Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее
По всем вопросам обращайтесь на: info@litportal.ru
(©) 2003-2025.
✖
Blossom Street Bundle
Автор
Год написания книги
2019
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля
It was nightfall before Doug returned. Carol sat in the darkened living room, curled up tight on the sofa with her arms circling her knees.
Doug came slowly into the room. “Are you okay?”
She wasn’t yet, but in time she’d adjust. “I cancelled the appointment with the adoption agency.”
He thrust his hands in his pockets. “You can deal with that?”
She nodded. She had to accept that there would be no baby.
Doug sat down across from her and leaned forward, bracing his arms against his knees. His shoulders drooped.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“A walk.”
“For three hours?”
He nodded.
“Do you want anything to eat?”
He shook his head.
“I phoned Bon-Macy’s. They’re coming to collect the baby furniture next week.”
He stared down at the carpet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I am, too.” Sorrier than he’d ever know.
Doug extended his arm to her. “We’ll be all right, just the two of us.”
“Yes,” she whispered as her fingers clasped his. It was true. It would be true.
It had to be true.
44
CHAPTER
“Knitting is a haven, a safe place where one can touch history, dance with art and create a peaceful life.”
—Nancy Bush, author of Folk Socks
LYDIA HOFFMAN
At first I was angry when I didn’t hear from Brad. After all his affirmations about being there for the long haul, he’d walked out on me like every other man in my life, with the exception of my father. A thousand times over, I wished I’d read his letter. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer—I had to know.
I turned to my sister for advice; I’d come to rely on her more and more, especially in emotional matters. So on Monday, I called her.
“Where are you?” Margaret demanded immediately after I’d said hello.
“At the shop.”
“It’s Monday. I thought you took Mondays off.”
“I do, but there are always a million things to do here and well, it’s where I’m most comfortable.” I did all my best thinking with walls of yarn around me. I’d always looked upon skeins of yarn as unfulfilled promises—the way some people, writers or artists, look at a blank page. The potential is there, and it’s up to us to make something with that yarn or write something on that page. It’s the sense of possibility I find so exciting.
Actually, I gave a lot of thought to that analogy. My relationship with Brad held promise and because of my fears I’d let him go. I didn’t do anything with all those possibilities.
“You’re calling about Brad, aren’t you?”
Sometimes Margaret seems like a mind-reader. “If you must know … yes. Have you heard from him?”
“Me? What makes you think he’d contact me?”
“Wishful thinking, I suppose.” Even over the telephone line, I could tell my sister was amused by my question.
“Are you going to call him?”
The idea had been swirling around inside my head all week. “I might.”
“Then why are you calling me?” The gruffness I’d experienced so often with her was back in full force.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe because I was hoping you’d tell me I was doing the right thing and that I wouldn’t make a complete idiot of myself in the process.”
Margaret hesitated for only a moment. “If I were you, I’d go for it.”
“You would?” Hope sprang to life.
“Call me back once you do, okay?”
“Okay.” I had to pause to be sure the warmth in her voice was directed at me. “Margaret.” I swallowed, finding it difficult to continue.
“What?”
“I wanted to thank you for being so wonderful these last few months.”
My gratitude must have taken her aback, because she didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Time seemed to be suspended and then I thought I heard a soft sigh.
“It’s very nice to have a sister, you know,” she whispered.
I couldn’t have agreed with her more.
Once I’d determined that the only thing to do was call Brad, I was on a mission. I’d rehearsed several approaches before I dialed his home number later that evening.
His son answered on the second ring. “Hello, Cody,” I said.
“Hi.” He sounded unsure as if he didn’t recognize my voice.
Другие электронные книги автора Debbie Macomber
Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее