Blossom Street Brides (21 page)

“I knew it,” Casey muttered. “I just knew it. Do you realize how much pressure that puts on me?”

“Pressure?” Lydia echoed.

“Yes. I’m your daughter, and now the teachers expect me to be as brilliant as you.” She grinned then, just so Lydia would know she was teasing.

Lydia laughed and impulsively hugged Casey. It was hard to believe this was the same teenager who woke terrified from a nightmare so frightening that she was barely able to function in its wake.

At four o’clock the table started to fill up with the group, who enjoyed knitting together twice a week. For whatever reason, the Thursday-afternoon group was larger than the one that met on Tuesday. By four-fifteen every chair was filled and a second table was added.

Bethanne and Lauren sat side by side, and when she had a chance Lydia joined the two.

“How are the baby blankets coming along?” she asked. Bethanne appeared to have made significant progress, whereas it didn’t look like Lauren had knit more than a few rows beyond the border stitch.

“So far so good,” Bethanne answered.

“I’m only getting started with mine now,” Lauren admitted.

Bethanne grinned and seemed to enjoy teasing her newfound friend. “That’s because she’s been on the phone two and three hours every night this week, talking to Rooster.”

Lydia could have sworn Lauren blushed.

“I like Rooster,” Casey inserted, joining them with her crochet hook in hand. With Margaret’s help, Casey had taken to crocheting, much easier than a pair of knitting needles.

“Lauren likes Rooster, too,” Bethanne casually mentioned.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. I like him, too, but he’s leaving soon, so we’re making as much time for each other now as we can.”

“Leaving?” Casey quizzed. “He’s not orbiting the moon, is he?”

“No, but he’s on his way to New Zealand.”

“You can still talk every day if you want, you know?” Casey assured her, as if she were an expert on matters of long-distance communication. “I can help you set up an
account that will enable you to chat for hours for mere pennies.”

“Pennies?”

“Sure. Give me your cell.” Casey plopped down next to Lauren and reached for the cell, which Lauren had removed from her purse. The teenager worked her magic and then asked for the phone number where she could reach Rooster. Lauren gave it to her. Right away, Casey punched it in, and within a couple of seconds, Rooster was on the line.

“Lauren?” His voice came over the speaker, and everyone at the table paused to listen in.

“Hi, Rooster, it’s Casey.”

“Hi. How come you’ve got Lauren’s cellphone?”

“Because I’m showing her how the two of you can communicate via the Internet by phone while you’re in New Zealand.”

“Oh. Where are you now?”

“A Good Yarn.”

“Okay, take the phone off speaker and give it to Lauren, okay?”

“Sure.” Casey handed the phone to Lauren.

Lydia was fairly certain Lauren was well aware of how best to stay in touch with Rooster and appreciated the fact that the other woman hadn’t squelched the teenager’s enthusiasm.

While Lauren was on the phone it pinged, indicating she had a text message. After a whispered farewell to Rooster, Lauren checked her phone. Her reaction told her the text came as a surprise.

“Problems?” Lydia asked, remembering that she’d recently broken off with the television reporter.

“No, it’s from my employer’s daughter. I didn’t know she had my cell number.” Lauren set the phone back inside her purse. “I’ll answer it later,” she said, and then frowned again and looked toward Casey. “Would you happen to know what ACORN means?”

“Sure. That’s a texting acronym for A Completely Obsessive Really Nutty Person.”

“Got it,” Lauren said, grinning now. “I don’t think Katie is too far off base with that.”

With a jingle, the door opened and Evelyn Boyle walked in. Lydia saw Casey tense as if she fully expected Evelyn to instruct her to pack her bags because she’d be taking her to another home, another family. Leaning next to her daughter, Lydia reached for Casey’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Frowning, Casey looked at Lydia, her eyes round and expectant. “Is she here for yarn?” Casey asked.

Her daughter’s hands made a nervous twitch Lydia had never seen them make before, as if she were clawing at some invisible object.

“That’s what most people are looking for in a yarn store, silly,” Lydia said, making light of Evelyn’s visit. She stood to greet the social worker, but Casey, who was normally so outgoing and gregarious, remained at the table, silently looking on with her spine as stiff as a broomstick.

A customer followed Evelyn inside, and Lydia went to assist the newcomer. When she returned, Lydia found Evelyn chatting with Casey. Her daughter, however, looked
to be unresponsive and uncommunicative. The broomstick had become a steel plate.

No more than ten minutes after she arrived, Evelyn left. As soon as the social worker was out the door, Casey leaped up like a jack-in-the-box and approached Lydia.

“You told her,” she said, her eyes snapping with outrage and accusation.

“Honey, your father and I are worried about you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we want to help you,” Lydia insisted. She saw that the knitters around the table had stopped and were staring at the two of them. Being the center of attention had always embarrassed Lydia, and now here she was having a personal conversation with her daughter in front of the entire store. “Can we talk about this later?” she asked, silently pleading with Casey to drop the subject for the moment.

“No, we can’t. I don’t want to talk about it again, ever. Understand?”

When Lydia didn’t immediately respond, Casey exploded again.

“Understand?” With a sense of flair and drama, the teenager raced into Lydia’s office, grabbed her backpack, and flew out the door.

For several uncomfortable moments, Lydia didn’t move. She didn’t breathe, either. Having little experience with raising a teenager, she felt at a complete loss. She’d hoped reaching out to Evelyn would help her help Casey. Instead, it seemed it’d done just the opposite.

When she found she could breathe and move again, Lydia returned to the table, took her seat, and reached for her knitting. Her hands trembled slightly as she tugged on the yarn.

“It gets better,” Bethanne assured her.

“I certainly hope so,” Lydia whispered back.

Bethanne stared down at the note Annie had left on her desk Monday afternoon while she was out for lunch.

We need to talk. Meet me at The French Cafe at six
.

Annie’s dislike of Max had seemed to grow much worse since their last confrontation. For nearly two weeks, her daughter had taken delight in making smug remarks about Max. Snipes that were generally said under her breath but hit the mark. In an effort to maintain peace, Bethanne had managed to avoid an angry retort. But the control on her temper was wearing dangerously thin. Bethanne liked to think of herself as even-tempered, and under normal circumstances she was. But Annie’s behavior had gotten out of hand, and Bethanne couldn’t allow it to continue. It’d come to the point that she’d actually considered asking Grant to speak to their daughter.

It didn’t take Bethanne long to realize seeking her ex-husband’s help in this awkward situation would be playing right into his hands. If anything, Grant was sure to
take delight in knowing Annie had taken such a strong dislike to Max and was making her miserable. She was fairly confident his giant ego would relish the thought.

Annie’s attitude was definitely a problem, but one Bethanne would deal with on her own. Other than the note she’d placed on Bethanne’s desk, Annie had managed to avoid her the entire day, and frankly, Bethanne was grateful. She had a business to run.

This dinner invitation from Annie was a good sign, she hoped. Perhaps Annie was ready to make peace. All Bethanne wanted was for her daughter to respect Max. It wasn’t necessary that they become bosom buddies.

The French Cafe was busy with a rush of loyal customers. Because the weather was overcast and threatened rain, they wouldn’t be able to dine alfresco, which Bethanne would have preferred. Well, that couldn’t be helped.

After waiting for a few moments, she found a vacant table and ordered the homemade clam chowder served in a bread bowl. Because she knew Annie also enjoyed their clam chowder, she placed a second order for her daughter and then waited for Annie to join her.

At ten after six, Bethanne found herself growing irritated. Annie generally was punctual, and seeing that she was the one who asked for this meeting, the least she could do was arrive on time.

Five minutes later, her order arrived, and rather than let her dinner grow cold, Bethanne reached for her spoon. She’d just swallowed the first bite when the cafe’s door opened. Only it wasn’t Annie who’d arrived.

Instead of Annie, in stepped Grant.

This apparently was a setup her daughter had concocted to pressure Bethanne into talking to her ex-husband. Automatically, she stiffened, resentful and irritated.

“Sorry I’m late,” Grant said, as if this was the plan all along. “Where’s Annie?” He glanced around as if searching for their daughter.

Bethanne wasn’t fooled. “You don’t really expect me to believe you weren’t in on this, do you?”

His all-too-easy smile slid like a puzzle piece locking into place. “Ah, I should have known you’d catch on fast enough.” He removed his coat, placed it over the back of his chair, and then sat down. “Clam chowder, my favorite. Thanks for ordering for me.”

“I didn’t order it for you,” she reminded him, half tempted to get up and leave. Then again, perhaps it was best for them to clear the air.

“I know.” As congenial as a lover, he reached for his spoon. “You haven’t answered any of my calls, emails, or text messages,” he said, as though ignoring him had deeply hurt his feelings.

“I’ve been busy.” While that was true, there’d been another reason: Bethanne didn’t have anything to say to her ex-husband.

“You left me no choice but to use subterfuge,” he said with a contrite look. “I wouldn’t have asked for Annie’s help if you hadn’t forced my hand. I can’t let you do this, Bethanne. At least hear me out.”

“Is this about me moving to California?”

“It’s more than that,” he said, his eyes pleading with her. “I realize you’re married to Max now and the decision on whether to move is entirely between you and Max.”

“Thank you.” She hoped to cut him off from any further discussion on the subject.

“But—”

She could have predicted there would be an objection in there somewhere. “Listen, Grant,” she said, and held up her hand. “You can stop right now. This is a decision I’m making with my husband. I didn’t seek your advice, nor do I want it.” Although the words were harsh, she spoke in a matter-of-fact way to let him know this wasn’t an emotional response but a practical one.

He blinked as though her words had cut him to the quick. After a moment, he nodded. “I can accept that.”

“Good.”

He raised his index finger. “Can I say one thing?”

She sighed and hesitated.

“This has to do with Annie.”

Exhaling deeply, Bethanne nodded. She could predict what he was about to tell her but decided to let him have his say.

“If you do choose to move to California and take the business with you, Annie has already decided to look for work elsewhere.”

It was just as Bethanne suspected. “She told you this herself?”

“Yes. We talk nearly every day.”

“No doubt.” This was a consequence Bethanne had
already considered. “That, of course, is Annie’s decision, and it might be for the best all around.” Especially if her daughter’s current attitude persisted.

“I imagine you’ve discussed this possibility with Andrew. What did he have to say?” Grant asked, paying attention to his meal once again. He took another bite of the soup and tore off the edge of the bread bowl and munched on that.

“Don’t you talk to him, too?” she asked, doing her best not to sound flippant.

“Not as often as I do Annie.”

That was because Andrew was onto his father’s ways and didn’t trust Grant with the same unwavering loyalty as his sister.

“Andrew supports whatever decision I make.”

“As do I,” Grant assured her.

It was difficult to hold back a laugh. Grant would use whatever means available to him to keep her in Seattle for his own purposes. Bethanne didn’t doubt that for a second.

He lowered his head and stirred the soup. “I’d miss you.”

Bethanne didn’t respond.

“I’ll admit it troubles me that you would opt to move to another state and not remain close enough to enjoy our first grandchild.”

“I’ll visit often.” And she would, as often as time allowed. Bethanne had no intention of abandoning her children and grandchildren.

Grant let go of the spoon. “So your mind is already made up. You’re moving?”

“As I told Annie earlier, I have yet to make a decision.”

He nodded and pushed his meal aside as if he’d lost his appetite. “I appreciate your candor. I wish you and Max the very best.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got a showing this evening,” he said as he scooted back his chair and stood.

“I understand the real-estate market is picking up again,” she said conversationally.

“It is. I’ve had a good couple months.”

“Congratulations.”

Grant hesitated and dragged his fingertips across the tabletop. “It means nothing without you, Bethanne.” With that, he turned and walked out of The French Cafe.

Bethanne finished her soup, paid the tab, and then left. She’d deal with Annie for this setup later.

Once she was home, Bethanne changed into comfortable attire and sat on her bed, waiting for Max’s phone call. He’d be flying from California Friday afternoon to spend the weekend with her. Although it had been only a week since she’d last seen him, it felt much longer. These separations were difficult on them both.

The call came right when he’d promised. “Hi, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How was your day?”

“Busy. Yours?”