A Good Yarn (Blossom Street #2)(56)
“Margaret?”
She brushed the tears away, obviously upset and embarrassed that I’d seen them.
“What is it?” I asked, despite my earlier resolve. “Tell me.”
“We got a notice in the mail yesterday,” she said in a voice so low I had to strain to hear. “Matt didn’t know I saw it. He takes care of all the bills, and I just assumed we were managing all right. I’ve cut back as much as I can. I know he has, too, but apparently…Oh, Lydia, we’re so far behind on the mortgage payments that we’re in danger of losing the house.”
“Oh, no.” Every penny I had was invested in the store or I would’ve immediately offered to help.
“I tried to talk it over with Matt. I know he was just trying to protect me, but—but I’m his wife. He should tell me. When I told him that, he said I had enough on my mind without worrying about this too.”
“How much do you need?” I asked.
“The letter said we had until next Monday to come up with ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh, Margaret. I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”
“I know, I know…Matt says everything will work out, and…and I’m sure it will. I didn’t mean to burden you with our problems—it’s just that it was such a shock….”
Although Margaret tried to sound hopeful, I didn’t have a good feeling about this. My sister was about to lose her home and I couldn’t do a thing to help.
CHAPTER 22
ELISE BEAUMONT
Elise was deep in thought as she tore lettuce leaves for the dinner salad. Her grandsons were at the small neighborhood park with Maverick. Luke and John dragged him there every chance they got, and he was always agreeable. If he’d been half as good a husband and father as he was a grandfather, the marriage might’ve lasted.
Although she hated to admit it, Elise had begun to enjoy Maverick’s company. Relying on him for anything, even casual friendship, was dangerous, as she very well knew. In fact, no one knew that better than she did. But over the last few weeks, he’d managed to break down her determination to avoid him. Little by little, he’d erased her resentment and doubt. He’d done it not with extravagant promises or declarations but through his actions—especially in the way he loved Aurora and his grandchildren. He respected Elise’s feelings, never argued with her or defended himself. He seemed sincere. She didn’t want to trust him, knew she shouldn’t allow him into her life, but nevertheless found herself drawn to him.
The timer in the laundry room went off and Elise dried her hands before transferring the freshly laundered clothes from the dryer to a clothes basket. Aurora was meeting with Bethanne about Luke’s birthday party. She’d loved Elise’s suggestion about hiring Bethanne and insisted on paying the cost herself. She and Elise had engaged in a good-natured argument about it and finally decided Elise would pay for the cake.
Realizing Aurora would be pressed for time, Elise had started dinner. She’d already prepared the sauce and grated cheese for a family favorite that went by the rather inelegant name of “spaghetti pie.”
In a few minutes she’d folded her grandsons’ play clothes. Rather than leave them in the laundry area, she carried them to the boys’ room. Since Maverick’s arrival, she’d stayed away from that room. If she wanted him to respect her privacy, then it was important she afford him the same rights.
She opened the top dresser drawer and discovered that Aurora had given it to Maverick. Instantly she closed it and found that the second and third drawers were for Luke and John’s clothes. She quickly and neatly put away the shorts and T-shirts. Elise knew what she should do next—turn around and walk away. But she couldn’t resist…. She’d noticed the edge of a picture frame in Maverick’s drawer. It was none of her business whose picture it was or why he’d buried it at the bottom of a drawer.
Turning swiftly, she started toward the door, then pivoted back, heart pounding. On the small table next to the bottom bunk, she saw a book Maverick was currently reading, and a coffee cup. But no photographs.
Suddenly she couldn’t stand it any longer. Why torment herself like this? One peek would tell her whose picture it was, and her curiosity would be satisfied. Sliding open the drawer, she stared down. The edge of the frame stuck out from under his T-shirts. The frame itself was silver and slightly tarnished.
One look, she decided again. Okay, it would be a violation of his privacy, but a minor one. Not that she usually approved of such…such subjective morality. No, she’d be honest about this. Looking at the photograph was wrong. But she was going to do it, anyway. She wouldn’t touch it. All she’d do was lift the shirts. Knowing Maverick, it was probably a picture from some blackjack tournament he’d won.
Pulse hammering, she lifted the shirts with one finger—and froze. Her lungs refused to function. The photograph was of her.
He’d taken the picture shortly after she’d learned she was pregnant with Aurora. They’d been walking through a nearby park, and he’d snapped it just as she turned from examining a rosebush. Her eyes shone with love and excitement. This was before the disillusionment had truly taken hold, before she’d been forced to face the truth about the man she’d married. But at that moment, her heart full of happiness unlike any she’d known before or since, he’d captured her image. She’d been a woman in love, a woman dreaming of the future, of her baby, of being a family.