Blossom Street (Books 1-10). Debbie Macomber
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.
13
CHAPTER
COURTNEY PULANSKI
If Courtney could trust her grandmother’s antique scale, it showed that she’d lost four pounds. Five if she balanced on one foot and stared straight down at the dial. This was the first time in months that she’d managed to stay on any formal eating program. She felt good, really good.
The exercising helped, she was sure of it. Her sister had e-mailed and suggested a low-carb diet, but Courtney preferred to make up one of her own. It was a very simple concept: she didn’t eat anything that started with the letter P. That included pasta, peanut butter, pizza, popcorn and just about everything else she’d craved in the last four years.
She routinely heard from Julianna, who e-mailed her from Alaska every day. Julianna’s stories about life at the summer lodge—her coworkers, the guests, the wildlife—were endlessly entertaining. Jason sent her encouraging messages once or twice a week, and Courtney was grateful for them. She wrote both Jason and Julianna long e-mails in exchange. She hadn’t mentioned her P diet but she boasted proudly, at least to her sister, about each pound lost.
Her father was in regular contact, too. This job in Brazil demanded a lot of his time, but she could tell he was trying hard to be there for her. She loved him for it. Now that she’d finished feeling sorry for herself, she realized how difficult this situation was for him. He desperately missed his children and talked constantly about when he’d return home. This year was destined to be the longest of all their lives.
The only problem with living in Seattle was that Courtney still hadn’t met anyone her age. After that one disaster, when she’d run into all those sleek-bodied girls from the swim team, she’d avoided the pool on Mondays and Wednesdays—which was when the team practiced.
She swam laps three mornings a week and biked on the other days. She’d even biked to her last knitting class, although her grandmother was convinced it wasn’t safe to ride a bicycle in Seattle traffic. It hadn’t been easy to go the full three miles, and she’d felt justified in congratulating herself. Riding a bike up the steep Seattle hills was a challenge. She figured Lance Armstrong would’ve been out of breath, too. At one point she’d had to stop, climb off her bike and walk when it became too much for her. Her new goal was to make it all the way up Capitol Hill without stopping. That would take practice, but she knew she’d eventually manage it.
“Are you going out again?” her grandmother asked when Courtney bounced down the stairs. She had on her shorts and T-shirt and held her helmet by the straps.
“I won’t be long, Grams.” Last week Grandma had gotten shortened to Grams. She’d decided that Grandma seemed kind of juvenile; besides, it was just too much of a mouthful.
“You be careful,” Vera cried, glancing away from the television screen long enough to warn her.
“I will, I promise.”
“When will you be back?”
Courtney glanced at her watch. “Give me an hour, okay?”
Grams didn’t answer and Courtney suspected she hadn’t heard her, which was often the case. Placing the helmet on her head and donning her gloves, Courtney went out to the garage, where she kept her bicycle.
She was on the ten-speed and wheeling along at a fast clip, the wind in her face, when she noticed a familiar figure in the parking lot of the Safeway grocery store. Bethanne saw her at the same time and raised her hand in greeting. Courtney would’ve biked past with only a wave but Bethanne called her over.
Courtney rode into the lot and approached Bethanne, who had obviously been shopping. A good-looking young man with broad shoulders and short dark hair had pushed her cart next to her car, ready to load the groceries.
“Hi,” Courtney said, a bit winded. She reached for her water bottle and took a swig.
“Courtney, I want to introduce you to my son, Andrew. He works here part-time—as you can see.” She gestured at his employee vest with its store logo.
At the last class she’d mentioned her children but Courtney hadn’t paid that much attention. Bethanne had two, she remembered—a boy and a girl.
“Hi,” Andrew said without any real enthusiasm.
“Hi.” Great, she would meet him when she was all sweaty and hot and wearing shorts. She preferred to keep her legs covered and did most of the time.
“Courtney’s in my knitting class,” Bethanne explained to her son. “She’s the girl I told you about the other day. She’ll be starting her senior year at Washington High this September.” She turned to Courtney and added, “Andrew will be a senior, too.”
“At Washington?”
He nodded.
“Didn’t you say you had an extra ticket to the Mariners’ game this evening?” Bethanne asked her son, and then before he even had a chance to answer, she said, “You should invite Courtney. She hasn’t met many kids here, and it would be a great way for her to get to know your friends.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Courtney rushed to tell him, embarrassed that Bethanne had put her son in such an awkward position.
“You want to come?” Andrew asked her.
“I guess.”