you?”
Love was difficult to explain. Robert’s actions had devastated her, and while she wanted to confront him, force him to own up to his betrayal, that possibility had been taken away from her. And yet…she loved him.
“Dad hurt you badly, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did. I could hate him for that but—”
“I would,” Melissa cut in, eyes narrowed.
“And what good would that do?” Anne Marie asked her. “Believe me, I’ve been over this time and again. I could let the news bury me—and for a while it did.”
“I know…. I blame myself for that.”
“Don’t worry. I meant what I said about putting this behind us. Anyway, I’m dealing with everything as best I can. At first I wanted to lash out, but I couldn’t see how that would help. My pain and anger aren’t going to change a thing, are they?”
Melissa stared at her for a long moment. “You’re a better person than I am.”
“I doubt that—just a bit more experienced, a bit more broken and bruised.” She’d never expected Melissa to compliment her on anything. “You’re still young. Life kicks us all in the teeth sooner or later.” She didn’t mean to sound so negative, but at this point it was difficult not to. “I appreciate that you wanted to check up on me.”
“I felt so awful about what my father did. And the news about Rebecca’s baby hit me hard. So I turned to you and I shouldn’t have.”
Anne Marie waved one hand airily. “Like I said, I’m beyond all that.” It wasn’t completely true; she didn’t think she’d ever recover from Robert’s betrayal—and the way she’d found out.
Melissa stayed a few more minutes and then left for her afternoon class. The invitation for tea was intentionally open-ended. Anne Marie would call her when she felt more… prepared.
An hour later, she felt composed enough to meet the public again. Cathy had gone for the day, and while Theresa took her lunch break, Anne Marie handled the cash register. Mondays were generally slow and she had only two customers, neither of whom needed help. She was emotionally off-balance, although she had to admit she felt better after talking to her stepdaughter. Melissa’s concern, and Brandon’s, had comforted her, at least a little.
The shop door opened and Elise Beaumont came inside. Her expression was speculative, but if she noticed that Anne Marie looked pale and drawn, she didn’t mention it.
“Hello, Elise,” Anne Marie said, trying to act cheerful. “I’ve put aside a couple of new titles you might like.”
“Thanks.” Elise walked up to the counter. “I came to see how it went with the Lunch Buddy program last week.”
She’d almost forgotten about her volunteer project. “Oh, yes. It was fine.”
“Did the school pair you up with a child?”
Anne Marie nodded. “Her name’s Ellen Falk and she’s in second grade.” It took her a moment to conjure up Ellen’s face, recalling how shy and awkward the young girl had been.
Elise picked up one of the books Anne Marie placed in front of her and flipped it open. “You don’t seem too enthusiastic.”
“I’m not sure Ellen and I are the best match.” She went on to explain how the eight-year-old had barely said a word the entire lunch period. Over the weekend she’d lost whatever optimism she’d felt at the end of their previous session.
“It’s early yet. Give it time,” Elise urged.
“I will.” However, Anne Marie still had her doubts about the project. She’d finish out the school year but then she’d look for a different volunteer organization. “I need to call the school counselor,” she said. “The only real enthusiasm Ellen showed was when I talked about Baxter.”
“The child’s interested in dogs?”
“I think so. I thought if I got permission to bring him to the school, Ellen would enjoy meeting him.” Baxter was a good-natured dog who seemed to do well with children, and Anne Marie had no worries about his behavior.
“That’s an excellent idea.”
Elise decided to buy one of the books Anne Marie had recommended, a debut novel by a former journalist, and then wandered the store for a few minutes. With her own background as a librarian, she was an avid reader and a good customer. In fact, she often knew more about books and authors than Anne Marie did. With a second purchase in hand, Elise returned to the counter.
“Something’s bothering you,” she announced, studying Anne Marie.
“I—I’m fine,” Anne Marie insisted.
“Actually, you aren’t and that brave front is crumbling fast. You need someone to talk to. I’m available.”
Elise liked to get to the point. She wasn’t one to ease into a subject or look for a circumspect approach. Anne Marie usually appreciated her friend’s directness. Now, however, she didn’t feel ready to unburden herself.
“Well?” Elise pressed.
“I…I received some shocking news last Friday,” she began. “But I’m dealing with it.”
Elise waited patiently for her to continue.
Anne Marie glanced over her shoulder at another customer who’d just walked in and was scanning the shelves. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”
Elise patted her hand. “That’s understandable. We’ll just wait until—”
The shop door opened, as if on cue, and Theresa came back from lunch. “The French Café has a fabulous squash soup today,” she said breezily. “You should try it.”
“I might do that.” Anne Marie hadn’t eaten much of anything since Friday night. She was too thin as it was but she wasn’t hungry, and this latest incident had contributed to her lack of appetite.
“I was thinking of having a bite to eat myself. Join me,” Elise said.
It was more of a decree than a request; still, Anne Marie agreed. Elise was probably right—it would help to talk about this and to eat. With the glimmer of a smile she recalled Elise’s advice at the Valentine’s get-together. Theresa took over for her, and Anne Marie collected her purse and walked out with Elise.
“You should be wearing more than a sweater,” the older woman told her.
Anne Marie shrugged half heartedly. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother,” she murmured.
“From the look in your eyes, I’d say you need one.”
That comment brought immediate tears, which Anne Marie struggled to hide as she returned to the office for her jacket. She grabbed a tissue to wipe her nose, then tossed it in the waste basket. She certainly couldn’t talk to her mother about what she’d learned. Laura Bostwick would use it as an opportunity to harangue
