A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)(50)

“Damn it, Bethanne, I don’t have to put up with that kind of verbal abuse from you. We’re divorced.”

“Fine, then,” she said, gesturing at the front door. “Get out of my house.”

“The only reason you have this house is because I gave it to you.”

“Gave it to me?” she cried, outraged he’d even suggest such a thing. “Gave it to me mortgaged to the hilt. There’s not a penny’s equity in this place, thanks to you.”

“But who’s making the payments?” he challenged. “Don’t forget I’m the one signing those alimony checks—which allow you to keep this house. And that reminds me, do you have a job yet?” This was asked with such blatant sarcasm, Bethanne cringed.

She closed her eyes and tried to control her anger. She didn’t want to argue with Grant. There was no point.

“All right, all right,” he said, apparently reaching the same conclusion. “I didn’t come here to fight. We need to develop some sort of plan to deal with Annie’s problem. This can’t go on.”

“She isn’t angry with me. You deal with her.” She wasn’t being flippant. Annie’s pain was caused by her father. Bethanne was making an effort to help, but anything she could do seemed more like damage control. Grant had to take some responsibility here.

Grant splayed his fingers through his hair. “I’m afraid Annie might do something to physically hurt Tiff,” he mumbled and shook his head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You’re worried about Tiffany?” Bethanne exploded.

“Damn straight I am. Someone who’d deliberately sabotage her car is one step from doing something physically aggressive.”

“What about Annie?” Bethanne asked, shocked that he could be so self-absorbed. “Aren’t you worried about her? Doesn’t she deserve any concern?”

“Of course I’m worried, but I can’t deal with her. She hates me. At least that’s the impression she’s given me. If you know something I don’t, then I’d appreciate being filled in.”

“That’s the problem,” Bethanne said in a shaky voice. “She desperately loves you and believe it or not, Annie needs her father. It was one thing to divorce me, but you weren’t supposed to divorce your children. When was the last time you talked to your daughter? You used to at least call her every week or two. I understand that’s stopped. Why? When did you last have a conversation with her—or Andrew, for that matter? Need I remind you these are your children, too?”

He looked down at his shoes. “I’ve been busy and—”

“Busy?” she cried. “Do you honestly expect me to consider that a valid excuse?”

“I don’t need you as my conscience. Besides, Annie and Andrew refuse to have anything to do with Tiff. They won’t even come to the condo because she might be there.”

“Talk to Annie,” she advised, setting her pride aside long enough to plead with him. “Call her up and take her to lunch. She needs assurances that you still care about her and that you want to be part of her life. But only if you’re sincere. Don’t just pay her lip service—that’ll do more harm than good.”

He nodded like a petulant child. “All right. I will. I’ll call her in a couple of days.” He hesitated, then gave her a wry smile. “Thanks, Bethanne.”

She shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

“How’s Andrew?”

Bethanne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Ask him yourself.”

Grant cast her a chagrined look. “He wasn’t keen to have anything to do with me, with or without Tiff around.”

“Show up for a few of his football games in September, and my guess is he’d be willing to remember you’re his father again.”

Grant seemed to consider that. “Maybe I will.”

In other words, if it didn’t interfere with his schedule and he had nothing better to do.

She waited, thinking it was time he left, but Grant lingered as if there was something else on his mind. “I understand you and Paul Ormond recently got together,” he finally said.

“Who told you that?”

He offered her a half smile. “Word gets around. A guy from the office—you don’t know him—saw the two of you at Anthony’s the other night. What’s that about?”

“How did he know me?” she asked curiously.

“I had your picture on my credenza.”

Past tense, she noticed. The irony of the situation didn’t escape her. For two years he’d snuck around behind her back, having an affair, and not once had she gotten wind of it. But she had one date in twenty-two years, and someone reported it to Grant.

“Are you and Paul an item?” he asked.

Bethanne stopped herself just in time. It wasn’t any of his concern who she saw—or dated. Nor did he need to know that Paul had phoned two or three times since and encouraged her in her job search. They were simply friends, but she’d never had a male friend before.

“That’s between Paul and me.”

“In other words, I should mind my own business.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling gleefully. “I think you put it very well a few months ago. I have my own life now, Grant, and it is my life.”