“Oh, Daddy,” Aurora said in a soft voice. Elise watched as her daughter lifted out a single teardrop-shaped black pearl on a long gold chain. “It’s beautiful…just beautiful.” Her voice caught, and looking up at her father with adoration, Aurora whispered, “I’ll treasure it always.”
This was better than any jewelry he’d ever given Elise. Not that it mattered. Seeing how generous he was now, she could tell that Maverick was on a winning streak. Easy come, easy go. And it went with surprising ease, as Elise remembered all too well.
Against her will, she found her gaze drawn to his. Neither spoke for the longest moment. She felt an odd sensation as they stared into each other’s eyes—as if the years had disappeared and they were young again. In his she read such regret that she stepped involuntarily toward him. So time had brought disappointments to him as well as her…. It wasn’t something she’d expected to see.
Maverick broke the silence first. “Hello, Elise,” he said quietly.
She inclined her head toward him, refusing to let him mesmerize her so soon after his arrival. “Marvin.”
He grimaced. “Maverick, please.”
“Maverick, then.” She knew he hated his given name although she’d never understood why. She’d married Marvin, loved Marvin, but he’d never been content to be that man. Instead, he’d sought out glamour and glitz and the instant gratification of a gambling win, and in the process destroyed their lives together.
“I would’ve brought you a gift, but I didn’t think you’d accept one from me.”
“I appreciate the thought, but you’re right. A gift wouldn’t have been appropriate.” That was true, although she couldn’t help wondering what he would have chosen for her.
“You look good,” he said as his gaze slid up and down her trim body.
Despite herself, Elise raised her hand to her hair, as if to check that it was still in place. His compliment flustered her, but she managed to regroup enough to say, “You too.”
“Grandpa, Grandpa, want to see where you’re going to sleep?” Luke asked, tugging at Maverick’s arm.
“I sure do,” he said, suddenly turning away from Elise. He lifted John into his arms as Luke raced ahead, and the three of them moved down the hallway.
“This is our room,” Luke said, opening the first door on the right.
“And that’s Grandma’s room.” John pointed to Elise’s, which was almost directly across from it.
“And that’s the bathroom for the boys.” Luke hurried over to the third doorway.
“Grandma has her own bathroom, and we’re not supposed to use it no matter how bad we have to go,” John explained. “Mom said.”
Maverick chuckled.
“Grandpa, Grandpa, you know that dangling thing in the back of your throat? Did you know if you pull on it you barf?”
“John Peter Tully, what a thing to say,” Elise chastised, but stopped when Maverick threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. Leave it to a man to find the topic of vomit amusing.
“You get to sleep on the bottom bunk, and Luke and me are gonna share the other one,” John explained and dove onto the mattress. “Mom changed the sheets.”
“That’s ’cause John still wets the bed.”
“Do not,” John screamed, leaping off the bed and swinging wildly at his older brother.
Elise started to move into the room to break up the fight, but Maverick quickly took control, pulling the boys apart. He immediately got them involved in showing him the rest of the house. Seeing that she wasn’t needed, Elise retreated to the security of her own bedroom.
Forty-five minutes later, she sat with her feet up, watching television and knitting. Her mind wasn’t on the news, but on her family; she felt irritated that she’d allowed Maverick to isolate her from those she loved most.
Someone knocked politely at her door and Aurora stuck her head inside. “I hoped you’d join us for dinner,” she said with a pleading look. “David made a point of being home early tonight, and it would mean a great deal to me.”
Elise would rather avoid this “welcome” dinner, but there was little she could refuse her daughter, who’d been so wonderful to her throughout this legal mess. “All right.”
“Thank you.” Gratitude glistened in Aurora’s eyes.
To the best of Elise’s memory, this was the first time Aurora had shared a meal with both parents at the same table. That was a sad commentary and, for her daughter’s sake, Elise wished her marriage had ended differently. She didn’t consider herself an emotional woman, but she found Aurora’s happiness at something so simple poignant enough to bring her to tears.
When Elise finally entered the dining room, David had arrived home from the office and was pouring wine for the adults. Elise had a good relationship with David; as far as she was concerned, he was a model husband. She would be forever grateful that Aurora, unlike her, had had the sense to marry a decent, reliable man who actually worked at a real job.
Aurora was still bustling about the kitchen and Elise joined her. While David and Maverick chatted, drinking their wine, the women carried the salad, sliced roast, mashed potatoes and gravy to the table.
“It’s a feast,” Luke announced grandly.
“Just like Thanksgiving, except without the turkey,” redheaded John added, dragging his chair closer to the table. “I get to sit next to Grandpa.”
“Me too,” Luke insisted, and it seemed the boys were on the verge of breaking into another fight. Once more Maverick smoothly ended the conflict by promising to sit between them.
Despite Elise’s worries, dinner was a pleasant affair. Maverick entertained them with tales of his travels. He’d been all over the world, from Alaska to Argentina, from Paris to Polynesia, touring the places Elise had only read about in books. One day she’d see them, too, she told herself, but the likelihood of that dimmed with every message from her attorney.
Before dessert was served, Elise arranged the dishes in the dishwasher and made the coffee. As soon as she could, she’d return to her room and her knitting. Knowing Aurora would want to spend time with her father and husband, she carried the coffeepot to the living room, where the others lingered.
“Come on, boys,” she said to her grandsons. “I’ll help you get ready for bed.”
This elicited the usual whines and groans.
Elise had expected that. “I’ll read you another chapter from The Hobbit.”
The whines dwindled somewhat.
“Let me read to them, Elise,” Maverick offered.
Elise was perfectly happy to let him assume the task but felt she should warn him. Once she started reading, it was difficult to stop. The boys wanted to hear more and more. They always bombarded her with “Another chapter, Grandma,” or “Please, just to the end of the page.” They begged and pleaded, and she could never say no. It was sometimes a full hour before she turned off the lights. Still, she took satisfaction in knowing that her grandsons had learned to associate reading with pleasure and hoped that books would remain as important to them as they’d always been to her.
“Elise?” Maverick asked again.
“By all means.” She left the small party and hurried to her room. With one ear on the television and the other focused on the room across the hall, she waited for the sure-to-follow battle, grinning wickedly to herself. Maverick was learning a valuable lesson about being a grandparent.
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 el
se 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.
A Good Yarn Page 10
