“No one knew where to find him,” a different reporter added.
“Has he been in hiding?” asked another.
Both major 24-hour news channels were represented, she saw. Their trucks blocked the driveway. “Bobby hasn’t been hiding.”
“Where is he?” a man asked.
Her husband moved behind her, and the cameras started flashing again.
“Bobby!”
“Bobby.”
His name came from every direction. Bobby gently pushed Teri behind him, then faced the crowd of reporters.
“Have you quit chess?” one of them asked.
“Are the rumors true? Have you surrendered your crown to Aleksandr Vladimir?”
With everyone shouting questions at him, it was impossible for Bobby to answer. He held up his hand, indicating that he was willing to speak. A hush fell over those assembled.
“No comment.” With that, he eased back and quietly closed the door. With his arm around Teri’s waist, he led her out of the foyer. Then, as calmly as if this didn’t matter at all, he called the sheriff’s office and reported that there were trespassers on his property.
“Bobby,” she said when he turned back to her. “You can’t keep this up. You’ve got to play sooner or later.”
“I will,” he promised. “When I’m ready, but not before.”
“I won’t let you surrender your title to Vladimir,” Teri insisted. “He’s trying to use me as bait. Don’t fall for it.” But she knew that Bobby’s concern for her was even greater now that she’d told him about the baby—just as she’d feared.
“One thing I vow to you,” Bobby said, taking her hands in his and raising them to his lips. “Vladimir will never hold my title. Never.”
“Someone told the press where to find you,” she murmured.
“Yes,” Bobby agreed, frowning. “I know who it was.”
“So do I.” It wasn’t hard to figure out. This was Vladimir’s effort to force Bobby to the chess table.
Twenty-Seven
“1’m going to be in Cedar Cove this Saturday to visit my son,” Faith told Troy on Thursday evening. He hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks, although they spoke on the phone almost every night. Faith had listed her house in South Seattle, and several potential buyers had already come to see it. No offers yet, but he knew it would happen soon.
He felt both dread and excitement about Faith’s move to Cedar Cove. He still hadn’t told his daughter about this relationship. The guilt he’d felt after Megan’s miscarriage had destroyed his pleasure in seeing Faith. Logically, rationally, he understood that being with her had nothing to do with the loss of his grandchild. Still, he couldn’t forget the fact that he hadn’t been available when his daughter needed him.
“I … I was hoping,” Faith continued, “that I might see you while I was in town.”
Troy hated to turn her down. At the same time, he dared not risk Megan finding out. Not after what had happened. “I’m very busy down at the office.”
“Even on a weekend?”
He should be honest with Faith. She deserved that and he despised himself for being so weak.
“Your daughter doesn’t like the idea of you seeing anyone, does she?” Faith asked bluntly.
Troy felt a measure of relief. At least the truth was in the open now, although it should have come from him. “I don’t know that she ever will,” he muttered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry. I should have.” He sighed deeply. “I was afraid that if I told you how Megan feels, you’d suggest we not talk to each other anymore.” Troy didn’t think he could cope with that. Their conversations were the highlight of his day; he could hardly wait to get home because then he could talk to Faith. They must have discussed every subject under the sun—except his daughter.
“I’d miss talking to you, Troy.”
“You would?” Her saying so instantly gave him hope. “But it’s not fair to leave you hanging like this. I can’t even promise that anything’s going to change with Megan.”
“Troy, it’s fine. Don’t worry. Everything will work itself out in time.”
She sounded so confident….
“I’ll see you on Saturday,” Troy said, coming to a decision. As much as he loved his daughter and as much as he regretted the miscarriage, he had his own life.
In fact, he doubted he could stay away from Scott Beckwith’s house, knowing Faith was in town. Now that he’d given himself permission to see her, the guilt shrank, replaced with a sense of anticipation. He’d be with her in a couple of days!
“I knit you something,” she said. “I’ll bring it on Saturday.”
“What did you knit?” The idea of her doing this thrilled him and the happiness he felt warmed him from the inside out.
“Socks,” she murmured.
“Two?”
Faith giggled. “Yes, silly.”
“I have big feet.”
“I remember that about you,” she said in a wry voice that made him laugh. “Those high-school dances. My poor scuffed shoes.”
That led to a brief reminiscence of the Friday-night dances at Cedar Cove High and the songs they’d particularly liked.
“I’m taking my son and his family to dinner,” Faith said next. “Would you like to join us? We’re going to D.D.’s on the Cove.”
He considered the invitation and then decided to decline. It was one thing to see Faith privately, another to flaunt it. Megan would find out soon enough and he’d rather be the one to tell her. He didn’t want her hearing gossip from some busybody.
“I’d better not. Should I pick you up at your son’s house at eight? Will that give you enough time?” He already knew where he’d take her…. But he’d save it for Saturday night. Surprise her.
“That would be fine. Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
His mood was almost jovial as he put down the phone. Then, on impulse, he reached for his car keys and headed out the door.
He drove to the cemetery. He’d only been there once since Sandy’s funeral, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think about her. He did, every single day. After all the years they’d been together, Sandy was part of him. She always would be. Troy wished he knew how to convey that to his daughter, how to tell Megan that his relationship with Faith or any other woman would never diminish his love for Sandy. He wasn’t sure she’d accept his words. Wasn’t sure she wanted to.
He parked and walked over the damp green lawn to the gravesite. The array of pink carnations told him Megan had recently come by. He suspected she was a frequent visitor, coming as often as two or three times a week.
For long minutes all he did was stare down at the headstone. He was tempted to speak to Sandy, tell her about Faith. But his wife wasn’t there. Not the real Sandy, the person she’d been, the woman he’d loved. Like Megan, he believed she’d gone to heaven, released at last from sickness and pain. He couldn’t imagine her anywhere else.
When he thought about it, he realized there was really nothing to tell her, other than