A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)

A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2) Page 15

When she didn’t hear any squabbling, she lowered the volume on her television.

Nothing.

Frowning, she rose and opened the door a crack. She heard Maverick’s rich baritone voice as he read animatedly and with emotion. He was good; she’d give him that. There wasn’t a sound from the youngsters. No doubt they were enthralled by the reading as much as the story.

In spite of what Aurora thought, Elise wanted her daughter to have a good relationship with her father. True, her feelings on the subject were mixed. Although Maverick had promptly paid child support and always kept in touch, he’d made no effort to be a constant part of their daughter’s life. She didn’t understand why he’d decided it was so important to make contact now.

Elise returned to her rocking chair and twenty minutes later she checked again, her ear at the door. When someone knocked, she nearly leaped out of her skin. With one hand over her startled heart, she opened the door to discover Maverick standing in the hallway.

She gasped. “The boys?” she managed to utter, expecting him to ask her advice on how to coax them to sleep.

“Out like the proverbial light,” he said with a shrug.

Impossible! Luke and John didn’t go down without a fight. It was part of their nightly ritual. She realized she was frowning again.

Maverick’s mouth twitched with a smile. “I read them one chapter and John wanted a second.”

She nodded. That was their usual pattern.

“The kid’s got a real dramatic streak,” he said.

Elise forced back a smile.

“He said ‘Grandpa, I beg of you, I beg of you.’”

“Did you give in?”

“Yes—but I made them promise they’d go right down, and they did.”

“Count your blessings.”

For a moment she was lost in him. Then, with a jolt of dismay, she recognized what she was doing. Resolutely, she lifted her chin and looked him square in the eyes. “Was there something you wanted?”

He hesitated, and she could see he was stifling a grin. He’d always been able to see straight through her. “Just to tell you good-night and that I enjoyed being with you again.”

Elise wanted to groan. How was it that a man she’d been divorced from for more than thirty-seven years still had power over her? She loathed her own weakness, loathed her inability to forget how much she’d loved him. “Th-ank you,” she managed, stumbling over the words.

To her astonishment, Maverick pressed his hand to her cheek, his touch soft. His blue eyes brightened with intensity. Elise’s knees felt as if they were about to buckle and her mouth fell open.

“You’ve always been the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

Her heart hammering inside her chest, Elise stepped back, breaking the contact. Otherwise she didn’t know what she might have done…

“Good night,” she whispered and while she had the strength, she closed the door. Old feelings, it seemed, died hard. She reminded herself that she couldn’t relax her vigilance with this gambler she’d once married. Not for a minute. Not for even a second.

CHAPTER 12

BETHANNE HAMLIN

Bethanne’s meeting with Grant had been a week ago, and she was still so angry that she hadn’t slept an entire night since. The selfish bastard wasn’t willing to spend three hundred dollars on his son. Bethanne knew the reason. Grant didn’t have the courage to say it, but she knew.

This was payback. When Grant moved out of the house and in with Tiffany, their then-sixteen-year-old son had confronted his father and told him exactly what he thought of Grant’s behavior. Grant hadn’t taken kindly to Andrew’s honesty, and their relationship had been strained ever since.

“You okay, Mom?” Annie asked, entering the kitchen.

“Fine,” she snapped, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

Annie flopped down at the kitchen table beside Bethanne, who sat there with a cup of tea. “Thinking about Dad?”

She didn’t bother to deny it. “He’s been on my mind lately.”

“Mine too,” Annie admitted. “I can’t believe he’s still with her.”

Annie never mentioned Tiffany’s name. She was always her or the bitch. Her daughter’s own relationship with Grant was confused. Annie loved her father and had been close to him, and longed to be close once again, but she felt hurt and betrayed. She was also unsure where she stood with him. Grant gave her the minimum of attention and expected Annie to be the one to call him, which she did on occasion. But the brunt of her daughter’s anger was directed toward Tiffany because Annie believed the other woman had stolen Grant from his family. Bethanne didn’t take that anger lightly, especially after flipping through Annie’s journal, but she didn’t know what to do about it, either. She prayed that eventually her daughter’s bitterness would fade.

It was times like this that she missed her mother most. Martha Gibson had died suddenly of an aneurysm the year Annie was born, and Bethanne’s father had declined physically and emotionally after that. He lived in a retirement community in Arizona, but it was up to her to maintain contact.

“I think they might be getting married,” Annie murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Is that so?” Bethanne tried not to reveal any interest, but her head was spinning. If anyone in the family was likely to learn of Grant’s wedding plans, it would be her daughter. He might not talk to Annie much, but he talked to her more than to Andrew or Bethanne. Married. That explained why her ex had turned into such a miser. She’d bet every penny left in her bank account that he was buying Tiffany a huge diamond and planning the honeymoon. At least Tiffany was getting one; Bethanne never had. Grant and Bethanne got married while in college, and there’d been money for no more than a wedding night in a three-star hotel on the Oregon coast. Monday morning they were both back in school.

“I hate her, Mom. I know you said I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. If it wasn’t for her, Dad would be with us and everything would be like it used to be.” Annie’s voice cracked with the intensity of her emotions.

“I know,” Bethanne whispered, fighting her own anger, “but if it wasn’t her, it probably would’ve been someone else.” This insight had been a small epiphany for Bethanne during the divorce proceedings. Her attorney had been going over the settlement, and it was all Bethanne could do to concentrate when the truth suddenly dawned on her. It wasn’t her fault. She’d been a good wife and a good mother. She’d remained faithful and loving. Not once in the entire twenty years of her marriage had she even considered cheating on Grant. Her whole life had been about family. Without resentment or complaint, she’d cooked her husband’s meals, cleaned his home and raised his children. She’d been a hostess for his parties, which were legendary.

Their huge Christmas, Super Bowl and Fourth of July parties, in particular, had been favorites with their friends, and Grant had loved playing host. It didn’t matter that she’d done all the work, they were a team.

No, she wasn’t to blame for the mess he’d made of their lives and she refused to accept the guilt. Sitting in her attorney’s office that day, she’d recognized Grant’s actions for what they were. Blaming her was Grant’s way of justifying his lack of loyalty and fidelity, his failure as a husband and father. It obviously assuaged the guilt he was unwilling to feel. For a time she’d assumed that responsibility, certain she must be the one who’d failed. He wanted her to think she’d become so wrapped up in the children’s lives she’d abandoned him. She hadn’t, and she wouldn’t listen to those cruel voices in the back of her head ever again. Voices that echoed his…

“Mom, Mom,” Annie said, reaching across the table to touch Bethanne’s forearm. “You’re spacing out on me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“How was the sock class?” Annie asked, apparently trying to turn Bethanne’s mind in another direction, away from the darkness that had overtaken her.

“Really great.” The second class had gone much better than the first. They’d no sooner sat down at the table than Elise apologized for what she called her “crankiness” the week before. She explained that she’d received bad news and hadn’t had time to digest it before the class. She was very sorry if she’d offended anyone.

Bethanne had her own confession to make. She told the others why she’d been tense the week before—that she’d been hoping to get out of the class because she regretted having spent the money. She no longer felt that way. She was still worried about finances, but Annie was right; she needed something for herself. Something completely unrelated to everything else in her life.

Even Courtney seemed to be in a better mood. She’d announced proudly that she’d lost two pounds. At first Bethanne thought the teenager meant she’d lost the weight knitting, which seemed peculiar, but then she realized Courtney was saying that knitting had kept her out of the kitchen.

The two-hour class had sped by, and Bethanne felt wonderful afterward, grateful she hadn’t dropped out. She’d made progress on her socks—or the first one, anyway—and had truly enjoyed the companionship of the other women.

“I knew you’d like it.” Annie’s eyes flashed with triumph.

The phone rang and her daughter leaped up in her rush to answer. “Hello.”

Annie’s eyes zeroed in on Bethanne.

“Yes, she’s here.” She held the phone against her stomach. “It’s for you.” She hesitated, then whispered, “It’s a man.”

Bethanne rolled her eyes. “It’s probably the guy at the bank, phoning to tell me I’ve overdrawn the checking account again.” She’d already done that twice, and it was embarrassing in the extreme.

Annie brought her the phone.

“This is Bethanne Hamlin,” she said, trying to sound brisk and professional. According to the check register, she should have at least fifty dollars in that account, but she hadn’t gotten it to balance since she’d opened it. Math had never been one of her strengths.

“Bethanne, this is Paul Ormond.”

She felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of her lungs. Paul was Tiffany’s ex-husband. Tiffany had filed for a divorce at the same time as Grant. Apparently they’d coordinated when to file, and she could imagine the two of them traipsing down to the courthouse, giggling and holding hands. Paul and Bethanne had been the spouses left behind to deal with the emotional devastation of the affair and its aftermath.

“Hello, Paul,” she said with difficulty. She’d met him only once, briefly, but she’d considered calling him a couple of times. She’d wanted to ask if he’d known about the affair before his wife told him. Had Tiffany done it on Valentine’s Day, like Grant? In the end, Bethanne hadn’t bothered.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Paul said.

“Sure. I mean, that would be fine,” she said awkwardly.