Debbie Macomber – Blossom Street (страница 99)
Courtney resisted the urge to squeeze her hand, knowing the other girl might reject her comfort. After a moment, she added, “Your father’s gone and your entire life’s been turned upside down. My life was too, Annie. It might not seem the same, but in some ways it was. I wouldn’t be living in Seattle if my mother hadn’t died, and my dad wouldn’t be in South America risking his life, either.”
“If my father could keep his pants zipped, my mother wouldn’t be out singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a bunch of brats and—” Annie began to sob, then jerkily moved her hand across her cheek. “I don’t want to talk about my dad, all right? I hate him and it doesn’t matter.”
“We can talk about anything,” Courtney told her.
Annie seemed to relax, as though she was relieved to change the subject. “The thing is, I actually think it’s cool what my mom’s doing. She always loved putting on parties, and she’s really enjoying this. And you know what? She’s making money. We’re getting a lot of phone calls, and Andrew and I help out whenever we can. I have a surprise for her. Want to see?”
“Sure,” Courtney said.
Annie leaped off the bed and sat down at her desk, turning on her computer. “Come and look,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Courtney stood behind Annie as she brought up a graphic arts display. It featured balloons in one corner and a brightly decorated cake in the center, under a banner that read PARTIES BY BETHANNE, Birthdays a Specialty. Below that was their phone number.
“What do you think?” she asked. “It’s for a business card.”
“It’s great!”
“I wasn’t sure about the balloons, but it needs something there, don’t you think?”
Courtney examined it again and disagreed. “Take them out,” she suggested.
With a click of her mouse, Annie deleted the balloons. She cocked her head to one side and nodded. “You’re right. It looks cleaner without the balloons. Besides, Mom said someone phoned and asked about an adult birthday party and I think balloons are more associated with kids, don’t you?”
Courtney nodded. “This whole party idea has taken off, hasn’t it?”
Annie smiled. “It’s been really wild around here. Andrew and I thought Mom should have her own business cards. I guess she’ll need a Web site next.” She returned her attention to the screen. “Anything else I should change?”
Courtney studied the graphic for another couple of minutes. “You might want to use a different font,” she suggested, “one of the less fancy ones. This one’s pretty but it’s kind of difficult to read. Try Comic Sans or Verdana. Or maybe Georgia.”
Annie made the changes, deciding on Comic Sans, and sat back to examine the effect. “Hey, I like that.”
So did Courtney. “This is really nice—you doing this for your mom, I mean.”
“She asked me to work at one of her parties this weekend,” she said, still focusing on the monitor.
“Are you going to?” Courtney didn’t mention that she’d volunteered, too.
“Yeah, I guess. She said you might be there.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“I’ll do it if you will,” Annie said and looked up, grinning.
A warm feeling touched Courtney. “Does this mean we’re friends?” she asked. It was an awkward question, but she needed to know.
Annie seemed to seriously consider it. After a moment she said, “I’d like that. And I know I already said this, but Andrew’s right—I do owe you. He says you saved my ass.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “So … thanks.”
“It’s okay.” Courtney dismissed her gratitude. “I did some pretty stupid stuff myself after Mom died. One day I started a fire behind the grocery store. I can’t even explain why I did it.” She lowered her head. No one knew about that, not even her sister. “I was hurting so bad. It was stupid, and if anyone ever found out, I’d probably still be in some detention center.”
“You didn’t go to a rave, though, did you?”
“No, but I was younger than you. Trust me—I got into my share of trouble.”
Annie’s responding smile was weak, and she bit her lip. “According to the therapist I saw, what happened to us is pretty common. I’m not alone. Families split up, fathers walk away, and the kids just have to cope. I’m not very good at that. And … and I thought my father loved me.”
“I’m sure he does.” Courtney felt confident of that, although she could tell it was hard for Annie to believe.
“Maybe,” Annie agreed reluctantly. “But he loves
“Can you print out that design?” Courtney asked, hoping to distract Annie. She pretended not to notice she was crying.
“Good idea.” Annie turned back to her computer, reached for the mouse and clicked on the printer icon. The printer started to hum, and they both stared at it as a sheet of paper slowly emerged.
Courtney picked it up and studied the design. “It looks fabulous.”
“You think so?” Annie asked. “I mean, I think it does, but it has to be perfect, you know? It has to look professional.”
“It does. Your mom’s going to flip when she sees it.”
Annie’s smile was bright with unshed tears. “Thanks, Court.”
Court—that was what her friends in Chicago used to call her. For the first time since she’d left home, she didn’t have that empty feeling in her stomach.
“Hey, what are you two up to?” Andrew asked, leaning against his sister’s door.
He looked really good. He must’ve just returned from football camp because he carried his gym bag, which was unzipped. His cleats were on top.
“I designed Mom some business cards,” Annie told him.
Courtney handed him the printout.
“Hey, this is good!”
“Don’t act so surprised,” his sister snapped.
His eyes met Courtney’s, and he grinned. “You two want to go out for pizza?”
“You buying?” Annie asked.
“Sure. I got paid this week.” He gestured at Courtney. “Can you come?”
“I’d like to.” One slice of pizza and a small salad would be fine. She’d enjoy her friends’ company and eat a reasonably healthy meal.
She was no longer trying to fill the hollowness inside.
25
CHAPTER
“Knitters just naturally create communities of friends and newfound friends at work, after work, or on the Internet, sharing their passion for knitting.”
—Mary Colucci, Executive Director, Warm Up America! Foundation
I’d been spending a lot of time outside the shop, talking to the loan managers at three local banks. I had to do
Margaret knew nothing about what I was doing. She made an effort to put on a brave front, the same way I did when it came to Brad. Matt still didn’t have a job in his field. He’d worked as an electrical engineer for Boeing, but I wasn’t really sure what he did. He’d recently found a job painting houses; I knew he hated it, but it brought in a paycheck, and with the little bit I paid Margaret they were managing to stay afloat. Except for their missed mortgage payments …
I signed the loan papers the first Monday in August. The summer was flying by, and I hadn’t accomplished any of what I’d hoped. Earlier in the spring, Brad had promised to build me additional shelves for the yarn. We’d spent a few very satisfying Sunday afternoons working everything out on paper, measuring and designing the cubicles so they’d fit properly. I’d looked forward to helping him build them; so had Cody.
I needed new shelves, but that would have to wait, along with an idea I wanted to borrow from another store. In almost every yarn shop, space is a major consideration. There are so many new yarns and hand-dyed wools available that displaying them could be difficult. The particular store I’d visited in the north end of King County suspended hanks of brightly colored hand-dyed wool from the ceiling. It was clever and effective, and I’d hoped to do the same thing in a small section of A Good Yarn. Brad had said he’d place the screws in the ceiling for me.
I was perfectly capable of doing that on my own, but I hadn’t done it. For some reason, I didn’t seem able to move forward. Every improvement Brad and I had discussed, I’d put off. I just didn’t have the heart for it.
Once I’d deposited the check in my account and had a cashier’s check made out to Margaret, I drove to my sister’s house. We’d talked briefly on Sunday and I’d casually asked her if she had any plans for today. Nothing much, she’d told me.
Margaret was outside watering her flower beds when I parked on the street. Absorbed in thought, she apparently didn’t hear or see me.
“Hey, big sister!” I called out in order to get her attention.
She started at the sound of my voice, and her hand jerked, sending a spray of water onto the sidewalk. “What are you doing sneaking up on me?” she snapped.