Elise had heard all that before, too. “And you believe him?” If this wasn’t so tragic, she’d laugh.
“Yes, I do. He’s—” Aurora bit her lip.
“He’s what?”
“He’s doing this out of love for you. To help you. That’s what he said.”
Elise burst into such loud, derisive laughter that David, who’d turned on the evening news, glanced over his shoulder.
“Then advise him not to love me so much,” she whispered. “Furthermore, I don’t want or need his help. Can’t you see that’s only an excuse?”
“Oh, Mom.”
“I think it might be best if we didn’t discuss your father again.” She spoke as if this had been a pleasant everyday conversation.
“You’re not going to talk to him?”
“No. I’d appreciate if you’d let me know when he’ll be at the house, because I’ll make a point of staying in my room or not being here.”
“Mom, don’t do this.”
Elise was saddened to see her daughter hurt. Aurora might be married and a mother herself, but that little-girl part of her continued to search for a happy ending. Like every child, she needed her father and craved the security of knowing that her parents loved each other.
“Grandma, Grandma,” Luke shouted as he ran in from outside.
“What is it?” Elise asked, crouching down so they were at eye level.
“Did you hear?” he cried. “Did you hear?”
“Luke …” Aurora warned.
“It’s okay. Grandpa said I could tell if I wanted to.”
Elise frowned up at her daughter. She’d wondered if Aurora was holding something back, but hadn’t been sure what. “Grandpa’s going to the Carry Bean for a poker tournament!” Elise blinked. “The Caribbean?” she asked Aurora as she straightened. Maverick had already broken his promise. One moment he swore he was through; the next, he booked his passage to play in another tournament.
35
CHAPTER
“Knitting is just the best ever hobby! Creative, therapeutic, stress-busting, relaxing and rewarding, it’s the perfect way to both express your creativity and to gently unwind. Make it part of your everyday life.”
—Kate Buller, Brand Manager, Handknittings. (Rowan Yarns, Jaeger Handknits, Patons, R2)
LYDIA HOFFMAN
Margaret had been working a lot of hours at the shop while I made the arrangements for our mother’s continuing care, since I’m the one with the most experience in dealing with medical bureaucracy. I needed to get the paperwork set up at the nursing home first and then I’d organize her finances so Mom could make a smooth transition to the assisted living complex we’d found.
This time-consuming work gave me a new appreciation for everything my parents had gone through when I was first diagnosed with cancer. Hours of sorting through bank statements, old receipts, insurance information. Hours spent on the phone and in meetings. Hours on the computer. Hours—days—away from the shop. Then there was the time I spent with the real estate agent and cleaning Mom’s house before we listed it. That couldn’t be put off. We needed the money to finance her care.
It wasn’t until Friday afternoon as I counted out the money from the till that I realized my gross intake for the second week of September was almost half of what it’d been for any week in August. A quick check of my nightly deposits showed a substantial decrease in revenues. I’d known that spending so much time away from the shop would be detrimental to business, but I had no idea it would have this much impact.
Margaret just isn’t a natural salesperson, nor does she share my appreciation for yarn. I knew all that, but I couldn’t ask anyone else. She’s familiar with the shop and my regular customers in a way no one other than me is. And she’s my sister.
While I tallied the figures again, a sense of doom came over me. I had loan payments now, and they made a significant dent in my income. I’d wanted to repay the bank as quickly as possible, so I’d asked for an eighteen-month payment schedule. I could always go back to request an extension, but it wouldn’t look good if I had to do that after only the second payment. Although nothing was said, I had the impression this shortened loan period was one of the reasons the bank had agreed to give me the money.
I sat at my desk, feeling sick to my stomach. The summer months are usually slower, but my sales had doubled from the previous year. Now, not only did they seem to be slipping, I had a huge financial obligation to worry about. There were cost-saving options, such as decreasing orders, but I didn’t want to do this. Part of my success, I believed, was that I carried a wide range of yarns from the inexpensive to the more exclusive.
I was so preoccupied with these worries that I didn’t hear the knock at the shop door until the pounding grew louder. Leaping out of my chair, I hurried into the main part of the store; normally I’d simply explain that we were closed, but right now I didn’t feel I could turn down a single sale.
However, it wasn’t a customer. Brad stood at the door with his hands cupped around his face, peering inside. As soon as he saw he’d gotten my attention, he backed away from the glass.
The last time we’d talked had been almost a month ago. I’d had brief conversations with Cody but they seemed as painful for him as they were for me. When I’d talked to Cody at the end of August, his mother must have been standing close by, because he sounded tentative and cautious, almost as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He hadn’t called me since.
Unlocking the door, I sighed. I didn’t have the physical energy or emotional resources to talk to Brad, so I decided not to allow him inside. Instead, I stood in the opening and waited.
“Hi,” I said, hoping I’d found the right tone to convey my feelings.
“Hi,” Brad said, hands in his uniform pockets. “Hadn’t seen you at the store in a while.”
I could’ve stated the obvious and told him I hadn’t been at the shop more than an hour or so each day, but that seemed unnecessary. I didn’t respond.
“Margaret said you found a place for your mom?”
He made it a question. I answered as if it was. “We’re planning to move her next week.” If I could finish all the paperwork, arrange for all the necessary medical records, finalize the sale of Mom’s house and complete my dealings with her lawyer and her bank.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m okay.” I didn’t want Brad’s sympathy; his concern would be my undoing. I was tempted to ask about Janice, but didn’t. If they were getting along well, I didn’t want to hear it. At the same time, I didn’t want to know if their reconciliation wasn’t working out. Just then, at the end of a long day in an emotionally crowded week, I couldn’t deal with another crisis. “How’s Cody?” It hurt my heart to ask because I missed him so much—missed our talks, missed hearing about his dog and the tricks he’d taught Chase. Difficult though our conversations often were, I needed them. I loved that child.
“He’s doing great,” he said quickly, which I suppose was Brad’s way of informing me that his happy little family was flourishing.
“Give him my love, would you?”
“Of course. I’ve been worried about you,” he added as he stared down at the sidewalk.
“Worried about me?” I asked, forcing surprise into my voice. “Whatever for?”
He looked up, wearing a crooked half smile. “I know you, Lydia. When you’re under stress,