Debbie Macomber – Blossom Street (страница 79)
“How’s it different?” I challenged.
“It’s not me, it’s Matt.”
“He told Brad. Your husband felt comfortable enough letting Brad know, but my own sister didn’t tell me.” I felt a sense of betrayal, even more so now that Margaret’s attitude was out in the open. She hadn’t shown the least bit of remorse, although I’d hoped she would admit how much she’d wanted to talk to me. Apparently that had never been the case.
“Who Matt tells is his business.” Margaret’s eyes were focused on her project, a poncho for Julia. Her hand flew as she worked, her concentration fierce.
“Exactly.” I tugged viciously on the ball of yarn, yanking it out of the wicker basket. It went tumbling to the floor.
Margaret scooped up the pretty blue yarn and placed it in my basket, and as she did I noticed that her hands were shaking. I resisted the urge to touch her, to let her know I cared and that I wanted to help if I could. I would’ve done it but I feared her rejection, feared she’d turn away from me again, and I couldn’t have borne that.
“Finding out about Matt’s job explains a lot,” I said, continuing to knit although I knew I’d have to unravel every stitch. I slowed down as I gathered my thoughts. I’d given up paying attention to the pattern and was working the design by memory. Knitting right now wasn’t a good idea because I was bound to make errors, but I needed something to occupy my hands.
“What do you mean, explains a lot?” Margaret echoed, her tone hostile.
“Your attitude at work, with me and with other people.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I wasn’t choosing my words as carefully as I should, but I went on, anyway. “You’ve been prickly and abrupt with the customers.”
“If you don’t want me working here, all you have to do is say so,” Margaret snapped.
“Why does it have to be like this with us?” I pleaded. “I’m your
“You’re my employer.”
“I’m both, but I’ve never felt it was necessary to draw any lines.” Apparently she did. “I asked you recently if everything was all right and you assured me it was.”
“Like I said, my life is none of your business.”
I blinked back tears. “If that’s how you feel, then fine.”
“Whatever!”
I’d heard my two nieces respond in just that way countless times and always been amused, but I wasn’t now. Stuffing the half-knit sweater back into the wicker basket, I bolted to my feet. “I’m your sister,” I said again. “Isn’t it time you started treating me like one?”
To my absolute horror, Margaret covered her face and burst into tears. I watched her, aghast, hardly knowing what to say.
“Margaret?” I whispered. “What is it?”
My sister whirled away and rushed to the back room.
Despite the two customers who’d just come in, I followed her. Thankfully they didn’t need yarn or attention just then, because I would’ve abandoned them. Margaret was my first priority. Once again risking her rejection, I placed my arm around her. To my surprise, she turned to me and rested her head on my shoulder.
“I wanted to tell you,” she sobbed.
“Why didn’t you?” I didn’t understand it. I was afraid I’d failed her in some way, but had no idea how.
“I … couldn’t.”
“Yes, you could.”
“Matt is feeling wretched…. He always believed he’d retire from Boeing. He’s been with the company all these years.”
“I know,” I said soothingly. “I’m so sorry.”
Margaret straightened and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I was afraid you’d give me that Mary Sunshine routine of yours, and I just couldn’t deal with it.”
“The what routine?”
“You know—your ‘everything will be better in the morning’ speech.”
I stared at her blankly.
“All you need to do is think happy thoughts, and all your problems will go away,” she went on in an insulting saccharine voice.
Sometimes the truth is painful to hear and this was one of those times. Had Margaret come to me a few weeks earlier that
“What can I do to help you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing. All I really want you to do is be my sister. I don’t want advice. I don’t want you to worry.” She tried to smile. “I’m doing enough of that for everyone.”
“There must be some way I can help,” I insisted. I was beginning to think I’d already failed on all counts, but I was determined to try.
Margaret’s teary eyes met mine. “You could listen.”
I nodded and we hugged. “Why don’t Brad and I join you on the fourth,” I suggested. “We’ll have a barbecue together.”
Margaret managed a quavery smile. “As you might’ve noticed, I’m not much fun to be around lately.”
“We’ll make the best of it. We’re family.”
Fresh tears filled her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I hugged her again, grateful we’d talked, and sorry I’d delayed it so long.
11
CHAPTER
Elise was as ready to see Marvin “Maverick” Beaumont as she could be. He was due to arrive that afternoon. Her daughter had been fussing with the house for days, cooking and cleaning as if she were expecting royalty. All this special attention irritated Elise no end. At any other time and for anyone else, Elise would’ve been just as involved, elbow-deep in the preparations. To be fair, she’d helped some, mostly by keeping the boys entertained so Aurora could do her straightening, vacuuming and polishing.
“Mom,” Aurora cried in a panic, rushing into the spotless living room where Elise was reading to her grandsons. “Where did you put the vanilla?”
Sighing, Elise set aside
“It isn’t there!” More panic.
“Aurora,” Elise said with infinite patience as she made her way into the kitchen. “It’s exactly where I said it was. Look again.” To prove her point, she opened the cupboard, extracted the small bottle of vanilla and handed it to her daughter. “What are you baking?”
“Carrot cake—it’s Dad’s favorite.”
Elise had baked it for Maverick years ago and passed the recipe on to Aurora. As a matter of course, she no longer baked or ate carrot cake because—well, because of the memories. He’d always been so grateful, so loving afterward. Those were the times she most yearned to forget. Over the years, she’d clung to the disappointments and the worry because that made it easier to justify the divorce. But Elise had loved that man, loved him until she was sure she’d lose her mind if she stayed married to him.
“Thanks, Mom,” Aurora said, and held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. Sighing, she added, “I know this is difficult for you.”
“Don’t worry,” Elise said. “I’ll stay out of your father’s way as much as possible. All I ask is that you not try to drag me into this reunion.” The next few weeks would be uncomfortable, but she suspected he’d be just as eager to avoid her.
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Thank you.” With that Elise returned to the living room where Luke and John were wrestling on the newly vacuumed carpet. They’d already knocked over a stack of magazines, which she quickly righted. “Boys, boys,” she cried, clapping her hands. “Settle down.” Her grandsons reluctantly obeyed. John climbed into her lap and settled in the crook of her arm as she reached for the book. At six he wouldn’t do this much longer, and she treasured these special moments.
Predictably, Maverick arrived an hour late with all the fanfare of Hannibal crossing the Alps. Voice booming “Hello,” he came through the front door pulling his suitcase, arms laden with gifts. Luke and John were instantly at his side screeching and leaping up and down, seeking his attention and, of course, the gifts.
It’d been … twenty years since Elise had last seen him. He’d planned to attend Aurora and David’s wedding, but his flight was cancelled because of a winter storm. Elise had always wondered if it was the blizzard or a poker game that had changed his plans. Both Luke and John were born in the middle of important poker tournaments; he’d sent huge floral arrangements at their births, as if that would make up for his absence.
Elise had intended to retreat to her room when he arrived, but she found herself rooted to the spot, unable to look away. Maverick’s red hair was shockingly white now. He had a well-trimmed beard, also white. He’d maintained every inch of his six-foot frame and seemed to be in good health. Elise faltered, resisting the magnetic pull she’d always experienced whenever he was close. She’d learned in the most painful manner that Maverick was not to be trusted, least of all with her heart. Yes, she’d loved this man, perhaps still loved him, but he was wrong for her. That was an undeniable, irrevocable fact, one she didn’t dare ignore.
The next minute, Maverick was hugging both boys and Aurora. He made a production of doling out his gifts, as if it were Christmas morning and he was Santa. The boys dropped to the floor and tore into their packages, while Aurora carried her smaller box into the living room. She sat sideways in the recliner and opened the lid. Elise admitted to being curious, so she lingered in the hallway.