While I tallied the figures again, a sense of doom came over me. I had loan payments now, and they made a significant dent in my income. I’d wanted to repay the bank as quickly as possible, so I’d asked for an eighteen-month payment schedule. I could always go back to request an extension, but it wouldn’t look good if I had to do that after only the second payment. Although nothing was said, I had the impression this shortened loan period was one of the reasons the bank had agreed to give me the money.
I sat at my desk, feeling sick to my stomach. The summer months are usually slower, but my sales had doubled from the previous year. Now, not only did they seem to be slipping, I had a huge financial obligation to worry about. There were cost-saving options, such as decreasing orders, but I didn’t want to do this. Part of my success, I believed, was that I carried a wide range of yarns from the inexpensive to the more exclusive.
I was so preoccupied with these worries that I didn’t hear the knock at the shop door until the pounding grew louder. Leaping out of my chair, I hurried into the main part of the store; normally I’d simply explain that we were closed, but right now I didn’t feel I could turn down a single sale.
However, it wasn’t a customer. Brad stood at the door with his hands cupped around his face, peering inside. As soon as he saw he’d gotten my attention, he backed away from the glass.
The last time we’d talked had been almost a month ago. I’d had brief conversations with Cody but they seemed as painful for him as they were for me. When I’d talked to Cody at the end of August, his mother must have been standing close by, because he sounded tentative and cautious, almost as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He hadn’t called me since.
Unlocking the door, I sighed. I didn’t have the physical energy or emotional resources to talk to Brad, so I decided not to allow him inside. Instead, I stood in the opening and waited.
“Hi,” I said, hoping I’d found the right tone to convey my feelings.
“Hi,” Brad said, hands in his uniform pockets. “Hadn’t seen you at the store in a while.”
I could’ve stated the obvious and told him I hadn’t been at the shop more than an hour or so each day, but that seemed unnecessary. I didn’t respond.
“Margaret said you found a place for your mom?”
He made it a question. I answered as if it was. “We’re planning to move her next week.” If I could finish all the paperwork, arrange for all the necessary medical records, finalize the sale of Mom’s house and complete my dealings with her lawyer and her bank.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m okay.” I didn’t want Brad’s sympathy; his concern would be my undoing. I was tempted to ask about Janice, but didn’t. If they were getting along well, I didn’t want to hear it. At the same time, I didn’t want to know if their reconciliation wasn’t working out. Just then, at the end of a long day in an emotionally crowded week, I couldn’t deal with another crisis. “How’s Cody?” It hurt my heart to ask because I missed him so much—missed our talks, missed hearing about his dog and the tricks he’d taught Chase. Difficult though our conversations often were, I needed them. I loved that child.
“He’s doing great,” he said quickly, which I suppose was Brad’s way of informing me that his happy little family was flourishing.
“Give him my love, would you?”
“Of course. I’ve been worried about you,” he added as he stared down at the sidewalk.
“Worried about me?” I asked, forcing surprise into my voice. “Whatever for?”
He looked up, wearing a crooked half smile. “I know you, Lydia. When you’re under stress, it shows.”
“How would you know? You haven’t seen me in weeks.”
“I have seen you—I just haven’t made a point of seeking you out. You’re tired and—”
“Yes,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t need Brad Goetz to tell me what I already knew.
“Let me take you out for a drink,” he suggested.
I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
“I know you’re dating someone else now, but this is just as friends.”
Actually, I could hardly believe Margaret hadn’t enlightened Brad, hadn’t told him I’d lied about meeting someone new. I’d done that out of pride, and I regretted it.
“Why not?”
“I have one hard and fast rule when it comes to men,” I said, smiling as I spoke. “I avoid the married ones.”
“Janice and I are divorced.”
“Are you or are you not reconciling?” I snapped. Damn it, he couldn’t have it both ways.
He didn’t answer at first, then muttered, “Janice and I are talking.”
“In that case, having a drink with me would be inappropriate. I appreciate the offer, Brad, but…I don’t think so.”
Brad said goodbye rather abruptly and left. I stood in the doorway, my arms crossed, and watched him walk away, feeling empty and alone. I closed and locked the door again, then returned slowly to my office.
When someone tapped on the door ten minutes later, I half suspected Brad had come back. I turned and retraced my steps to peer through the glass.
It wasn’t Brad. Instead, Alix Townsend stood on the other side. She held a plate of chocolate éclairs, which guaranteed I’d open the door.
“Hi,” she greeted me cheerfully as I let her in.
I’d dropped in at the charity knitting session that afternoon and she hadn’t been there, so I’d guessed she was working at the café. Her classes were usually in the morning.
“I saw you and Brad talking just now. You don’t have to tell me what happened unless you want to—but I thought these might help.”
I hid a smile. Brad might have succeeded in getting past my threshold if he’d brought chocolate.
“I don’t have any worries a chocolate éclair won’t cure,” I said, leading the way to the office. “I’ve got coffee on, if you’re interested.”
“I’d love a cup.” Alix followed me into my tiny office, where she settled on a corner of my desk, moving papers aside and making herself at home. I didn’t mind. That was Alix—why sit on a chair if there was a desk? Why walk if you could run? I loved her exuberance, her loyalty and her frequently unconventional behavior.
I poured her a mug and felt slightly guilty because it looked so dark. I hoped it wasn’t bitter.
“So Brad came to see you,” she said, unable to hide her curiosity, after all.
In retrospect, my attitude toward him seemed coldhearted. Unkind. Part of me wanted to call him back, to begin the conversation all over again. I wouldn’t, though. Leaving things as they were was for the best. “Lydia?” Alix asked. She reached out to touch me.
I nodded. “Yes, he did.”
“Anything happening?” Although she’d brought the éclairs for me, Alix scooped one off the plate and took a bite. When the custard filling oozed out from the sides, she grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk.
“Nothing really. How about with you and Jordan?”
Alix raised her eyebrows. “You’re changing the subject.” She picked up the plate and offered me an éclair.
I didn’t need a second invitation. “I know. I don’t want to talk about Brad, that’s all.”
“He doesn’t want to talk about you, either,” Alix informed me. “He makes a delivery to the café every now and then, and he’s his old chatty self until I mention your name. Then he shuts up tighter than a coffin.”
I didn’t like the image. “We both have our reasons.”
“So it seems.” She hopped down from the desk. “Gotta go. Jordan and I are seeing a movie with the youth group tonight. I just thought I’d come over and say hello.”
“I’m glad you did,” I said. I walked her to the door, unlocking it and letting her out. As soon as she was gone, I relocked the door, found Whiskers waiting for me and headed up the stairs to my apartment—first remembering to turn off the lights and retrieve Alix’s plate. I could’ve been ha
ving a drink with Brad, I mused nostalgically, but for emotional protection, I’d decided on my own company. I’d spend the night with my television, my cat and my éclairs.
Whiskers meowed as though to remind me I wasn’t alone. He was absolutely right.
CHAPTER 36
BETHANNE HAMLIN
Bethanne had three parties scheduled that week and she’d carefully gone over the budget for each. Finances would be tight until her alimony check arrived and she received full payment for the parties. Paying for all her supplies out of her dwindling checking account meant she’d have very little cash until the weekend, which meant, in turn, that she’d have to delay buying groceries. She didn’t dare use her VISA to buy party stuff; she’d reached her credit limit. Still, she could manage until she deposited the various checks. The problem was, she found herself writing checks and hoping they wouldn’t clear for a few days. It was a complicated balancing act, since her expenses still exceeded her income.
Unfortunately, Annie and Andrew constantly needed money for one thing or another. Their school expenses were legitimate and she couldn’t defer them. These amounts, plus household bills and business costs—a balancing act, indeed.
The phone rang, and although she hoped it was another party booking, Caller ID showed that it was her bank. She grabbed the receiver, praying that somehow the loan officer had recognized the error of his ways and was calling to offer her a loan.
A few years ago, Grant had taken her to Vegas and they’d brought travelers’ checks that equaled more than what she wanted to borrow now. Vegas? The trip was a complete surprise and Bethanne had been so pleased and excited. In light of what she’d learned since, she suspected Grant had arranged it out of guilt.
“Hello,” she answered in her most cheerful voice. “This is Bethanne.”
Her smile quickly died as the bank manager explained that a check she’d written to the local service station had bounced. In the past, the bank had provided overdraft protection, for a fee, to cover small amounts, but wouldn’t any longer. In addition, the service station charged a seventy-five-dollar fee for bounced checks.
“Seventy-five dollars,” she cried, outraged at the unnecessary expense. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I assure you I’m not.”
“How…much is this going to cost me?” A tank of gas was normally about twenty-five dollars; now there were bank fees, penalties and the seventy-five bucks the service station had heaped on.
The total was staggering. “How much?” she cried.
“When would it be convenient for you to make a deposit?” the bank manager asked.
“I—I—” She didn’t have it; she simply didn’t have it. The only thing left to do was take a ring or two down to the pawnshop and see what she could get. “I’ll bring some money this afternoon,” she said meekly, feeling chastised.
The manager wasn’t an ogre—he was only doing his job—but Bethanne was in a panic. She rushed upstairs to her jewelry box and sorted through what she had, which wasn’t much.
Why, oh why, hadn’t Grant given her a diamond bracelet instead of that stupid trip to Vegas? A bracelet she could cash in, but the trip had been a waste. Grant lost all the money they’d taken with them. That hadn’t stopped him from returning, she noted bitterly. He’d married Tiffany in Vegas. Bethanne found herself hoping he’d lost big—in more ways than one.
This negative thinking wasn’t good for her, but she felt desperate. Other than pawning her jewelry, she had very few options. Annie and Andrew had bank accounts and could probably lend her what she needed. She supposed that was better than asking Grant. But…she couldn’t do either of those things. The bank could repossess the house before she’d approach her ex-husband for another dime. Asking family, especially her kids, or her friends was out of the question. She had her pride—and, apparently, very little else.
After much deliberation, Bethanne chose her wedding band—it wasn’t doing her any good in a jewelry box—and a small sapphire ring, plus a pair of gold earrings. Surely that would give her enough to at least cover the check, the fees and the penalties.
She was sickened by how little money she got for all three, but it was enough to pay the necessary minimum at the bank. This had been a valuable lesson. She couldn’t write checks for money she didn’t have, no matter how soon she’d have it.
As she walked out of the bank, she nearly collided with her ex-husband in the parking lot. Her face instantly went beet-red, as though Grant could read on her forehead the reason for her visit.
“Bethanne,” Grant said, taking her by the shoulders in order to steady her.
“Grant.” She wasn’t sure how to respond. “Hi…I was just—” She closed her mouth, refusing to embarrass herself. This wasn’t his concern.
“You’re looking good,” he said, stepping back to admire her.
The new hairstyle had been an extravagance she regretted. Annie and Courtney had talked her into it. The stylist had done wonders with her hair and suggested she color it. When Bethanne explained she couldn’t possibly afford that, the two girls had insisted they could do it.
They’d selected one of the more expensive brands—another ten bucks—in a deep brunette with auburn overtones. Considering that she’d put herself in the hands of teenagers, it’d turned out surprisingly well.
“Thanks,” Bethanne said casually.
“What are you doing here?” Grant asked.
As if that was any of his business. “Making a deposit. What about you?” He didn’t need to know the details, but at least she’d told him the truth.
“A withdrawal,” he said, and he didn’t sound too happy about it. “Switching money from savings to checking.”
“For little ol’ me?” she asked in her most saccharine drawl.
“Actually, no,” he said, frowning.
“Could it be that your new wife is straining your finances?” she asked, not hiding the gleam in her eyes.
Grant snickered. “You don’t know the half of it.”
He didn’t sound like he was joking, which should’ve pleased her, but Bethanne was bothered by the dark circles under his eyes. “Is everything okay with you, Grant?” she asked. His well-being no longer had anything to do with her, and yet she couldn’t prevent the automatic rush of concern.
“Would it make you happy if I said it wasn’t?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “As a matter of fact, I’m blissfully happy.”
Bethanne hadn’t realized what a poor liar he was and wondered why she hadn’t seen through him during the years he’d been having that affair. She supposed it was because she hadn’t wanted to know. “I’m sorry, Grant,” she said. She was sincere.
He shrugged in an offhand way.
It was ironic, really, that they’d have their first decent conversation in a parking lot months after their divorce.
“So how’s the relationship with the Boy Toy?” he asked. “Or is it the Toy Boy?”
“Do you mean Paul?” she said sharply. So much for decent. “It doesn’t bother us that I’m older, anymore than it bothers you that Tiffany’s fifteen years younger,” she said. “Besides, I can see anyone I choose. You didn’t want to be married to me, and Tiffany didn’t want to be with Paul. He and I have a lot in common.”
“You got the new hairstyle for him, didn’t you? Are you trying to look younger?”
“Not really.”
“Oh.”
“I’d better get back to the house,” she said, eager to leave. She thought of mentioning the Homecoming Dance at the end of the month but decided against it. Grant would learn soon enough that their son had been voted part of the Homecoming Court.
Grant nodded, hands in his pants pockets. “It was good to see you, Bethanne.” He offered her a slight smile. “I do mean that.”
“Thanks. It was good seeing you, too.”
Bethanne started toward her car, but stopped to look back. Grant was still standing in the same spot, staring after her.
/> She almost gave him a friendly wave. She didn’t wish her ex-husband ill. Okay, sometimes she did, but she’d also made real progress toward forgiveness this summer.
She hated being alone, but in reality nothing had changed. Grant might’ve been living at the house two years ago and sharing her bed, but he’d been emotionally involved with another woman. And that meant he hadn’t been fully committed to his family—as he’d proven since.
Yes, her financial situation was uncomfortable, but she was a fast learner. Yes, she was bound to make mistakes, but she had a new life and a good friend in Paul. She was close to her children.
The odd man out was Grant, who seemed to have some regrets. He’d hinted at it, then claimed, rather unconvincingly, that he was happy. She doubted he’d tell her the truth.
CHAPTER 37
COURTNEY PULANSKI
Courtney hadn’t heard from her father in a week. She was growing frightened; that just wasn’t like him. He might go a day or two without e-mailing her, but never a week. While Ralph Pulanski, Jr. had been silent, the e-mails had flown between Courtney, her sister and their older brother. They were as worried as she was. The three of them clung to each other.
Courtney hid her fears from her grandmother as much as she could. Grams was doing a lot of knitting these days—to comfort herself, Courtney figured. Mostly she and Grams said reassuring things to each other, like “I’m sure he’s fine,” and “Maybe his computer broke down.”
Jason had tried to reach their father through the construction company that employed him, but he’d learned nothing concrete. According to the executive Jason had talked to, the area was known to be secure and there was no reason for alarm. The company would try to get in touch with him; that was as much as they’d promise at this point.
Julianna, who was back at school and on a tight budget, broke down and phoned Courtney. They talked for twenty minutes.
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