to the table.

“This is all because of taking your mother and Ben to the house?”

“Oh, Jack, it's so hard for me to watch my mother grow old…. She's trying to pretend everything's the same, but it isn't. Today it was even more obvious that she and Ben can't stay in the house much longer.”

“Do you want me to talk to them?” he asked after a
short pause. “My parents both died years ago, so I haven't been through this, but…”

“No. I appreciate the offer, but this has to come from Will and me. I can't blame Mom. I wouldn't want to leave my home, either. And then there's the problem of what to do with the house itself.”

When they'd visited the assisted-living complexes, both Olivia and Will had felt encouraged and excited. It'd all sounded so positive, with a variety of programs that would keep her mother and Ben entertained and involved in life. She could visualize her mother leading the knitting group and Ben playing pinochle.

The facilities had exercise and physical therapy programs, musical evenings, reading and craft circles, excursions and more. At each place she must have counted at least five different activities for every day. The meals were well-planned and the menus were nutritious and appealing. Olivia wouldn't mind eating there herself.

But convincing her mother of the benefits of making that move seemed beyond her.

The phone rang and Jack answered, glancing at caller ID. “It's Ben or your mother,” he said to Olivia.

“Hello, Charlotte.” Almost immediately his gaze went to her. “Charlotte, of course. Now don't worry, we'll be right there.”

Olivia nearly leaped out of her chair. “What happened?” she asked in a panic.

“Everything's fine,” Jack said calmly. “Apparently Ben fell. He can't get up and Charlotte can't help him.”

“Everything's not fine!” She took a deep breath. “Why didn't you tell her to call 9-1-1? Is Ben hurt? He might've broken his hip…. Oh, my goodness, Jack, this is serious.”

“Ben isn't hurt. But your mother's been trying to get him up, and she can't do it. They're both exhausted.”

“How could this have happened?” She ran for her jacket, then grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

“She said Ben slipped on the rug in the kitchen.”

Will had purchased the small rug and placed it in front of the new refrigerator, but it had a rubber backing and shouldn't have slid.

“He didn't remember it was there,” Jack continued as if reading her mind, “and he stumbled over it.”

“They should call 9-1-1,” Olivia cried. Jack put on his coat and followed her out of the house.

“Ben is embarrassed enough as it is,” Jack said. “And Charlotte told me he's not hurt.”

“We don't know that.”

“No, but we'll find out soon enough.” They hurried to Jack's car and were off, not even bothering to lock up.

Charlotte met them at the front door, pale and shaken.

Jack walked straight past her and into the kitchen, where Ben sat on the floor, knees bent and head down. “I feel like an old fool,” he muttered.

“It was an accident,” Jack said. “We'll have you up in a second.”

With his hands under the older man's arms, he hauled Ben to his feet, hardly exerting himself.

“Are you okay?” Olivia asked.

“Yes. Except for my pride, which has taken quite a beating.”

Charlotte pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. “I just didn't know what to do,” she said, her voice trembling. “Oh, thank goodness you were able to come.”

Olivia crouched beside Charlotte and hugged her,
whispering reassurances. It was just as she'd told Jack. Just as she'd known for a while. She was the parent now. She'd become her mother's mother.

Twenty-Six

M
onday afternoon, Rachel left work early. She went to the Cedar Cove library, where she sat in one of the big overstuffed chairs and awaited her stepdaughter's arrival. She'd called Jolene's cell to make this appointment; the girl had agreed to meet her but Rachel had no idea what to expect. Jolene had attended a counseling session, and it had been a complete waste of time, according to Bruce. She'd been sullen and silent through the entire session, refusing to participate in the conversation. The longer Rachel stayed away from her husband and stepdaughter, the more obvious it became that she wouldn't ever be able to return. It was time to make other arrangements, permanent ones.

Rachel wondered if Jolene would stand her up and was somewhat surprised when the library door swung open and the girl stepped inside. She came alone, which was also rather unexpected, since Jolene usually traveled with a pack of friends.

She stood in the foyer and scanned the library until her gaze fell on Rachel. As soon as she saw her, Jolene's eyes narrowed. Walking across the library, she carelessly
dropped her backpack on the floor and sat in the chair next to Rachel's.

“You wanted to talk to me?” she said without any greeting. Her voice was devoid of warmth.

“Yes, thank you for coming,” Rachel replied pleasantly, choosing to ignore her stepdaughter's attitude.

“Why did you ask me to come here?”

“Actually, I have several reasons.”

Jolene looked conspicuously at her watch. “How long is this supposed to take?”

“Not long,” Rachel promised. So far, the meeting was going exactly as she'd feared. The girl's hostility was un-disguised. The battle lines were drawn and swords ready. Except that Rachel was about to hand over her weapon. She was finished.

Inhaling deeply, she came directly to the point. “Mainly, I wanted to tell you I've decided to leave the area.”

Jolene's eyes flew to hers. “Does my dad know?”

“Not yet.” She would tell Bruce later.

“Why are you telling me?”

“Well,” Rachel said, “I thought you'd want to celebrate. You've beaten me, Jolene. You win. You can have your father all to yourself. I won't be in touch.”

“What about the baby?” she demanded. “You can't do that to my brother or sister.”

Rachel shook her head. “I grew up without a family. My aunt tried but she didn't have a warm bone in her body. She was raised in an era when children didn't speak unless spoken to. Her mantra was that cleanliness was next to godliness, so what she held most important was a spotless house. There was very little fun in my life and—”

“You told me all this before,” Jolene said, defiantly crossing her arms.

“You're right. Sorry, no need to repeat myself, is there? All I meant was that my aunt taught me what
not
to do, what not to be.”

“What'll happen with the baby?” Jolene sounded like an attorney representing her father's interests.

“Happen?” Rachel shrugged. “Well, I'll raise this child and love him or her to the very best of my ability.”

“What about my dad?”

“What about him?”

Jolene glared at her. “He has a right to the baby, too.”

“I'm not preventing your father from having contact with the child, Jolene, I'm protecting him or her.”

“Protecting him or her from
what?
”