“I miss you so much,” Courtney told her sister, struggling not to weep. She clutched the telephone receiver to her ear, as if that would bring Julianna closer.
“How’s school?”
Her sister would ask. “It’s okay.” Courtney tried to brush off the question because they had bigger concerns than her inability to make friends, other than Annie Hamlin, and her sense of being alone.
“Don’t give me that,” Julianna said sternly in a voice so like their mother’s that it took Courtney’s breath away. “I want to know how you’re really doing.”
“Awful.” It was the truth. “I thought if I lost weight I’d be instantly popular,” Courtney confessed. “I thought boys would be asking for my phone number, but it isn’t like that at all.” Of course, there was only one boy who interested her, and that was Andrew Hamlin. Unfortunately, he had a long-standing girlfriend.
Annie claimed Melanie was living in a dreamworld, and Andrew was no more going steady with her than he was with Britney Spears. The evidence, which Courtney had seen for herself, said otherwise.
“Twenty-five pounds is a lot to lose, and I’m proud of you. You feel better, don’t you?”
“Health-wise, you mean? Yeah, I guess.” She did feel better now that those pounds were off. She, too, was proud of that accomplishment, but she’d hoped for certain things that hadn’t come to pass. In fact, everything remained exactly as it was before. When you came right down to it, all that had changed was the number on Grams’s antique scale. Oh, and some of her pants were looser around the waist.
“Call if you need me,” Julianna said. “I mean it, Court.”
“Okay. Keep in touch about Dad.”
“I will,” her sister promised.
Courtney was grateful for her sister’s call. She wished they could talk regularly. Although Julianna was older and had been away from home for nearly three years, she was close to their dad. Caught up in her own woes, Courtney hadn’t spent enough time considering her sister’s feelings.
Wednesday morning, eight days since her last communication with her father, Courtney didn’t feel like going to school. Grams said she understood, but encouraged Courtney to go anyway.
“You won’t resolve anything sitting by the phone all day,” Grams said with perfect logic.
After sleeping fitfully for two nights, Courtney had hoped to rest, but she knew her grandmother was right. While she might not have made a lot of friends yet, she was better off at school than hanging around at home, waiting and worrying.
Mike, Andrew’s friend, picked her up to drive her to school. Courtney paid him ten dollars a week and appreciated not having to take the bus. The only problem was Mike himself, who seemed inordinately shy. He rarely said a word, either on the way to school or on the way home. At first she’d tried to carry the conversation, but after a week of minimal responses, she’d given up.
Wouldn’t you know it? This was the morning Mike discovered he had a tongue.
“Did you hear from your dad?” he asked as she climbed into his fifteen-year-old Honda.
“Not yet.”
“Are you worried?”
“What do you think?” She didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but that was a stupid question if she’d ever heard one.
“I think you’re worried,” he concluded.
Courtney closed her eyes and leaned her head against the passenger window, just praying there’d be an e-mail from her father when she got home from school.
“Are you ready for the English test?” he asked next.
She straightened abruptly. “There’s a test?” Preoccupied as she’d been with her father, she hadn’t paid attention. “On what?”
“Poetry.”
She groaned. Perhaps if she showed up at the office and claimed she had the flu, they’d believe her and let her go home.
Home. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t think of her grandmother’s place as home. It was Grams’s house, not hers.
Mike parked and they walked wordlessly into the school. Once in the building, they went their separate ways, Mike to the left and Courtney to the right. She had, at best, five minutes to leaf through her book of poems and her English notes before the bell rang. Dickinson. Whitman. Who else?
She stood outside her homeroom, leaning against the wall, as she flipped desperately from one page to the next.
“Hi.” Andrew sidled up to her, books under his arm.
Surprised, Courtney nearly dropped her own book. “I didn’t realize we had a test today,” she declared, her nose in the book as she tried to take in as much information as possible.
“In what?”
“English—poetry. Nineteenth-century American. I think.”
He didn’t seem to know about it, either.
“Mike told me.”
“That explains it,” Andrew said. “He’s in regular Senior English, we’re Honors. Mr. Hazelton didn’t mention a test. I don’t even think we’re studying the same material.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “Thank you, God.” She raised her head toward the ceiling.
“And they say school prayer is dead,” Andrew teased.
She smiled.
“How’re you doing?” he asked.
They stood there for a few minutes before going to their homerooms. Rather than discuss her worries about her father, Courtney merely shrugged. “How about you?”
What a dumb question. She realized it as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Andrew had just been named part of the Homecoming Court, exactly as Shelly had predicted. As head cheerleader, Melanie had also been a nominee. On the afternoon before the big game, the king and queen would be chosen at a school assembly. Again according to Shelly, Melanie and Andrew would take the prize.
“I’m fine,” Andrew said. He didn’t seem that excited about his nomination. “What about your dad?”
“He’s still missing,” Courtney blurted out. She couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Andrew, I’m so worried! I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to my dad.” Tears sprang to her eyes and she tried to hide them by staring down at the floor.
To her shock, he placed his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“No, it isn’t,” she cried, sobbing openly now. “I need my father.” He, more than anyone, held the family together. He was her father and she’d already lost her mother, and if her father was dead she couldn’t bear it.
“I know, I know,” he murmured.
She looked up at him with wet eyes, unable to speak.
“If anything happened to my mother,” he went on, “I’d feel just like you do right now, but I will tell you this. No matter what happens, you’ll find your way through it. Isn’t that what you told Annie?”
Courtney sniffed and nodded. She grabbed a tissue from her purse and blew her nose, embarrassed by all the attention they’d attracted. It didn’t seem to bother Andrew, though, and she pretended it didn’t bother her, either.
“That was good advice,” Andrew said. “Annie was close to losing it when you signed up for that knitting class with my mom. I’m so glad you did, because she needed a friend. She’s still got a few problems, but she’s so much better now, thanks to you.”
Courtney was too stunned to respond.
“I didn’t thank you properly, but maybe I can help you with your dad. Do you think it’d be all right if I came to your grandmother’s house after football practice?”
It required a monumental effort to simply nod. The final bell rang for homeroom.
“Gotta go,” Andrew said. “See you later.” He hurried down the hall.
Courtney dashed into her own classroom, marveling that one person could experience so many emotions in such a short time.
As soon as Mike dropped her off at Grams’s after school, Courtney raced upstairs to her computer and logged on.
“Any word?” her grandmother shouted from the foot of the stairs.
He
r heart fell when she hurriedly scanned her in-box. Nothing from her father. “No,” she called back, dispirited.
The phone rang and normally Courtney would’ve answered it, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. Not even Andrew. Despite what she’d said about getting through whatever you had to, she didn’t think she could. She couldn’t lose her father. There weren’t enough chocolate chip cookies or skeins of yarn or comforting words to see her through that.
“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll get her right away.” She could hear her grandmother’s voice. “Courtney, phone,” she yelled even as Courtney walked down the stairs. “Someone wants to talk to you.” Smiling, she held out the receiver.
The minute Courtney heard her father, she burst into tears of joy. The phone connection wasn’t the greatest as her dad poured out his story of being stranded in the jungle for five days with no way to get in touch. There’d been torrential rains while they were surveying but he was safe. He was sorry to have caused his family so much worry.
The tears had yet to dry on her cheeks when Andrew arrived. Courtney was on the phone with Julianna and had just finished talking to Jason.
“I have company and I need to go,” she told her sister, glancing self-consciously at Andrew. He stood awkwardly in the living room, being fussed over by Grams.
“Boy or girl?” Julianna pressed.
“It’s a B,” she muttered.
“Andrew?”
“Yes,” she hissed. It was clear she’d told her sister far more than she should have.
“Then get off the phone and entertain your company,” Julianna teased.
Grams was a gracious hostess. She’d seated Andrew on the sofa and chatted away with him as though he was a longtime family friend.
Courtney walked shyly into the room, and Grams smiled over at her. “I was just telling Andrew that you heard from your father.”
“I was talking to my sister.” Embarrassed, she pointed to the ancient black phone at the foot of the stairs.
“Is this the young man you mentioned?” Grams asked, lowering her voice as if Andrew couldn’t hear the question. “The one you’re knitting the socks for?”
Courtney wished she could snap her fingers and vanish, like the witch on that old TV series Grams sometimes watched. Her face felt hot and she glared at her grandmother.
“She knit a lovely pair for her dad,” her grandmother was saying. “Those were navy blue, but these are green and—” She looked quizzically at Courtney. “Oh, dear, was that supposed to be a surprise?” Getting up with uncharacteristic agility, Grams scurried to the kitchen.
Andrew stood, his eyes holding hers. “You’re knitting me socks?”
Courtney nodded. “I’m just finishing up the gusset on the second one, but it’s nearly done.”
“That’s the coolest thing anyone’s ever done for me. It’s really…sweet.”
Sweet. He thought of her as sweet. That was the last thing Courtney wanted.
CHAPTER 38
ELISE BEAUMONT
Bethanne’s invitation to visit was a welcome reprieve in the middle of Elise’s week. Bethanne had asked if she’d help check her budget. Elise was no expert, but she was willing to do what she could. She was also grateful for an excuse to get out of the house.
Neither Aurora nor David ever mentioned Maverick in her presence. Unfortunately her grandsons, oblivious to the tension between their estranged grandparents, dragged his name into practically every conversation. Maverick was playing in some poker game in the Carry Bean, as the boys called it. She wished him well, but she couldn’t be part of his life. Their second attempt at being a couple was as much of a failure as the first. No, it was over for good.
The bus dropped her off a block from Bethanne’s. She liked the other woman and found that they had more in common than anyone might expect. As divorced mothers, they’d been left to deal with the children and the house and everything else. Well, no need to dwell on that old history now, she decided.
The Hamlins’ neighborhood was a busy one, and the house itself was charming. Elise walked up the steps and rang the doorbell, admiring the garden as she did. She’d just leaned over to take a closer look at a huge, coppery chrysanthemum when a smiling Bethanne opened the door. A pot of tea and a plate of brownies waited on the kitchen table.
“Thank you for doing this,” Bethanne said, handing over a spiral notebook. “I asked you because this whole party business was your idea and…well, because you seem so clear-headed and sensible to me.” She sighed. “I’ve gone over these figures a dozen times and after a while, everything starts to blur.”
“I know what you mean.”
Bethanne had listed her monthly expenses in one column and the total alimony and child support she received from Grant in another. On a separate page, she’d set out the anticipated income from the parties she’d booked, including the deposits already paid, and the costs for each.
Elise looked over all the lists and glanced up to see Bethanne watching her. “You need to charge more for your parties,” she said decisively. Before Bethanne could protest, she asked, “What’s your hourly wage?”
“I—I don’t know. I just add twenty percent to the cost of each party and that’s what I charge.”
Elise shook her head. “That’s not near enough. Don’t forget, you’re putting your creative genius behind each event.”
“Creative genius,” Bethanne repeated. “Oh, I like the sound of that.”
“It’s true.” Elise refused to diminish Bethanne’s talent. “You’re offering something unique. No party is like any other. Each one’s exclusively designed around the child’s interests. But if you feel you might be pricing yourself out of a job…”
“I do,” she murmured. “People can’t afford to pay me an outrageous fee on top of all their other expenses.”
“Then standardize the parties. Make up a list of your favorites, the ones you’ve already created, and offer those when people call to inquire. Establish a price for each one, and give them the option of a standard party or a customized one.”
Bethanne’s eyes lit up. “Of course…of course. I should’ve thought of that.” She smiled. “I can buy supplies in bulk and save money that way, too. Not to mention time.”
“You might also contract with a local bakery, for the cakes.”
They looked at each other and both spoke at the same moment. “Alix.”
“Alix,” Elise repeated, “would be perfect. Plus she’d be bringing business into the French Café and that’s a feather in her cap.”
“Fabulous.” Bethanne jumped up and gave Elise an impulsive hug. “Thank you, thank you, Elise. You’re the real genius here.”
Elise smiled with pleasure. Before she left, she reminded Bethanne to pay herself better. “Start with twenty dollars an hour,” she said. “And your hours should include your preparation time, plus cleanup and driving.”
Bethanne promised she would.
Later, on the bus ride home, Elise felt the satisfaction of having helped a friend. But it wasn’t a one-way street by any means; she’d learned from Bethanne too. The younger woman’s lack of bitterness and anger toward Grant impressed her. When Elise had commented on her calm acceptance, Bethanne said she considered it a gift that had come to her because of the divorce.
In Elise’s view, divorce didn’t mean anything except gut-wrenching emotional agony. But Bethanne had found nuggets of wisdom buried in the pain and suffering Grant’s betrayal had brought into her life.
When Elise entered the house, she thought no one was home. Then she heard the sound of the television. Since it was a bright, sunny afternoon, she couldn’t imagine why the entire family would be staring at the TV.
“What’s going on?” she asked, as she stood just inside the family room.
“Shh.” Luke beckoned her in. “Grandpa’s on TV,” he whispered.
“Mom.” Aurora glanced over her shoulder. “Sit with me. Dad’s playing poker on national TV.”
“No, thank you.” Elise whirled around so fast, she nearly lost her balance. Television or not, it didn’t matter. Gambling was gambling. There’d be no stopping Maverick now that he’d made it all the way to national television. He’d live on that high for months to come, thinking he was invincible—that he couldn’t lose.
“Mom?” A short time later, Aurora tapped gently on her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Elise was determined to say something about allowing the children to…to admire their grandfather when it was obvious he had a problem.
“You looked upset when you got home.”
Elise had made no effort to hide her feelings, but the entire family had been so absorbed in watching Maverick that it surprised her anyone had noticed.
“Dad—”
“It would be best if we didn’t discuss your father.” She’d said this before and needed to say it again. Only a couple of hours earlier she’d marveled at Bethanne’s attitude toward Grant. Elise wanted to find that same kind of peace with Maverick, and hadn’t.
Aurora sat on the edge of Elise’s bed. “I think we should discuss Dad one last time.”
Elise’s nod was reluctant.
“Don’t you want to know if he won or lost?”
“Not really.” She reached for her knitting, needing something to occupy her hands.
“He wore his lucky socks.”
“There is no such thing as luck.” Aurora was more like her father than Elise had known. “They’re simply hand-knit socks,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended.
“Dad didn’t want you to know.” Her daughter spoke in a voice so low Elise had to strain to hear.
Frowning, she paused in her knitting and raised her head. “Know what?” she asked.
Aurora clasped her hands together and stared down at the carpet. “He’s dying.”
“What?”
“He has a rare form of leukemia. Don’t ask me to repeat the medical name, because I don’t know if I can even pronounce it. Those afternoons he was away? He was going in for blood transfusions. He only has about a year left. Two years possibly, but no one’s placing any bets.” She smiled sadly when she realized what she’d said.