Debbie Macomber - 6 Rainier Drive

“I know.” Justine got up and walked into his arms, pressing her body against his, urging him to relax. “Come back to bed and try to sleep,” she said.

He shook his head. “I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is The Lighthouse going up in smoke.”

Seth had arrived a few minutes after the fire trucks and stood by helplessly as the restaurant, engulfed in flames, had quickly become a lost cause.

“I can’t believe it was Anson Butler,” Justine said, thinking out loud. She’d liked the boy and had trusted him—which, according to her friends and neighbors, had been a mistake.

“You don’t want to believe it’s him,” her husband returned, the anger back in the clipped harshness of his words.

That was true. Seth had hired Anson several months earlier. The teenager was paying off court expenses because of a fire he’d set in the city park. He’d had no explanation for why he’d burned down the toolshed. All Justine really knew were the few details Seth had divulged at the time he’d taken the boy on.

To his credit, Anson had turned himself in to the authorities and accepted full responsibility for his actions. That had impressed her husband, and on the recommendation of their accountant and friend, Zachary Cox, who’d become something of a mentor to the boy, Seth had agreed to give Anson a job.

At first the teenager had made an effort to prove his worth. He’d shown up early for his shifts and put in extra hours, eager to please his employer. Then within a few weeks, everything had fallen apart. Tony, another dishwasher, had taken a dislike to Anson and the two had exchanged words. From what she understood, they’d also gotten into a shoving match once or twice. As a result of their animosity, the tension in the kitchen had increased. Seth had talked it over with Justine and she’d suggested they separate the two boys. Seth decided to make Anson a prep cook. Tony didn’t like the idea of Anson getting a promotion, while he’d been on staff longer and remained a dishwasher.

Then money had gone missing from the office and, although others had access to the money box, both Tony and Anson had been seen entering the room. When questioned, Anson claimed he’d been looking for Seth because a supplier had a problem. Tony insisted he needed to talk to Seth about his schedule. Both boys were suspects, so Seth felt he had no choice but to lay them both off. The money was never recovered. Seth blamed himself because he’d left the safe open, lockbox inside, while he was briefly out of the office.

A week later, The Lighthouse had burned to the ground.

“We don’t have any proof it was Anson,” Justine reminded her husband.

“We’ll get proof. Whether he’s the culprit or somebody else is. We’ll find whoever did this.” Seth’s hard mouth was set with determination and his body tensed.

“Try to sleep,” she urged again. Despite his reluctance, she led him back to their bedroom.

Together they slipped under the sheets and she moved her body close to his. Seth lay on his back, eyes open, as she slid her leg over his and draped her arm across his powerful chest. He held her tight, as if she were the only solid thing left in a world that had started to crumble. Kissing his neck, Justine purred in his ear, hoping that if they made love, the restlessness in him would ease and he’d be able to relax. But Seth shook his head, rejecting her subtle offer. She swallowed down the hurt and tried not to take it personally. All of this would be over soon, she told herself; soon everything would be back to normal. Justine had to believe it. Without that hope, despair would encroach, which was something she had to avoid at any cost. She fought to maintain a positive outlook, for her husband’s sake and for the sake of her marriage.

When Justine woke again, it was morning and Leif was climbing onto her bed, wanting breakfast. Penny, their cocker spaniel-poodle mix, followed him, eyeing the bed.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asked, sitting upright, rubbing her hand tiredly over her face.

Her son dragged his teddy bear onto the bed, blue eyes soulful. “In his office.”

That wasn’t a good sign.

“It’s time we got you ready for school,” Justine said briskly, glancing at the clock. Quarter to eight already. Leif’s preschool class was held every morning, and even though their own schedules had fallen apart, Justine and Seth had done their best to keep Leif’s timetable consistent.

“Daddy’s mad again,” the four-year-old whispered.

Justine sighed. This was almost a daily occurrence, and she worried about the effect of so much tension on their son, who couldn’t possibly understand why Daddy was mad or Mommy sometimes cried.

“Did he growl at you?” Justine asked, then roared like a grizzly bear, shaping her hands into make-believe claws. With Penny barking cheerfully, she crawled across the mattress after her son, distracting him from worries about his father.

Leif shrieked and scrambled off the bed, racing for his bedroom. Justine followed and laughingly cornered the boy. Leif’s eyes flashed with delight as she set out his clothes. He insisted on getting dressed on his own these days, so she let him.

After saying a perfunctory goodbye to her husband, Justine delivered Leif to preschool. When she pulled back into the driveway, Seth came out the door to greet her. The April sky was overcast, and rain was imminent. The weather was a perfect reflection of their mood, Justine thought. A sunny day would’ve seemed incongruous when they both felt so fearful and angry.

“I talked to the fire marshal,” her husband announced as she got out of her car.

“Did he have any news?”

Seth’s frown darkened. “Nothing he was willing to tell me. The insurance adjuster’s taking his own sweet time, too.”

“Seth, these things require patience.” She needed answers as much as he did, but she certainly didn’t want the fire marshal to rush the investigation.

“Don’t you start on me,” he flared. “We’re losing ground every day. How are we supposed to live without the restaurant?”

“The insurance—”

“I know about the insurance money,” he said, cutting her off. “But we won’t get anything for at least a month. And it isn’t going to keep our employees from seeking other jobs. It isn’t going to pay back my parents’ investment. They put their trust in me.”

Seth’s parents had invested a significant amount of the start-up money; Seth and Justine paid them monthly and she knew Mr. and Mrs. Gunderson relied on that income.

Justine didn’t have any solutions for him. She recognized that he was distressed about more than the financial implications of the fire, but she had no quick or ready answers. “What would you like me to do?” she asked. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”

He glared at her in a way she’d never seen before. “What I’d like,” he muttered, “is for you to stop acting as if this is a temporary inconvenience. The Lighthouse is gone. We’ve lost everything, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.” Justine recoiled at the unfairness of his words. He made it sound as if she was some kind of Pollyanna who wasn’t fully aware of their situation. “Don’t you realize the last five years are in ashes?” he railed. “Five years of working sixteen-hour days and for what?”

“But we haven’t lost everything,” she countered, hoping to inject some reason into his tirade. She didn’t mean to be argumentative; she simply wanted him to see that although this was a dreadful time, they still had each other. They had their child and their house. Together they’d find the strength to start over—if only Seth could let go of this anger.