Blossom Street (Books 1-10). Debbie Macomber
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buckled up by the time Bethanne returned.
“Well?” Annie demanded as Bethanne backed out of the driveway.
“I’ll hire someone.”
“Who?”
“Courtney.” The girl was trustworthy and a natural with kids, and she seemed to have more free time than her own children did. Bethanne would insist on paying her.
Annie and Courtney had become good friends, just as she’d hoped. She had no idea what they talked about, but it wasn’t unusual for them to spend two and three hours at a stretch in Annie’s bedroom. Bethanne would’ve guessed they didn’t have much in common, but apparently she was wrong.
“Courtney!” Annie exploded right on cue. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“Is something wrong with Courtney?” she asked mildly, reviewing her party list. Food, dishes, decorations, costumes … Eventually, she’d like to upgrade to a party van, too. She’d need the extra space, plus she could have her logo and phone number painted on the side.
“Mom,” Annie continued, “you can’t hire Courtney.”
“Why not?” Bethanne asked, stopping for a red light.
“It isn’t fair to her! This is her senior year and she’s in a new school. She wants to join the yearbook staff. Did you know she was chosen to be yearbook editor at her high school in Chicago?”
Annie said this in awe. Bethanne suspected that her daughter was less impressed by the fact that Courtney was yearbook editor than by her willingness to walk away from the honor for her family’s sake.
“Courtney came to Seattle and she doesn’t know anyone,” Annie went on.
“She knows you and Andrew,” Bethanne countered.
“Andrew is so self-absorbed he isn’t going to be much help to her,” Annie said with a dismissive gesture. “Mom, if you ask Courtney, I know she’ll say yes, so you can’t ask her. It would be completely unfair. Courtney needs a chance to make friends, and to do that she needs time. Besides—” she gave an exasperated sigh “—she’s already off on the wrong foot.”
“What do you mean?” The light changed, and Bethanne drove through the intersection.
“Didn’t you hear?” Annie cried as if this were a disaster of catastrophic proportions. “Courtney registered for classes without talking to me and it’s awful. She signed up for all the wrong ones. She’s in first-period PE!”
As Bethanne recalled, there’d been some discussion about this during their most recent knitting class. Courtney didn’t have a lot of options in registering for her classes. After the basic requirements were met, the only electives left were the least popular ones.
“Okay, I’ll find someone else to hire,” Bethanne said. “Not Courtney.” Privately, she thought Courtney should make the decision about whether or not to accept the job herself. On the other hand, she didn’t want the girl agreeing to it out of a sense of obligation or friendship, and Annie was probably right in thinking that would happen.
“Thanks, Mom.”
After a few minutes’ silence, her daughter said, “I phoned Dad last night.”
“Oh.” That was unexpected, but Bethanne knew better than to reveal any emotion. Annie wouldn’t have mentioned the call if there wasn’t something she wanted her mother to know.
“We talked.”
“I’m proud of you,” Bethanne said, and she meant it. The fact that Annie had reached out to him revealed a new maturity in her daughter. “I want you to have a relationship with your father.”
Annie laughed softly. “Dad’s still pretty mad about some of the stuff I pulled. I told him to get over it.”
That was a fitting comment, since Grant had said virtually the same thing about Annie during that conversation at the French Café.
“I bragged about how successful your party business is.”
“Thanks,” Bethanne said, grinning at her daughter. She was curious to know whether Grant had commented on her business accomplishments, but she wouldn’t ask.
“She’s still upset about what I did to her car, even though the insurance company covered it.”
“I’d rather not discuss that,” Bethanne said. “That’s in the past, you’ve apologized and it’ll never happen again.”
“Yeah,” Annie said on the end of a sigh. “But about Tiffany—well, there’s no easy way to say this.”
“Then just say it,” Bethanne advised.
“She and Dad are flying to Vegas this afternoon to get married. They’ve got everything arranged with one of those wedding chapel places. He seemed to think I should know. I guess because he wanted me to tell you.”
She’d known it would happen sooner or later, but still …
“Are you okay?” her daughter asked, watching her closely. Her sweet face was tense with concern.
“I’m fine.” And she was, although there was regret and melancholy mingled with her acceptance. “What’s going to be different?” she asked with a nonchalant shrug. “He’s been living with Tiffany ever since he moved out.”
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to freak out.”
“How do you feel about it?” Bethanne asked.
Annie took a moment to consider the question. “It’s sad, you know. It’s like Dad isn’t even part of my life anymore. I don’t even see him because she refuses to let me in the house. As if I’d want to visit,” she scoffed. “You know, Mom, I don’t really care.”
“I don’t either,” Bethanne murmured. “But it’s important that you maintain a connection with your dad. Your relationship with Grant has nothing to do with Tiffany—or me.”
After the party, she had an overwhelming urge to talk to Paul, but she waited until Andrew and Annie were out for the night. They were attending a rock concert at Key Arena—some rapper whose lyrics Bethanne couldn’t make out. From what she knew of rappers, that was probably for the best.
Paul answered on the second ring. “I was going to give you a call,” he said. He sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her.
“Would you like to come over for dinner?” She wanted to see him although she didn’t intend to cook. “I’m going to order pizza.”
“Perfect. I’ll rent a movie,” he said, then hesitated. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“I can hear it in your voice.”
“Really?”
“Bethanne, you’re avoiding the subject.”
“You might want to wait until you get here.”
“No,” he insisted, “tell me now.”
She sighed. Grant hadn’t had the courage to tell her; instead he’d done it through their daughter. Even then, Annie had been the one to phone him, otherwise none of them would’ve known until after the fact.
“Tonight, while we’re eating pizza and watching a DVD, Grant and Tiffany will be in Vegas. Three guesses why.”
“They’re getting married.”
“Bingo.”
Paul didn’t comment for a long moment. “I’ll bring the wine.”
“Make it a big bottle,” she said.
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