Читать книгу Blossom Street - Debbie Macomber - Страница 78

COURTNEY PULANSKI

Courtney felt wretched. An enraged Annie Hamlin sat in the middle of Courtney’s bed. She’d ranted for a good five minutes without taking a breath, still angry almost two weeks after the rave and everything that had happened.

“You had no right to contact Andrew,” Annie finished, whispering fiercely, apparently afraid of being overheard.

Courtney didn’t bother to tell her not to worry, that her grandmother was half-deaf. “I didn’t do it because I wanted to, you know.”

“Andrew says I should thank you, but you can forget that.” She glared at Courtney as if she’d purposely set out to ruin Annie’s life.

“Fine. I’ll forget it.”

“I should’ve known you’d be a goody-goody type.”

“Think what you like, Annie,” she said, unwilling to let the other girl attack her. “But maybe it wouldn’t do you any harm to hear what I have to say.”

“About what?”

Courtney sidestepped the question and got directly to the point. “I know what you’re feeling.”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t. You can’t know.”

“My mother died and—”

Annie’s gaze narrowed. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”

“No. Now shut up and listen! Your father walked out on you and what you feel isn’t that different from what I felt when my mom was killed.”

“I wish my dad was dead.”

Courtney grabbed the other girl’s shoulders and her fingers dug into Annie’s arms. “No, you don’t! You’re angry and the pain is ripping you up inside, but you don’t wish that. You can’t. My mother is dead and I’d give anything to have her back. Dead is forever, you understand? You haven’t got any idea what it’s like to have your mother alive and laughing one day, and then on some slab in a morgue the next. You can’t possibly know what that’s like.” Tears clouded her eyes. “It’s been four years, and I think about her every single day. Some days it’s every single minute. My mom didn’t want to die, you know. She was meeting a friend for lunch and a truck blew a tire and swerved onto the other side of the road.” She rarely talked about the accident, rarely mentioned it to anyone, but Courtney felt it was vital that Annie understand what she was saying. Courtney had argued with her mother, too. She’d been furious with her a dozen or more times in that last year, but—as she’d just told Annie—she’d give anything she had now, or ever would, to have her mother back.

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” Annie shouted, twisting free of her grip.

Courtney no longer cared if Grams was listening to the conversation. She tried another way to reach Annie. “I used to pretend my mom was still alive.”

“This is supposed to make me feel better?”

“No, it’s a reality check.”

“I can’t deal with any more reality than I already am. I just want my life back the way it used to be, with my mom and dad and—” She bit her lower lip and her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve got to go.” In a flash Annie was off the bed. She grabbed her purse. “Just don’t do me any more favors, all right?”

“Whatever,” Courtney muttered. She felt like a failure. It was a risk to contact Andrew that night, and Annie didn’t seem to appreciate how difficult the decision had been. Her only reaction was embarrassment, and that had turned to anger at Courtney. If it hadn’t been for her, Andrew would never have known she was at the rave. On the other hand, Annie could’ve been in serious trouble. Kids had died from ecstasy; Courtney had heard of cases in Chicago.

“Courtney,” Grams shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes,” she shouted back, lazily unfolding her legs and moving off the bed.

“Is everything all right up there? Your friend left in a mighty big rush.”

“Everything’s fine,” Courtney assured her.

“It’s good that you have a friend,” Grams said smiling up at her. “I’m heading out to the Missionary Society Meeting. Do you want to tag along?”

“Would it be okay if I took my bike out instead?” She really didn’t enjoy sorting and packing clothes to ship to China. Perhaps in a few years chatting with Grams’s friends would be stimulating, but currently Courtney found it uninspiring. All they talked about were their aches and pains.

“Where are you going?” Grams asked.

After three years during which her father had given her practically free rein, being accountable to her grandmother was a drag. “I thought I’d stop off at the yarn store and deliver those patches you knit.” That was a destination and a purpose Grams would approve of.

“Oh, sure, that’d be fine. Say hello to Lydia for me.”

“Will do.”

Grabbing her helmet and gloves, Courtney bounded down the stairs. The frustration she felt was nearly overwhelming. She’d tried to do the right thing for Annie and those insults were all the thanks she got. Biking might give her a chance to vent her annoyance.

It didn’t help that Courtney saw she’d gained a pound when she stepped on the scale that morning. After a solid week of denial, she should’ve lost at least that much and instead she’d gained.

“What time will you be back?” Grams wanted to know as Courtney came through the kitchen on her way to the garage.

“Soon.”

“You’ve got money with you?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t bother hanging around to listen to any other questions. She wanted to escape and longed to feel the wind on her face and the sun on her neck as she pumped those pedals. The hell with Annie. She’d tried to help, tried to talk to her; she’d told her more than she’d ever shared with anyone about her mother, but it’d been a waste of time.

Courtney was breathless when she reached Blossom Street. As she turned the corner, A Good Yarn came into view and so did the French café on the other side of the street. The front window had a display of pastries.

Slowing the bike, she coasted to a stop outside the yarn store. Forcing her eyes away from the bakery window, she glanced into the front window of the shop and noticed Whiskers curled up, fast asleep. Lydia was busy with a customer; Margaret was, too. Even if Courtney did go directly inside, neither would have time to talk to her. Her gaze eagerly returned to the bakery.

Just last week Bethanne had talked about the chocolate éclairs and how delicious they were. Lydia had taken up the subject, raving about the croissants, but those éclairs were her favorite, too, she’d said. She made it sound as if she ate them by the dozen. If so, she hadn’t gained an ounce.

Courtney had practically starved to death all week and she’d gained weight. It was hard enough to stay on this P diet; not seeing results was a case of adding insult to injury. Or was it the other way around? She could never remember.

She peered inside the yarn store again and then looked over at the bakery. The pastries weren’t the only thing Lydia had bragged about. She’d made sure everyone knew that a girl from her original knitting class was one of the bakers. Her name was Alix, and she’d made a big deal about how it was spelled with an i instead of an e.

Alix baked in the morning and waited behind the counter some afternoons. She also attended class at the culinary institute, so she must be good at making those delectable-sounding treats. The five-dollar bill in Courtney’s pocket felt like it was on fire. Éclairs didn’t start with the letter P. Okay, pastry did, but she was willing to overlook that minor detail.

Driven by her desire to taste something sweet, Courtney walked her bike across the street and parked it against the side of the building. The girl behind the counter didn’t seem the knitting type. Then Courtney read her name tag. Alix with an i. Yup, just like Grams always said, appearances could be deceiving.

“You’re Alix?” she asked.

The other girl nodded. “Do I know you?”

“Probably not. I’m in one of Lydia’s knitting classes.”

She immediately brightened. “You wouldn’t happen to be Courtney, would you?”

Surprised, Courtney nodded. “Lydia mentioned me?”

“Yeah. Do you know what’s going on with her and Brad?”

Courtney raised her eyes from the glass case, where the chocolate éclairs oozed rich custard and sat on a platter decorated with a paper doily. “Going on?” she repeated.

“Yeah, since they broke up.”

“I don’t know any more than you do.”

“I hope they patch things up.” Alix sounded genuinely concerned.

“How much for one of the chocolate éclairs?” They weren’t all that big, so perhaps she should order two.

Alix told her, and Courtney calculated how much it would cost for two, with tax. Plus a Coke, and not the diet variety, either. She was sick of drinking sugar-free soda. If she was going on a sugar high, then she might as well go the whole way. Why cheat herself out of a soda?

“Lydia said you’ve been losing weight. My hat’s off to you. It’s hard,” Alix said softly.

Courtney nodded.

“I make a mean low-fat, sugar-free chocolate latte.”

Courtney’s mouth was watering for that éclair. “A latte?” She paused to consider her choices and realized she was being offered far more than an incentive to stay on her eating plan. Friendship had no calories, and it was the special on Alix’s menu.

“I’ll take that latte,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could manage.

Alix smiled. “Good. I’ll make my best one ever.”

Courtney sighed with relief. Without Alix’s encouragement she probably would’ve given in and ordered the éclairs and eaten them so fast they’d disappear before she’d even tasted them. Then, they’d reappear on her thighs.

“Thanks,” she said when Alix handed her the latte. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime. Come back whenever you want. And if you find out anything about Brad and Lydia, let me know, all right?”

“Will do,” Courtney promised. Her first sip of the latte was divine. This was just as good as Alix had promised. And latte didn’t start with the letter P.