The Road To Love. Линда Гуднайт

one leg free of the covers and dangling it over the edge of the bed. The sudden cold that assailed her bare foot made her eyes flutter open in momentary shock.

      “It’s long distance.”

      Her eyes did open then. She knew only one person who could be calling. Her mother!

      Hurriedly tossing the covers aside, she grabbed her housecoat and scurried out of the room. “Why didn’t you tell me it was long distance?”

      “I tried,” Pat said. “But you were more interested in sleeping.”

      A glance at her clock radio told her it was barely seven.

      Taking a deep, calming breath, Ellen walked quickly down one flight of stairs and picked up the phone at the end of the hallway.

      “Good morning, Mom.”

      “How’d you know it was me?”

      Although they emailed each other regularly, this was the first time her mother had actually phoned since she’d left home. “Lucky guess.”

      “Who was that young man who answered the phone?”

      “Patrick.”

      “The basketball kid.”

      Her mother had read every word of her emails. “That’s him.”

      “Has Monte eaten you out of house and home yet?”

      “Just about.”

      “And has this Derek kid finally summoned up enough nerve to ask out...what was her name again?”

      “Michelle.”

      “Right. That’s the one.”

      “They saw each other twice this weekend,” Ellen told her, feeling a sharp pang of homesickness.

      “And what about you, Ellen? Are you dating?” It wasn’t an idle question. Through the years, Ellen’s mother had often fretted that her oldest child was giving up her youth in order to care for the family. Ellen didn’t deny that she’d made sacrifices, but they’d been willing ones.

      Her emails had been chatty, but she hadn’t mentioned Charlie, and Ellen wasn’t sure she wanted her mother to know about him. Her relationship with him was based on friendship and nothing more, although Ellen suspected that Charlie would’ve liked it to develop into something romantic.

      “Mom, you didn’t phone me long distance on a Monday morning to discuss my social life.”

      “You’re right. I called to discuss mine.”

      “And?” Ellen’s heart hammered against her ribs. She already knew what was coming. She’d known it months ago, even before she’d moved to Seattle. Her mother was going to remarry. After ten years of widowhood, Barbara Cunningham had found another man to love.

      “And—” her mother faltered “—James has asked me to be his wife.”

      “And?” It seemed to Ellen that her vocabulary had suddenly been reduced to one word.

      “And I’ve said yes.”

      Ellen closed her eyes, expecting to feel a rush of bittersweet nostalgia for the father she remembered so well and had loved so much. Instead, she felt only gladness that her mother had discovered this new happiness.

      “Congratulations, Mom.”

      “Do you mean that?”

      “With all my heart. When’s the wedding?”

      “Well, actually...” Her mother hedged again. “Honey, don’t be angry.”

      “Angry?”

      “We’re already married. I’m calling from Reno.”

      “Oh.”

      “Are you mad?”

      “Of course not.”

      “James has a winter home in Arizona and we’re going to stay there until April.”

      “April,” Ellen repeated, feeling a little dazed.

      “If you object, honey, I’ll come back to Yakima for Christmas.”

      “No... I don’t object. It’s just kind of sudden.”

      “Dad’s been gone ten years.”

      “I know, Mom. Don’t worry, okay?”

      “I’ll email you soon.”

      “Do that. And much happiness, Mom. You and James deserve it.”

      “Thank you, love.”

      They spoke for a few more minutes before saying goodbye. Ellen walked down the stairs in a state of stunned disbelief, absentmindedly tightening the belt of her housecoat. In a matter of months, her entire family had disintegrated. Her sister and mother had married and Bud had joined the military.

      “Good morning,” she cautiously greeted Reed, who was sitting at the kitchen table dressed and reading the paper.

      “Morning,” he responded dryly, as he lowered his paper.

      Her hands trembling, Ellen reached for a mug, but it slipped out of her fingers and hit the counter, luckily without breaking.

      Reed carefully folded the newspaper and studied her face. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

      “My mom’s married,” she murmured in a subdued voice. Tears burned in her eyes. She was no longer sure just what she was feeling. Happiness for her mother, yes, but also sadness as she remembered her father and his untimely death.

      “Remarried?” he asked.

      “Yes.” She sat down across from him, holding the mug in both hands and staring into its depths. “It’s not like this is sudden. Dad’s been gone a lot of years. What surprises me is all the emotion I’m feeling.”

      “That’s only natural. I remember how I felt when my dad remarried. I’d known about Mary and Dad for months. But the day of the wedding I couldn’t help feeling, somehow, that my father had betrayed my mother’s memory. Those were heavy thoughts for a ten-year-old boy.” His hand reached for hers. “As I recall, that was the last time I cried.”

      Ellen nodded. It was the only way she could thank him, because speaking was impossible just then. She knew instinctively that Reed didn’t often share the hurts of his youth.

      Just when her throat had relaxed and she felt she could speak, Derek threw open the back door and dashed in, tossing his older brother a set of keys.

      “I had them add a quart of oil,” Derek said. “Are you sure you can’t stay longer?”

      The sip of coffee sank to the pit of Ellen’s stomach and sat there. “You’re leaving?” It seemed as though someone had jerked her chair out from under her.

      He released her hand and gave it a gentle pat. “You’ll be fine.”

      Ellen forced her concentration back to her coffee. For days she’d been telling herself that she’d be relieved and delighted when Reed left. Now she dreaded it. More than anything, she wanted him to stay.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      “ELLEN,” DEREK SHOUTED as he burst in the front door, his hands full of mail. “Can I invite Michelle to dinner on Friday night?”

      Casually, Ellen looked up from the textbook she was studying. By mutual agreement, they all went their separate ways on Friday evenings and Ellen didn’t cook. If one of the boys happened to be in the house, he heated up soup or put together a sandwich or made do with leftovers. In Monte’s case, he did all three.

      “What