Always Dakota - Debbie Macomber [16]
Sitting on the side of her bed, Calla stared at the envelope. It was thick, as if it included something extra. Her curiosity got the better of her and she tore it open. Inside were an airline ticket and a letter. She unfolded the letter.
Dear Calla,
I haven’t been able to reach you by phone to ask about your plans for Thanksgiving. I’m hoping you can arrange to make it home for a few days. It would mean a great deal to me. I miss you, Calla. I realize I haven’t been the world’s best mother, and I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I do love you.
On the chance you can get away, I’ve enclosed an airline ticket. The flight leaves Minneapolis Wednesday afternoon and returns on Sunday morning. Dennis and I would pick you up at the airport in Grand Forks. If you’re uncomfortable staying with Dennis and me, then your grandfather wanted you to know you could have your old room at his house.
Everything’s going well here in Buffalo Valley. Dennis and I bought the old Habberstad house. The two of us rattle around in it, but we both enjoy decorating it. With five bedrooms you could have your pick if you decided you wanted to move back home.
You haven’t answered my letters or taken any of my calls. I know you’re angry with me, Calla, and I’m sorry. It’s time we settled all this. Don’t you think so, too?
Love,
Mom
“What did she have to say?” Willie asked, standing in her bedroom doorway.
“Nothing,” Calla muttered, stuffing the letter inside her backpack.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the airline ticket she’d set beside her on the bed.
“A ticket.”
He laughed. “Home for Thanksgiving, right?”
Calla didn’t answer.
“Home sweet home with Mommy and her new husband. You’re not going, are you?”
“I haven’t decided.”
He glared at her. “I was hoping you and I could spend the day together.”
Calla recognized that for the bribe it was.
“It’ll be the first Thanksgiving we’ve had in eleven years. You aren’t walking out on me now, are you, kid?”
“I said I hadn’t made up my mind yet.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed. “Did she tell you she’s pregnant?”
Calla’s gaze flew to her father. He was baiting her and she refused to bite. It would be just like Willie to make this up, but at the same time Calla knew that Dennis wanted a family. She supposed her mother could be pregnant. Still, she wasn’t sure she could trust Willie.
“She told me so herself,” he muttered.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Ask her, then. She was saving it as a big secret, but she spilled the beans last time she called.”
Calla frowned uncertainly. Her father had a habit of lying, of saying exactly what she wanted to hear. Or didn’t want to hear, depending on the reaction he was after.
“I’ll tell you what,” Willie said, sounding bored with the subject. “You do what you want for Thanksgiving. Stay or go, it’s up to you. But as for your mother having a baby, ask yourself what you think is true.” With that, he left.
Calla stared down at the airline ticket. Then, with a deep sigh, jumped to her feet and threw it onto the rickety dresser beside the bed.
Her mother had made her choice, and she’d picked Dennis Urlacher over her.
Three
Rachel Fischer sat in a corner of her restaurant kitchen, where she kept her computer and desk. Writing out a check for the final payment of her loan from the Buffalo County Bank, she signed her name with a flair—and a deep sense of satisfaction. She ripped the check from the book, then stared at it, absorbing the significance of the moment. From this point forward, she was out of debt and free to pursue a relationship with Heath Quantrill, the bank president.
With the last of her bills paid for the month, she put on her hat and coat and headed for the bank. She walked briskly, facing the wind. Normally, the cold cut straight through her, but not today. She hadn’t seen Heath in a few weeks and looked forward to personally handing him the check.
He served as the senior loan officer and manager and worked at the Buffalo Valley branch three days a week, spending the other two at the bank’s headquarters