Читать книгу Blossom Street - Debbie Macomber - Страница 70

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 else 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.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Paul said.

“Sure. I mean, that would be fine,” she said awkwardly.

Her answer was met with silence.

“Do you mean now?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “How about later this afternoon? After five?”

“Okay.” Her social calendar was empty. This had been a shock to Bethanne. Her friends had rallied around her and supported her through the divorce, but they no longer invited her to socialize with them. Most events in their circle were geared to couples, and as a newly single woman—an unwillingly single woman—she’d become an outcast. Besides, she suspected Tiffany had taken her place at some of those dinners and parties. Just when she most needed her friends, they’d disappeared.

“Would you be willing to have dinner with me? My treat.” He sounded hesitant, as if he expected her to decline.

“That would be nice,” she said impulsively. “Where would you like to meet?”

“Anthony’s, say around six. I’ll make the reservation.”

The waterfront restaurant wasn’t far from Pike Place Market and was well known in the area as one of the top seafood places.

Bethanne thanked him and ended the call, both puzzled and pleased. This wasn’t a date, but it was as close to one as she’d come in the last twenty-two years.

“Who was that?” Annie asked when Bethanne replaced the receiver.

For some reason, Bethanne was reluctant to explain. “An old friend,” she finally said.

“He wants to take you out?” Annie asked, as if this were beyond imagining.

“Do you think I shouldn’t go?” Bethanne instantly assumed she’d made a mistake in agreeing to meet Paul.

Annie shrugged. “I don’t know. Why ask me? Who’s the adult here, anyway?”

“You’re right,” Bethanne said. “I’m the adult and I’m meeting … an old friend.”

When it was time to leave, both Annie and Andrew were gone for the evening, so Bethanne propped a note for them on the kitchen counter, the way they did for her.

She had to find parking downtown, because she couldn’t afford the lot prices. Fortunately, she located a place three short blocks from the restaurant. When she walked toward Anthony’s, Paul Ormond was already there, standing outside waiting. He waved at her as she approached.

Paul was around thirty-five, she guessed, with dark hair and eyes, a pleasant face and a bit of a paunch. If she remembered correctly, he worked in the downtown area for an international shipping firm. He wore a suit and tie. Bethanne was surprised that the lovely Tiffany would have married such an ordinary-looking man. The impression she had of “Tiff” was of a status-conscious woman, to whom a husband’s appearance would be almost as important as her own.

“Thank you for coming,” Paul said as he opened the door to the restaurant. When he stepped forward and announced his name to the hostess, they were immediately seated.

They both ordered a glass of wine and Paul stared out the window at Puget Sound. “I imagine you’re wondering why I called you,” he said after several minutes of silence. Oddly, Bethanne didn’t feel uncomfortable, nor did she feel her usual urge to make small talk.

She nodded. “I was kind of curious. The divorces have been final for quite a while now.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “I—” She started to tell Paul that Grant had refused to pay for Andrew’s football camp. It didn’t matter, she had to remind herself. It just didn’t matter.

“When did you find out about the affair?” he asked.

She was embarrassed to tell him the truth. “Not until Grant told me. You know how they say the wife’s always the last to know. What about you?”

“I knew almost from the first,” he said, “but I couldn’t make myself believe it.”

“How long were you and Tiffany married?”

“Six years,” he said. “Four good ones, at any rate. Then she met Grant.” He shook his head. “I think I guessed what was going on when she wanted to delay having a family.”

Bethanne knew from what Grant had told her that there were no other children involved. The whole thing was bad enough without hurting more innocents.

She took a sip from her glass of chardonnay, then another. “Annie told me this afternoon she thinks they’re getting married.”

Paul arched his eyebrows. “I suppose that’s inevitable.”

Although her appetite had vanished with talk of the affair, Bethanne opened the menu. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it,” she whispered.

“Please don’t say that,” Paul begged. “I was hoping, you know, that everything was better for you.”

“It is better,” she said valiantly, “it’s just that … I don’t feel it yet.” If being alone hurt this badly all these months after the divorce, she couldn’t imagine that pain would ever go away.

“Your husband and my wife were cheating on us,” he said with sudden anger. “So, why are we the ones feeling bad?”

It wasn’t fair. She was the injured party; Paul, too. While Grant and Tiffany were free of their responsibilities and probably partying every night, Bethanne was dealing with children whose security had been shattered, an aging house and more emotional pain than any one person should be expected to bear.

“I told myself they have to live with what they’ve done,” Paul said, “but that’s little comfort.”

“It’s no comfort.”

Paul opened his menu, too. “I was thinking—”

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about the divorce?” Bethanne asked abruptly. “We’re supposed to be getting on with our lives. Let’s order dinner, okay?”

Paul nodded. “Have you decided what you want?”

“Just an appetizer. The smoked salmon, I think. And maybe a cup of chowder.”

He called over the waiter and they placed their orders, with Paul choosing the chowder and a small dish of seafood pasta. “So, are you?” he asked. “Getting on with your life, I mean.”

“I’m really trying.”

“How?” he asked, and at her startled look, he added, “The reason I want to know is that I need help. I guess I was hoping you were doing better than I am and might have some words of wisdom to share.”

“I … I joined a knitting class.”

Paul grinned, and when he smiled he was almost boyishly handsome. “That’s more of a women’s thing, I think.”

“Plenty of men knit, too.”

“They do?”

She shrugged. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

“I’ve taken up golf, but so far I don’t show any real knack for it.”

Another silence, as they concentrated on their chowder, which had just been delivered. They both murmured appreciatively. It truly was delicious, and Bethanne found herself automatically deconstructing the ingredients, the way she used to when she was married and always searching for new recipes. Unexpectedly, that made her feel better, not worse, as if she’d recovered a small part of the woman she used to be.

She tried her smoked salmon. Good, but she wouldn’t have served it with the curried mayonnaise. Too many strong flavors.

Time to wade back into the conversational waters. “Have you started dating again?” she asked.

He shook his head. “What about you?”

Smiling, she pointed to him. “You’re my first dinner date in twenty-two years.”

“You’re my first date in seven.”

“Is that cause for celebration?”

Paul chuckled. “I think it is.” With that he gestured to the waiter and they ordered a second glass of wine.

Paul might not be the most attractive man she’d ever met, especially compared to Grant, but Bethanne was struck by how genuine he was, how generous and caring. Even though he was in as much pain as she was, he’d told her he was sorry that his wife had been the one to break up her family.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, as they walked out of the restaurant.

Bethanne had only one burning need. A job. “Do you know anyone who’d be willing to hire me?”

“For what?”

She sighed. “At this point, I’d do just about anything.”

“Do you have computer skills?”

“Well …” The truth was, she didn’t. Bethanne knew her way around the Internet, but mostly because her kids had shown her. She could manage basic word processing programs, but anything beyond that and she was at a loss.

“Maybe you should get some training,” Paul suggested.

He was right, but she hated the thought of it. This adjustment, trying to find employment after so many years out of the job market, was almost as difficult as the divorce.

Paul insisted on walking her to where she’d parked her car. “I had a good time tonight, Bethanne, thank you.”

“Thank you.” They exchanged handshakes. “If you ever need someone to talk to, give me a call.”

He perked up. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not in the least.”

Bethanne listened to the radio on the drive home. It was almost ten by the time she pulled into the driveway. She hadn’t even made it to the house before the front door was thrown open and her children stood in the entrance glaring at her.

“Just exactly where were you?” Annie demanded.

“We were worried sick,” Andrew said.

Bethanne stared back at them in complete shock. “I beg your pardon? Annie, I told you I was seeing an old friend.”

“But you didn’t say you were going to be this late!” Annie cried in disgust.

“We talked and … and the time flew,” Bethanne answered before she thought better of it.

“I can’t believe you’d do this,” Andrew muttered.

“What?”

“After everything you’ve said to us about knowing where we are and who we’re with.” Andrew shook his head.

“This is totally bogus,” Annie muttered.

“Could you please let me in?” As they moved aside, she said, “I left you a note.”

“I know, but you didn’t give us the guy’s name or tell us where you went. I’m not sure about this, Mom,” Andrew tried to explain. “It just doesn’t seem right that my mother’s the one on a date.”

“It shouldn’t be such a big deal,” Annie said, speaking more thoughtfully now. “But it doesn’t feel right.”

“It doesn’t for me either,” Bethanne agreed. “However, this is my new reality.” For the first time, she could say those hated words without flinching.

“So we should get used to it?” Andrew asked.

Bethanne nodded. Her children had nothing to worry about; she was their rock, their security. Their mother. That wouldn’t change no matter what their father did.