Blossom Street Brides (Blossom Street #10)(56)

A customer followed Evelyn inside, and Lydia went to assist the newcomer. When she returned, Lydia found Evelyn chatting with Casey. Her daughter, however, looked to be unresponsive and uncommunicative. The broomstick had become a steel plate.

No more than ten minutes after she arrived, Evelyn left. As soon as the social worker was out the door, Casey leaped up like a jack-in-the-box and approached Lydia.

“You told her,” she said, her eyes snapping with outrage and accusation.

“Honey, your father and I are worried about you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because we want to help you,” Lydia insisted. She saw that the knitters around the table had stopped and were staring at the two of them. Being the center of attention had always embarrassed Lydia, and now here she was having a personal conversation with her daughter in front of the entire store. “Can we talk about this later?” she asked, silently pleading with Casey to drop the subject for the moment.

“No, we can’t. I don’t want to talk about it again, ever. Understand?”

When Lydia didn’t immediately respond, Casey exploded again.

“Understand?” With a sense of flair and drama, the teenager raced into Lydia’s office, grabbed her backpack, and flew out the door.

For several uncomfortable moments, Lydia didn’t move. She didn’t breathe, either. Having little experience with raising a teenager, she felt at a complete loss. She’d hoped reaching out to Evelyn would help her help Casey. Instead, it seemed it’d done just the opposite.

When she found she could breathe and move again, Lydia returned to the table, took her seat, and reached for her knitting. Her hands trembled slightly as she tugged on the yarn.

“It gets better,” Bethanne assured her.

“I certainly hope so,” Lydia whispered back.

Chapter Twenty-one

Bethanne stared down at the note Annie had left on her desk Monday afternoon while she was out for lunch.

We need to talk. Meet me at The French Cafe at six.

Annie’s dislike of Max had seemed to grow much worse since their last confrontation. For nearly two weeks, her daughter had taken delight in making smug remarks about Max. Snipes that were generally said under her breath but hit the mark. In an effort to maintain peace, Bethanne had managed to avoid an angry retort. But the control on her temper was wearing dangerously thin. Bethanne liked to think of herself as even-tempered, and under normal circumstances she was. But Annie’s behavior had gotten out of hand, and Bethanne couldn’t allow it to continue. It’d come to the point that she’d actually considered asking Grant to speak to their daughter.

It didn’t take Bethanne long to realize seeking her ex-husband’s help in this awkward situation would be playing right into his hands. If anything, Grant was sure to take delight in knowing Annie had taken such a strong dislike to Max and was making her miserable. She was fairly confident his giant ego would relish the thought.

Annie’s attitude was definitely a problem, but one Bethanne would deal with on her own. Other than the note she’d placed on Bethanne’s desk, Annie had managed to avoid her the entire day, and frankly, Bethanne was grateful. She had a business to run.

This dinner invitation from Annie was a good sign, she hoped. Perhaps Annie was ready to make peace. All Bethanne wanted was for her daughter to respect Max. It wasn’t necessary that they become bosom buddies.

The French Cafe was busy with a rush of loyal customers. Because the weather was overcast and threatened rain, they wouldn’t be able to dine alfresco, which Bethanne would have preferred. Well, that couldn’t be helped.

After waiting for a few moments, she found a vacant table and ordered the homemade clam chowder served in a bread bowl. Because she knew Annie also enjoyed their clam chowder, she placed a second order for her daughter and then waited for Annie to join her.

At ten after six, Bethanne found herself growing irritated. Annie generally was punctual, and seeing that she was the one who asked for this meeting, the least she could do was arrive on time.

Five minutes later, her order arrived, and rather than let her dinner grow cold, Bethanne reached for her spoon. She’d just swallowed the first bite when the cafe’s door opened. Only it wasn’t Annie who’d arrived.

Instead of Annie, in stepped Grant.

This apparently was a setup her daughter had concocted to pressure Bethanne into talking to her ex-husband. Automatically, she stiffened, resentful and irritated.

“Sorry I’m late,” Grant said, as if this was the plan all along. “Where’s Annie?” He glanced around as if searching for their daughter.

Bethanne wasn’t fooled. “You don’t really expect me to believe you weren’t in on this, do you?”

His all-too-easy smile slid like a puzzle piece locking into place. “Ah, I should have known you’d catch on fast enough.” He removed his coat, placed it over the back of his chair, and then sat down. “Clam chowder, my favorite. Thanks for ordering for me.”

“I didn’t order it for you,” she reminded him, half tempted to get up and leave. Then again, perhaps it was best for them to clear the air.

“I know.” As congenial as a lover, he reached for his spoon. “You haven’t answered any of my calls, emails, or text messages,” he said, as though ignoring him had deeply hurt his feelings.