92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [65]
Christie carried the teapot into the family room, where Teri sat with her swollen feet propped up. “You look wonderful,” she told her sister. Despite everything—Teri’s obvious discomfort and the inconvenience of enforced bed rest—it was true.
“I feel like a blimp.” Teri rested her hands on her protruding abdomen. “I’ve got three and a half months to go and by the time I’m ready, they’ll have to get a forklift to move me.”
Christie laughed. Triplets! Something like this would only happen to Teri. Triplets—and without fertility drugs, too.
“You’ll probably deliver early.”
“Thank goodness,” Teri said wryly.
“You feel okay, though. Right?” Christie placed the tray with the teapot and two cups on the coffee table and sat on the sofa.
“I feel like Sigourney Weaver in that movie. You know, where she gives birth to an alien. You wouldn’t believe what it’s like to have three little soccer players kicking away at my ribs and—”
“Oh, Teri.”
“Wipe that smirk off your face.”
Christie couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re going to have so much fun with your babies.”
Her sister shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”
“I plan to have fun with them myself. I’m going to love being an aunt.” She knew she’d probably never be a mother, so Teri’s babies would have to be hers, too.
Teri and Bobby were both elated, and Christie had never seen a husband more attentive and caring than Bobby. He’d brought Teri real happiness; she’d told Christie that when she’d imagined she was happy in the past, those feelings didn’t even compare to what she felt now.
For a while, Christie believed she’d found that same kind of happiness with James Wilbur, but as was so often the case, she’d been wrong. He was like every other man she’d ever cared about—only it’d taken him a bit longer to reveal his true nature.
As if her sister had been reading her thoughts, Teri glanced speculatively at Christie. “James—”
“Don’t even start,” Christie warned. Teri seemed convinced that Christie could be as fortunate, as contented, as she was; Christie knew better. She poured the herbal tea, and handed Teri a cup.
Her sister gratefully accepted it. “You can’t ignore James forever.”
“Who says I can’t?” She crossed one leg over the other and swung her foot to hide her nervousness.
Teri’s eyes grew sad. “You love him and you know it. I had no idea you could be so stubborn.”
“Sure you did,” Christie returned, remembering their youth. Her sister was more familiar with her character flaws than anyone. “You want to defend James and that’s your choice, but I’ve made my decision.”
“James loves you!”
“Sure he does. That’s why he walked out on me.”
“He panicked,” Teri said, defending him. “It had nothing to do with you.”
“Uh-huh.” That just proved her point; when he was in trouble, when he’d needed help, it hadn’t occurred to him to confide in her—the woman he supposedly loved.
But Christie didn’t want to argue with her sister. They’d done enough of that through the years. “Would you mind if we didn’t discuss James?” she asked instead.
One look told her how disappointed Teri was.
“Let me tell you about my classes,” Christie said. To her own surprise she liked her courses. The photography was an interesting challenge, and she’d mastered the basics. She’d been working with a camera provided by the school but planned to buy her own. She’d met Jon Bowman, Grace Sherman’s son-in-law, once or twice; maybe he’d be willing to recommend a digital camera. And since she was starting her own business, she knew she needed some accounting skills. To her delight, she’d discovered that she thoroughly enjoyed the classes and had no problem with the homework.
Even as a kid Christie had always had a head for math. She never had difficulty remembering phone numbers after hearing them only once or twice. Her skill with figures was one of the reasons she’d made cashier at Wal-Mart. Balancing her bank account had never been a problem, either—especially since her balance generally