A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)(31)

“I hate her, Mom. I know you said I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. If it wasn’t for her, Dad would be with us and everything would be like it used to be.” Annie’s voice cracked with the intensity of her emotions.

“I know,” Bethanne whispered, fighting her own anger, “but if it wasn’t her, it probably would’ve been someone else.” This insight had been a small epiphany for Bethanne during the divorce proceedings. Her attorney had been going over the settlement, and it was all Bethanne could do to concentrate when the truth suddenly dawned on her. It wasn’t her fault. She’d been a good wife and a good mother. She’d remained faithful and loving. Not once in the entire twenty years of her marriage had she even considered cheating on Grant. Her whole life had been about family. Without resentment or complaint, she’d cooked her husband’s meals, cleaned his home and raised his children. She’d been a hostess for his parties, which were legendary.

Their huge Christmas, Super Bowl and Fourth of July parties, in particular, had been favorites with their friends, and Grant had loved playing host. It didn’t matter that she’d done all the work, they were a team.

No, she wasn’t to blame for the mess he’d made of their lives and she refused to accept the guilt. Sitting in her attorney’s office that day, she’d recognized Grant’s actions for what they were. Blaming her was Grant’s way of justifying his lack of loyalty and fidelity, his failure as a husband and father. It obviously assuaged the guilt he was unwilling to feel. For a time she’d assumed that responsibility, certain she must be the one who’d failed. He wanted her to think she’d become so wrapped up in the children’s lives she’d abandoned him. She hadn’t, and she wouldn’t listen to those cruel voices in the back of her head ever again. Voices that echoed his…

“Mom, Mom,” Annie said, reaching across the table to touch Bethanne’s forearm. “You’re spacing out on me.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“How was the sock class?” Annie asked, apparently trying to turn Bethanne’s mind in another direction, away from the darkness that had overtaken her.

“Really great.” The second class had gone much better than the first. They’d no sooner sat down at the table than Elise apologized for what she called her “crankiness” the week before. She explained that she’d received bad news and hadn’t had time to digest it before the class. She was very sorry if she’d offended anyone.

Bethanne had her own confession to make. She told the others why she’d been tense the week before—that she’d been hoping to get out of the class because she regretted having spent the money. She no longer felt that way. She was still worried about finances, but Annie was right; she needed something for herself. Something completely unrelated to everything else in her life.

Even Courtney seemed to be in a better mood. She’d announced proudly that she’d lost two pounds. At first Bethanne thought the teenager meant she’d lost the weight knitting, which seemed peculiar, but then she realized Courtney was saying that knitting had kept her out of the kitchen.

The two-hour class had sped by, and Bethanne felt wonderful afterward, grateful she hadn’t dropped out. She’d made progress on her socks—or the first one, anyway—and had truly enjoyed the companionship of the other women.

“I knew you’d like it.” Annie’s eyes flashed with triumph.

The phone rang and her daughter leaped up in her rush to answer. “Hello.”

Annie’s eyes zeroed in on Bethanne.

“Yes, she’s here.” She held the phone against her stomach. “It’s for you.” She hesitated, then whispered, “It’s a man.”

Bethanne rolled her eyes. “It’s probably the guy at the bank, phoning to tell me I’ve overdrawn the checking account again.” She’d already done that twice, and it was embarrassing in the extreme.

Annie brought her the phone.

“This is Bethanne Hamlin,” she said, trying to sound brisk and professional. According to the check register, she should have at least fifty dollars in that account, but she hadn’t gotten it to balance since she’d opened it. Math had never been one of her strengths.

“Bethanne, this is Paul Ormond.”

She felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of her lungs. Paul was Tiffany’s ex-husband. Tiffany had filed for a divorce at the same time as Grant. Apparently they’d coordinated when to file, and she could imagine the two of them traipsing down to the courthouse, giggling and holding hands. Paul and Bethanne had been the spouses left behind to deal with the emotional devastation of the affair and its aftermath.

“Hello, Paul,” she said with difficulty. She’d met him only once, briefly, but she’d considered calling him a couple of times. She’d wanted to ask if he’d known about the affair before his wife told him. Had Tiffany done it on Valentine’s Day, like Grant? In the end, Bethanne hadn’t bothered.

“I was wondering if we could talk,” Paul said.

“Sure. I mean, that would be fine,” she said awkwardly.

Her answer was met with silence.

“Do you mean now?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “How about later this afternoon? After five?”

“Okay.” Her social calendar was empty. This had been a shock to Bethanne. Her friends had rallied around her and supported her through the divorce, but they no longer invited her to socialize with them. Most events in their circle were geared to couples, and as a newly single woman—an unwillingly single woman—she’d become an outcast. Besides, she suspected Tiffany had taken her place at some of those dinners and parties. Just when she most needed her friends, they’d disappeared.