A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)(23)
“I have tried, but I don’t know what else to do, where to look.” Admitting her weakness was humiliating. She longed to lash out at him, blame him, curse him, but it would do no good, so once again she swallowed what little was left of her pride.
“Start looking for a job by reading the newspaper,” Grant suggested in a condescending tone. “If nothing else, you can open a child-care center at the house. You always prided yourself on being a good mother.”
Bethanne used to think she was, but she’d also thought of herself as a good wife. Apparently not. She tried to shake off these feelings of failure.
“Use your natural skills,” Grant went on, “in a way that isn’t a constant drain on me.”
She flinched at the blow his words dealt her.
“I don’t mean to be ugly here, but it’s time you woke up and smelled the coffee.” He smiled at his own feeble joke, since she was sipping an espresso. “In two years, Annie will have graduated from high school and the child support payments will be over.”
“What about college?” That had already been determined in the divorce settlement, as she had every intention of reminding him.
“We’re splitting the college expenses, remember? That means not only will you need to be self-supporting, but you’ll have to earn enough to pay your portion of the kids’ expenses. I suggest you find yourself a career in short order.”
“I know, but…”
“You always have an excuse, don’t you?”
This time it was Bethanne who stood, eager to leave, to escape from this cold, selfish man who’d done everything in his power to destroy her. Now more than ever she was determined to prove him wrong.
“Goodbye, Grant. Don’t worry that I’ll trouble you again,” she said from between clenched teeth. She glared at him, hoping he could see and feel her contempt. How had she managed to live with him all those years and not know the kind of man he was?
Bethanne left the café, but once Grant had stalked off in the opposite direction she required a few minutes to compose herself before she headed down the street to where she’d parked the car, her knitting stashed in the trunk. She’d already tried to get a refund for the class, which was an unnecessary expense, but it was too late now. The money had been spent; she wouldn’t waste it.
As she reached her car, she noticed a brand-new Cadillac turning the corner. It was the style and color Grant had mentioned wanting—before the divorce. Her eyes flashed to the driver and, sure enough, it was her ex, driving a car so new it still carried the dealer’s plates. He refused to help her with the cost of football camp for Andrew, but he could afford an expensive car he didn’t even need.
CHAPTER 9
COURTNEY PULANSKI
“Courtney!”
Courtney heard her name being called up the stairs but, still warm and sleepy, she chose to ignore it and linger in bed.
“Courtney!” the discordant voice persisted. “You asked me to get you up, remember?”
She groaned, rolled over and opened one reluctant eye to stare at the antique clock on her bedstand. Her grandmother didn’t have a digital clock in the whole house. The big hand was on the six and the little hand on the five. It was five-thirty!
“Courtney!” her grandmother shouted. “It’s too hard for me to go up and down these stairs, but I will if I have to. Now get up!”
Tossing aside the warm covers, Courtney staggered out of bed and to the top of the staircase. “I’m up.” She just didn’t know why.
“Thank goodness.” Vera Pulanski paused on the third step and looked greatly relieved to be spared the agony of the climb. “I’ll be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
Courtney stared blankly into space until she realized that wherever her grandmother was going, she intended on taking Courtney with her. “It’s only five-thirty.”
Her grandmother turned back to face her. “I know what time it is. I want to be at the pool when it opens at six.”
“Oh.” This was dreadful. Yes, they’d discussed swimming but Courtney had no idea that she’d have to get up at this ungodly hour. In fact, the entire discussion was a distant and rather unpleasant memory. Her grandmother had said that if Courtney wanted to lose weight, she should start exercising. She vaguely recalled that she’d agreed to give swimming a try, more to satisfy her grandmother than anything else.
Needing to hurry, Courtney dug her bathing suit out of her bottom drawer and prayed it still fit. A lot of her clothes didn’t anymore, and she had to go through several contortions to zip up her jeans. Most of her shirts no longer buttoned without leaving a gap, so she wore them open over a tank top. It wasn’t so easy to hide her weight gain with jeans, though, and already the stitching was threatening to rip.
“I have an extra towel.” Her grandmother’s voice floated up the stairs again. “Don’t take any of the ones from the bathroom. They’re part of a set.”
“I won’t, Grandma,” Courtney yelled back. She stripped off her pjs and stepped into the one-piece suit, pulling it up over her thighs. It fit, but just barely. Pride demanded that she not look in the mirror. The consolation was that she probably wouldn’t see anyone her age at the pool this early in the morning. She donned sweatpants and a T-shirt, slipped her feet into flip-flops and trudged down the stairs.