Debbie Macomber – Blossom Street (страница 84)
Andrew leaned over and opened the passenger door for her. “Hi,” he said, again without a lot of enthusiasm.
“Hi! Thanks for including me.”
Courtney was already in the front seat before she realized someone else was in the car. “Hi,” she said, twisting around as she grabbed the seat belt.
“That’s Annie, my sister. She’ll be a junior this year. Annie, Courtney.”
Courtney’s automatic smile faded as she recognized Andrew’s sister. Annie was the girl from the swim team who’d been staring at Courtney and whispering with her friend. All she could do was hope that Annie didn’t recognize her with her clothes on. Apparently she didn’t, because she made no reference to that day at the pool.
“Andrew and Mom forced me into going to this game with him,” the girl muttered.
That was in case Courtney assumed Annie had joined them for the fun of it, she suspected.
“How long have you been in Seattle?” Andrew asked after casting his sister a hard look.
“A couple of weeks. I’m living with my grandmother.” Courtney talked about her dad’s work situation for a few minutes, and the importance of this Brazilian bridge. She said her brother was in graduate school and her sister in college and working in Alaska for the summer. She told them that she’d hated to leave Chicago and her friends. She was sure she’d given them more information than they wanted, but it was just so good to be with her own kind.
“Are your parents divorced?” Annie asked from the backseat.
Courtney went still. “My mom died in a car accident four years ago.”
“Bummer,” Andrew said sympathetically.
“Yeah.” All of a sudden, she didn’t have anything more to say and Andrew and Annie didn’t, either. The silence in the car seemed to vibrate.
“I wish Dad had died.” Annie spoke in a low voice.
“Don’t say that,” Andrew barked.
“I mean it!” Her anger was explosive.
“Our parents were recently divorced, but I suppose Mom mentioned that,” Andrew said by way of explanation.
“Just in the first class.” The other thing Courtney knew was that Bethanne needed to find a job.
“Our father’s a jerk!” Annie said in a near-shout.
“My sister didn’t take it well,” Andrew added under his breath.
“I can hear you,” Annie snorted from the backseat.
They parked on a side street and climbed out of the car. Annie stared at her and Courtney held her breath, praying the other girl had forgetten where she’d seen her. No such luck.
“I know you,” Annie said, eyeing her.
Courtney’s heart fell. “Maybe you saw me when your mother came to knitting class,” she suggested hopefully, but a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach refused to go away.
“I know,” Annie said triumphantly. “You were at the swimming pool, weren’t you? The early-morning session with all the old ladies.” Then she leaned close and said in a loud stage whisper, “You don’t need to worry about running into me again. I quit the team last week. Mom doesn’t know yet and Andrew won’t tell her because we have a deal.”
Andrew’s gaze narrowed on his sister.
“He wanted to be sure I came along when he took you to the game,” Annie gleefully reported. “He was afraid his girlfriend would find out.”
“Shut up, would you,” Andrew snapped at Annie. He threw Courtney an apologetic glance.
“It’s not a problem,” she assured him, and it wasn’t.
14
CHAPTER
“There’s magic in pulling loops through loops, whether between the limbs of a knitted tree house, or shaped to fit the geography of a foot.”
—Cat Bordhi, author of
I could hardly wait for Brad to make his neighborhood deliveries and come to the store. I’ve read my share of romance novels, so I can say with authority that if ever there was a romantic hero, it’s Brad. Because I’ve lived with cancer from the time I was sixteen, I’ve been absorbed by threats and fears. But despite my terrible scare last year, my life had never been better and for someone like me that’s a little frightening—as though feeling confident and happy is testing fate, somehow.
I think I mentioned that Dr. Wilson found something on a routine checkup and I was convinced the cancer was back. My attitude was fatalistic. It was during this time that I broke up with Brad. Without giving him a reason, I shoved him out of my life with the flimsiest of excuses. He didn’t walk away easily. I loved how he fought for me, how he stood by me until I made it too painful for him to stay. Then, naturally, I learned I was fine, but at that point, I couldn’t blame Brad for not wanting anything more to do with me. Thankfully he was willing to listen when I came to my senses. Once again, I had Margaret to thank; without her encouragement I don’t know what would’ve happened. That was all in the past now, and I felt so grateful to have Brad in my life.
On the phone the night before, he and I had talked about our Fourth of July plans. He wanted to wait until he saw me before we confirmed the barbecue at Margaret and Matt’s. I always get as excited as a kid about this holiday. Mostly I was looking forward to being with Brad and Cody—and away from work, because I could use the break.
The shop had been so busy lately, which was good but physically draining. I was on my feet a solid eight hours every day. Margaret did as much as she could, but she was preoccupied with the situation at home and hadn’t been as much help. She tried, though, and I was doing my best to be supportive and understanding.
My Friday knitting sessions were consistently productive; Jacqueline, in particular, came every week and spent hours knitting squares for Warm Up America. Granted, she had the most free time, since Alix was working and Carol was staying home with little Cameron. Still, Jacqueline’s generosity with her time and money impressed me.
Then there was my sock class. The women were an interesting mix and I was getting to know them. They were loosening up a bit, and that was a good sign. I love the way knitting brings people together. As diverse as these women seemed to be, in personality, in background and in age, they were beginning to enjoy each other’s company. The class got off to a difficult start because Elise was so short-tempered that first day, but her apology went a long way toward smoothing things over and I was grateful. The tone of the class was set by Elise, I noticed. She’s a natural leader, and while I wish I could’ve been the one dictating mood, I wasn’t.
Just after ten, I saw Brad’s truck in front of the shop. I waited for him to stroll through the door and address me as “Beautiful.” It’s part one of our private ritual—which then moves into my office for part two, a little kissing and caressing. I preferred to do that away from Margaret’s interested eye.
Not that it mattered. She was late—again. It had become almost normal for her to show up thirty minutes after I opened for the day. I didn’t want to nag her but I found it irritating that she’d grown so slack about her responsibilities. Eventually I’d need to speak to her about it, but now wasn’t the time.
The bell over the door chimed and I relaxed. Everything was better when I could spend a few minutes alone with Brad.
“Hi,” he said, wheeling the boxes of new yarn toward me.
“Hey, what happened to ‘Morning, Beautiful’?” I teased. “Did I sprout big ears overnight or something?”
“Or something,” he murmured.
“Brad? Is everything all right?” He wasn’t his usual cheerful self, and that had me worried. I could see everything wasn’t all right; I didn’t really need to ask. The way he refused to look at me was answer enough.
“Everything’s fine—I think.” But he hesitated.
“Is it Cody?” I asked, immediately concerned.
“No, no, Cody’s fine.”
I love Brad’s son. Every now and then, Cody would slip and call me Mom, and I loved the sound of it. If things went as I hoped, I’d soon be his stepmother.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” I insisted.
“It’d be best if we talked later,” he said.
“About what?” I wasn’t going to let him walk out the door without explaining.
Brad heaved a sigh and seemed to wish he was anyplace in the world but my yarn store. We’d been involved with each other for a year, and in all that time I’d never seen him like this.
“Forget this later business. Just tell me,” I said again.
“I can’t be with you on the Fourth,” he blurted out.
My disappointment was sharp, but I tried to hide it. “Oh. Any particular reason?”
He seemed to pretend he hadn’t heard me and unloaded the dolly, stacking the boxes next to the cash register. Out of habit I signed my name on his automated clipboard.
“Brad,” I said urgently. “Whatever it is can’t be
He straightened, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more serious or less sure of himself. “You’d better sit down.”
“No.” I adamantly refused. “I’ll stand. Just say what you have to say.” I could feel a numbing sensation starting in my feet and working its way up my ankles and calves. I think it was then that I knew. I could almost predict what was coming. I’ve had this kind of conversation twice before; both times, the men who’d claimed to love me decided it was over. Back then, I didn’t blame either of them. Loving me was a bad bet, since my prognosis wasn’t all that good. Twice, I’d faced the possibility of death, and I couldn’t expect them to face it with me. But now …