“I don’t think it, Grant, I know it. I’m worried…even Andrew’s worried. He wouldn’t have come to me if he wasn’t.”
“Fine, so you and Andrew are worried. I don’t mean to sound callous here, but I don’t think Annie’s that overwrought. A certain amount of animosity is normal and she’ll get past that soon enough.”
“But you aren’t the one living with her,” Bethanne argued. “I am. Yes, on the surface she seems to be adjusting, but she isn’t.” Grant shook his head contemptuously and she found herself growing even angrier. “When did you become an expert on the effects of divorce on teenage girls? What did you do, read a book?” It would be too much to expect that he’d talked to a counsellor.
Grant sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I know she’s taken up running, and that’s a good way for her to vent her frustration,” he said, ignoring her question.
“I know…I agree, but—”
“You’re using the kids as a convenient way to get to me,” he said, challenge in his voice.
“Get to you?” She managed not to yell. Her anger threatened to erupt but for the sake of her children, and because they were in a public place, Bethanne forced it down. She’d hoped to reach him, to show him that their daughter had a serious problem. She wasn’t sure how to deal with Annie and she wanted, needed, his help.
“I’m supposed to feel guilty,” Grant muttered. “That’s what you’re trying to do here. You’re manipulating me, and Annie’s just as bad. God knows both kids are yanking my chain. According to the terms of the divorce, they’re supposed to spend every other weekend with me. They refuse, and you let them! Well, I’m sick of your games—and theirs too.”
It was true; Andrew and Annie strenuously resisted all her efforts to send them to Grant’s place for the mandated weekends. She couldn’t force them to go. Not at their age.
“But, I—”
He stood as if he’d said everything he intended to say.
Bethanne knew that unless she confessed what she’d done, Grant would simply walk away. “I…I read Annie’s journal.” She wasn’t proud of that, but instinct had told her something was wrong. The few entries she’d read had made her blood run cold. Annie had experimented with drugs and was sneaking out at night, meeting her new “friends.” The boys Annie wrote about weren’t the ones Bethanne had met and what went on during these secret meetings she was afraid to speculate.
Grant sat back down. “You did what?”
“I read her journal. Oh, Grant, you don’t have any idea how furious she is at both of us. She’s fooling around with…with things she shouldn’t, and—”
He shrugged as if to say Bethanne should have expected this. “She’ll get over it. This divorce was a shock, and we need to give her time.”
“Get over it?” Bethanne repeated. Grant didn’t even seem to care. The pain in her chest nearly suffocated her. She wondered if he’d always been this callous and she just hadn’t seen it or if he’d changed completely in so short a time.
“It’s normal in this kind of situation.”
Normal? Normal that he’d abandon his family? Normal that he’d inflict this pain on the very people he’d vowed to love and cherish—and then shrug it off as if it meant nothing? Normal that in her pain and rage Annie would risk destroying her own life? Hearing Grant talk so flippantly about their daughter nearly crushed her heart.
“I suppose you’re right,” Bethanne murmured, and stared down at her coffee. “But I thought I should give you fair warning.”
“About what?”
“Annie’s little problem with hate.” She’d planned to tell him that, according to Andrew, their daughter was going to step up her campaign against Tiffany, but she’d let Grant deal with it.
“Is there anything else?” he asked impatiently.
“One small thing.” Bethanne circled the coffee cup with both hands and refused to meet his eyes. Discussing money with her ex-husband was distasteful.
“Yes?” he asked with a long-suffering sigh.
“Andrew has signed up for football camp.” Their son was a talented athlete and Bethanne was sure he’d be offered a scholarship to either the University of Washington or Washington State.
“Yes, so I understand.”
“I don’t have the money for it.” It was embarrassing to admit this, but she had no choice. “If you could pick up the cost of the camp, then I’ll cover everything else.”
“What do you mean by everything else?” he asked. “Like what?”
Already she was worried about a number of upcoming expenses—expenses she didn’t know how she could meet. “I got a notice at the end of the school year that athletic fees will double in September. The school levy failed and—well, with that plus the expense of his senior pictures, I thought it was only fair that you cover the cost of the camp.” She didn’t bother to mention that when school started again in September, there’d also be the cost of new clothes and a hundred other related expenses.
“You can’t afford the camp?”
“I can, but then there wouldn’t be enough left over to make the house payment.”
Grant didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I was afraid of this,” he murmured.
Bethanne could only imagine what he meant. “I don’t intend to run to you every time I need money,” she assured him.
“You’re doing it now.”
“Yes, but…” Surely he understood that the child support he’d been ordered to pay didn’t begin to cover what it cost to raise two teenagers.
“Bethanne, listen, I can’t help you. Please don’t come to me again.”
“But—”
“I’m giving you alimony and child support. Have you got a job yet?”
Eyes cast down, she shook her head.
“That’s what I figured. Have you even tried looking?” he asked sarcastically, as if he already knew the answer. “Every penny you’re now collecting comes directly from me. I don’t see you making any effort to support yourself.”
“I have tried, but I don’t know what else to do, where to look.” Admitting her weakness was humiliating. She longed to lash out at him, blame him, curse him, but it would do no good, so once again she swallowed what little was left of her pride.
“Start looking for a job by reading the newspaper,” Grant suggested in a condescending tone. “If nothing else, you can open a child-care center at the house. You always prided yourself on being a good mother.”
Bethanne used to think she was, but she’d also thought of herself as a good wife. Apparently not. She tried to shake off these feelings of failure.
“Use your natural skills,” Grant went on, “in a way that isn’t a constant drain on me.”
She flinched at the blow his words dealt her.
“I don’t mean to be ugly here, but it’s time you woke up and smelled the coffee.” He smiled at his own feeble joke, since she was sipping an espresso. “In two years, Annie will have graduated from high school and the child support payments will be over.”
“What about college?” That had already been determined in the divorce settlement, as she had every intention of reminding him.
“We’re splitting the college expenses, remember? That means not only will you need to be self-supporting, but you’ll have to earn enough to pay your portion of the kids’ expenses. I suggest you find yourself a career in short order.”
“I know, but…”
“You always have an excuse, don’t you?”
This time it was Bethanne who stood, eager to leave, to escape from this cold, selfish man who’d done everything in his power to destroy her. Now more than ever she was determined to prove him wrong.
“Goodbye, Grant. Don’t worry that I’ll trouble you again,” she said from between clenched teeth. She glared at him, hoping he could see and feel her contempt. How had she managed to live with him all those years and not know the kind of man he was?
Bethanne left the café, but once Grant had stalked off
in the opposite direction she required a few minutes to compose herself before she headed down the street to where she’d parked the car, her knitting stashed in the trunk. She’d already tried to get a refund for the class, which was an unnecessary expense, but it was too late now. The money had been spent; she wouldn’t waste it.
As she reached her car, she noticed a brand-new Cadillac turning the corner. It was the style and color Grant had mentioned wanting—before the divorce. Her eyes flashed to the driver and, sure enough, it was her ex, driving a car so new it still carried the dealer’s plates. He refused to help her with the cost of football camp for Andrew, but he could afford an expensive car he didn’t even need.
CHAPTER 9
COURTNEY PULANSKI
“Courtney!”
Courtney heard her name being called up the stairs but, still warm and sleepy, she chose to ignore it and linger in bed.
“Courtney!” the discordant voice persisted. “You asked me to get you up, remember?”
She groaned, rolled over and opened one reluctant eye to stare at the antique clock on her bedstand. Her grandmother didn’t have a digital clock in the whole house. The big hand was on the six and the little hand on the five. It was five-thirty!
“Courtney!” her grandmother shouted. “It’s too hard for me to go up and down these stairs, but I will if I have to. Now get up!”
Tossing aside the warm covers, Courtney staggered out of bed and to the top of the staircase. “I’m up.” She just didn’t know why.
“Thank goodness.” Vera Pulanski paused on the third step and looked greatly relieved to be spared the agony of the climb. “I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
Courtney stared blankly into space until she realized that wherever her grandmother was going, she intended on taking Courtney with her. “It’s only five-thirty.”
Her grandmother turned back to face her. “I know what time it is. I want to be at the pool when it opens at six.”
“Oh.” This was dreadful. Yes, they’d discussed swimming but Courtney had no idea that she’d have to get up at this ungodly hour. In fact, the entire discussion was a distant and rather unpleasant memory. Her grandmother had said that if Courtney wanted to lose weight, she should start exercising. She vaguely recalled that she’d agreed to give swimming a try, more to satisfy her grandmother than anything else.
Needing to hurry, Courtney dug her bathing suit out of her bottom drawer and prayed it still fit. A lot of her clothes didn’t anymore, and she had to go through several contortions to zip up her jeans. Most of her shirts no longer buttoned without leaving a gap, so she wore them open over a tank top. It wasn’t so easy to hide her weight gain with jeans, though, and already the stitching was threatening to rip.
“I have an extra towel.” Her grandmother’s voice floated up the stairs again. “Don’t take any of the ones from the bathroom. They’re part of a set.”
“I won’t, Grandma,” Courtney yelled back. She stripped off her pjs and stepped into the one-piece suit, pulling it up over her thighs. It fit, but just barely. Pride demanded that she not look in the mirror. The consolation was that she probably wouldn’t see anyone her age at the pool this early in the morning. She donned sweatpants and a T-shirt, slipped her feet into flip-flops and trudged down the stairs.
Her grandmother was waiting by the door and handed Courtney a towel, purple cap and goggles. “They’re old,” she said, referring to the goggles, “but they’ll be all right until we can buy you a new pair.”
“You’re really into this, aren’t you?” Actually, Courtney was impressed. She hadn’t known that people as old as her grandmother went swimming.
More surprises awaited her. The Olympic-length pool was in the high school. The adult lap swim session started at six and lasted until seven-thirty every morning. The lobby was filled with older people who all seemed to know each other.
Courtney walked in with her grandmother and, from the greetings she received, one would assume Vera had been gone for months. Her grandmother painstakingly introduced Courtney to her swimming buddies. A dozen names flew by so fast she had no hope of keeping track, but she did try. As much as possible, she attempted to blend into the wall. The sun might be up and shining but no reasonable person should be, in Courtney’s opinion.
“So how do you like living in Seattle?” one of her grandmother’s friends asked.
Courtney thought the woman’s name was Leta. “Oh, it’s great.” She forced some enthusiasm into her voice. Well, it might be if she met someone younger than eighty. This whole knitting thing was a major disappointment, too. First, she’d had no idea the class would be so small. There were only two other women and both were way older. One was around her grandmother’s age and a real biddy. She looked like she’d been sucking lemons half her life. The other woman was probably close to her mother’s age—if her mother had been alive.
A sick sensation hit Courtney in the pit of her stomach as she thought about her mother. It shouldn’t still hurt like this, but it did. Her brother and sister seemed to deal with the loss so much better than Courtney. No one wanted to talk about Mom anymore, and Courtney felt as if she was supposed to forget she’d ever had a mother. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t.
Julianna, her sister, hadn’t gained thirty-five pounds the way Courtney had. In fact, her sister had lost weight. Jason thought weight was a nonissue. The one and only time Courtney had talked to her brother about her problem, he’d shrugged it off. His advice was to lose the weight if it bothered her so much. He said it like it was easy. If getting weight off was that simple, she would’ve done it long ago.
“We have rules here at the pool,” Leta said, moving closer to Courtney. “No one’s ever written them down, but it helps if you follow them.”
“Okay.”
“You should know the middle shower is mine. I’ve used it for eighteen years and if you get out of the pool first, I’d appreciate if you’d leave that shower for me.”
“No problem.” Courtney made an effort to remember this.
“Wet your hair before you get in the water,” another of her grandmother’s friends advised, joining Leta. “Drench it real good, otherwise the chlorine will ruin your hair.”
“You’ve got a cap, don’t you?” someone else asked. “I hate swimming and having my hands come up full of someone’s hair.”
Yuck. What a disgusting concept. “Grandma gave me a cap.” She hadn’t planned to use it, but Courtney could see that she was likely to get booted out if she didn’t.
“How fast a swimmer are you?” Leta asked.
“Ah…”
“She should use the middle lane,” Courtney’s grandmother suggested. “Most of us swim in the first lane,” she explained to Courtney. “The third lane is for the fast swimmers. Start in the middle lane and see how it goes.”
“Okay.” Courtney was waking up now, and everything was beginning to make sense. Sort of. Don’t use the middle shower, but swim in the middle lane and wear a cap, but get her hair completely wet first. So far, so good.
Courtney just hoped all this exercise wouldn’t make her hungry.
When the doors opened, the group flowed into the pool area. The men turned right and made their way to one end, while the women went left toward their locker room.
Courtney followed her grandmother, Leta and the others. Vera already had her bag inside her locker when Courtney caught up to her. She took her time climbing out of her sweatpants, unwilling to have these older women view her chubby arms and legs. Her fear was that one of them—or even her own grandmother—would comment on the fact that her swimsuit was too tight.
She needn’t have worried. The women were intent on getting into the water and no one gave her any attention, for which Courtney was grateful. Nevertheless, she waited until the locker room had cleared out before she stripped down to her swimsuit.
Taking the advice she’d been given, she walked over to the shower area, turned on the faucet in the end shower and
stuck her head inside. She wrung out her soaking wet hair and stuffed it inside the purple cap, thankful she didn’t know a soul. Anyone from home who saw her now would be hysterical.
But this was no laughing matter to Courtney. When school started in six weeks, she wanted to walk into class looking good—and she didn’t care what she had to do to achieve that. If losing weight meant waking up before the birds, consorting with women five or six times her age and abiding by all the unwritten rules at the pool, then she’d do it.
Leaving the change room took courage and she made a dash from the doorway to the water, attempting to look as cool and nonchalant as possible. The shock of the pool’s temperature when Courtney stepped down from the ladder nearly made her gasp. It was cold. The sign might say 81 degrees, but she swore it was closer to 70.
Her grandmother and friends had already begun their routines. Observing them, Courtney realized they swam in circles inside each lane—down one side and back up the other. Several of the women were walking in the shallow end, chatting as they went, and Courtney scooted past them, keeping her arms raised and out of the cold water. When she came to the lane divider, she had no choice but to go under. Freezing! The water surrounding the Titanic couldn’t have been this cold.
Once she was positioned in the middle lane, Courtney braced her feet against the wall and pushed off. She was panting by the time she swam to the far side and grabbed hold of the pool’s edge until she caught her breath.
Her grandmother and friends had no such problem. They might be eighty years old, but not only did they swim the entire length of the pool, they didn’t pause before turning and going back. Not even to breathe.
Courtney went a total of ten laps, resting after each one. When she finished number ten, she stopped long enough to adjust her goggles, even though they were fine. It gave her an excuse to take an extra breather. She was now ready to start her eleventh lap and felt downright proud.
Her grandmother had explained that sixteen laps was half a mile. In that case, half a mile in the water was a hell of a lot further than on land. Doing a quick calculation, she decided she’d already swum three-quarters of half a mile. This was great!
A Good Yarn Page 8
