Blossom Street

26
CHAPTER

“People who say they don’t have enough patience to knit are precisely those who could most improve their lives by learning how!”

—Sally Melville,

author of The Knitting Experience series

LYDIA HOFFMAN

This has been quite a week. It’s unheard of for me to have two social engagements within the same seven-day period. My lunch on Wednesday with Carol did so much good—for both of us. I feel I connected with her and extended a hand of friendship. She responded, and I’m confident we’ll stay in touch, whether or not she continues to knit.

The class earlier this afternoon was the best yet. Following the incident in the back alley, Alix and Jacqueline were cordial and just shy of friendly. Jacqueline relayed the details of the confrontation in minute detail, with Alix leaping in to add comments. Anyone looking at them would think they were longtime friends.

When I asked Jacqueline how her husband had reacted when she told him about the incident, she’d gone suspiciously quiet. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I have the feeling all is not well between Jacqueline and Reese Donovan.

The class flew by, and then I was seeing Brad for drinks. We were meeting at The Pour House for a beer at six after I’d closed for the day. Despite the drizzle we’d had intermittently since early morning, I was in a great mood.

The Pour House was about two blocks off Blossom, and seemed to be a popular hangout for the after-work crowd. The noise level was high with music blaring from a jukebox, high-spirited laughter and a television above the bar, which had a ball game on. I’m not very interested in sports, but I know lots of men are. Between the noise and the room’s darkness, I felt a bit disoriented.

Brad had found a booth near the back, and when he saw me, he stood, waving his arms over his head. I smiled and waved back, then quickly made my way across the room, negotiating tables and chairs.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” he said as he slid back into the booth.

“Am I late?” I glanced at my watch, and was surprised to see that it was almost fifteen minutes past six. I shook the rain off my jacket and Brad hung it up for me.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, but I’ve only got half an hour or so. The day care teacher said she’d keep Cody until seven-fifteen but not a minute longer and it takes me at least twenty minutes to get there.”

“How old is your son?”

“Eight. He keeps telling me he’s too old to be in day care, but I’m not letting him stay by himself all day.” Judging by Brad’s frown, I guessed this had been a frequent argument over the summer. “Sometimes I swear that kid’s eight going on eighteen.”

I thought of my own two nieces and while I might not be a mother, I understood what he was saying.

“Since we don’t have much time,” Brad said, “I’d rather not waste it talking about me. I want to learn about you.”

I considered myself the least intriguing of subjects. Nevertheless, I was flattered by his curiosity.

“I know there’s a lot of interest in knitting, but isn’t it risky to open a shop right now?” he asked before I could forestall him with questions of my own. I knew so little about Brad except what my eyes told me. He was as handsome as sin. From bits and pieces of conversation, I also knew he was divorced and apparently had custody of his eight-year-old son, but that was about it.

He certainly wasn’t the first person to express concern about my timing. Everyone worried that I was going to become a victim of our weak economy, that I was in over my head. But I’d been treading water since I was sixteen, so opening my own yarn store was no riskier than anything else in my life. Margaret had come right out and declared that I was making a mistake. But if I’d waited until all the conditions were ideal, it would never have happened. After two bouts with cancer, I knew I couldn’t wait for life to be perfect. I had to find my own happiness and quit waiting for it to find me.

I saw that he’d already ordered a pitcher of beer, which had just arrived. He paid the waitress and poured us each a glass. “My dad died just after Christmas,” I said as if that explained everything. “I was dealing with that loss, and then one day I found myself knitting furiously and remembered a conversation we’d had several years earlier.”

Brad sipped his beer and nodded for me to continue.

My throat got a bit scratchy but I ignored the emotion that filled me at the mention of my father. I don’t know if I’ll ever grow accustomed to having lost him. I paused for a moment.

“Go on,” Brad encouraged.

“At the time, I figured I was the one who didn’t have long to live.”

“You said you had cancer.”

“Twice.” I wanted to be sure he understood. I waited for a reaction from him, but he gave me none.

“Go on,” he said again. “You were talking about your father.”

I sipped my beer. He’d chosen a dark ale and I liked it. “I was in the hospital, and it was the night before my second brain surgery. Mom and Dad came to spend the evening with me. Mom was reading, and Dad and I were talking.” I remember that night so well because in my own heart I was convinced I’d be dead before the year was over. Dad was the one who believed in me, who insisted I was going to cheat death a second time.

“He asked me to describe one perfect day,” I told Brad. I knew he was forcing me to acknowledge that I wanted to live. The question was his way of drawing me into a future. A future I firmly believed was unavailable to me.

“What did you tell him?” Brad had leaned forward and cupped both hands around his mug.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds. “That I wanted to wake up in my own bed instead of one in a hospital.”

“Can’t blame you there.”

I grinned. Brad made it surprisingly easy to talk about myself. “Next I wanted to be able to smell flowers and be close to the water and feel sunshine on my face.”

“In the Pacific Northwest?” He smiled as he asked the question and I couldn’t help responding with a laugh.

“My perfect day happens in late summer, when we get plenty of sunshine.” This past Wednesday was a good example. “Now don’t distract me.”

“Yes’m.” His eyes fairly twinkled and for a moment I was so mesmerized I had to make myself look away.

“I’d wake to sunshine and the sounds of birds,” I continued, “and my perfect day would begin with a cup of strong coffee and a warm croissant. I’d take a leisurely stroll along the waterfront.”

“And after that?”

“I’d knit.” I remember how astonished my father had seemed when I told him that. He shouldn’t have been. By that time I’d been knitting for years. I remembered how my wanting to knit—seeing it as a perfect part of my perfect day—bothered him. Knitting, in his eyes, was such a solitary activity that I’d soon become a recluse.

“Knitting in your own store?” Brad murmured.

“Sort of.” One of the things I love most about being a knitter is the community of other knitters. Anytime I run into another person (usually a woman but not always) who knits, it’s like finding a long-lost friend. The two of us instantly connect. It doesn’t matter that only seconds earlier we were strangers, because we immediately share a common bond. I’d talked to other knitters in doctors’ offices, in line-ups at the grocery store—anywhere at all. We’ve exchanged horror stories of misprinted instructions and uncompleted projects. And we all loved to brag about fabulous yarn buys and, of course, discuss our current efforts.

“I wanted to help people discover the same sense of satisfaction and pride that I feel when I finish a project for someone I love.” That was the best way to describe it, I thought.

“How would you end your perfect day?”

“With music and champagne and candlelight,” I said shyly, which was only partially true. I’d told my dad I wanted to end the day dancing.

My father had told me I’d have that perfect day. What neither of us knew was that he wouldn’t be there to enjoy it with me.

“What’s wrong?” Brad asked, watching me.

I shook my head. “I was just thinking about how much I miss my father.”

To my surprise, Brad reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”

I bristled. I didn’t want his sympathy or his pity. What I yearned for more than anything was to be normal. One of my biggest fears was that I could no longer recognize what normal was.

“Cancer is part of who I am, but it isn’t everything. I’m in remission today but I can’t speak for tomorrow or next week. I was in a holding pattern for most of my twenties but I’m beyond that now. It wasn’t just the doctors or the medicine or the surgery that saved me, especially since I’d died emotionally when I learned the cancer had returned.” I took a deep breath. “My father refused to let me give up, and when I discovered knitting, I felt like I’d found the Holy Grail because it was something I could do by myself. I could do it lying in bed if I had to. It was a way of proving I was more than a victim.”

Brad’s eyes grew somber and I think he really heard me.

“Anything else you want to ask me?” I sat up straighter, prepared to back off now.

A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “How come it took you so long to say yes to a beer with me?”

“Relationships aren’t part of my perfect day,” I teased, although that was far from the truth.

“No, seriously, I want to know.”

Mostly I’d been afraid of rejection, I guess. But all I said was, “I’m not sure.”

“Are you willing to go out with me again?” His eyes held mine.

I nodded.

“Good, because I only have a few more minutes and I want us to get to know each other.”

We talked for a little while longer, and I finally had the opportunity to ask him some personal questions, mainly about his marriage and his son.

Forty minutes later, I parked in front of Margaret and Matt’s house. I realized I’ve never shown up at my sister’s home without an invitation. Come to think of it, I don’t think she’s ever actually invited me—and yet here I was, so excited I couldn’t hold still. I was dying to talk to someone, and since my sister had practically forced me into this, I figured she should be that someone.

I rang the doorbell and then stepped back, half afraid she wouldn’t ask me in. It was Hailey who answered. When she saw me, she shrieked with happiness—and left me standing on the porch while she ran to get her mother.

“Lydia.” Margaret burst into the room and stood on the other side of the closed screen door. “It is you.”

“I told you it was,” Hailey said from behind her mother.

My sister unlocked the screen door and held it open for me.

“I don’t usually drop by unannounced,” I said, “but I just had to tell you about my meeting with Brad.”

“Oh, my goodness, that was tonight.” My sister’s eyes lit up as she pulled me into the house. Before I could comprehend what was going on, she had me sitting at the kitchen table and was on a stepstool in front of the refrigerator, standing on tiptoe as she removed a liquor bottle from the cabinet above.

“What are you doing?” I asked, almost giddy.

“A night like this calls for homemade margaritas.” She had a bottle in each hand—one of tequila and one of cointreau.

I giggled like a schoolgirl. Hailey dug into the freezer portion of the refrigerator for ice cubes while Margaret found limes, then brought out the blender and special glasses.

In a matter of minutes, my sister had mixed the drinks and dipped the rims of both glasses in salt; she’d also made a virgin drink for Hailey, something involving ginger ale and fruit juice.

“Where are Matt and Julia?” I asked.

“Bonding at a baseball game,” Margaret explained, handing me my glass. “Now tell all.”

After two beers and now sipping a mixed drink, I wasn’t sure where to start. “I met Brad at The Pour House.” Both my sister and Hailey drew closer. “He had less than an hour because he had to pick up his son from day care.” If not for that, I had the feeling we could have spent half the night talking.

“He’s paying extra time at day care on a Friday night?” Margaret asked.

I nodded.

“You can bet he paid through the nose for that.”

“He didn’t say.” I looked from my sister to my niece who hung on every word.

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He asked a lot of questions but he didn’t talk much about himself. Mostly he talked about his son.”

Margaret shrugged as if that didn’t impress her half as much as his paying extra charges at the day care center. “What did he have to say about his ex-wife?”

I had to think about that for a moment, which gave me time to take another sip of the margarita. My sister possessed talents I would never have suspected. For one thing, this was the best margarita I’d had in years.

“Mostly he glossed over the divorce. They were too young and she decided she didn’t want to be married or responsible for a child. Not once in the entire conversation did Brad say anything negative or derogatory about Cody’s mother.”

Margaret smiled. “I like him, you know.”

So did I, but I was cautious. And nervous.

“You told him about having cancer?” my niece asked.

I nodded. “I felt it was only fair.”

“Are you going to see him again?” Margaret’s gaze was sharp.

“Yes.” I took another sip of my drink. “One more of these margaritas, and I’d probably be willing to marry him.”

My sister broke into peals of laughter. I can’t remember ever seeing Margaret this pleased with me and, silly as it sounds, I basked in her approval.

27
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

“Is everything all right with you and Reese?” Tammie Lee asked as she began clearing the dining room table.

Jacqueline sighed and pretended not to hear the question. She’d hoped no one had noticed the tension between her and Reese during tonight’s dinner party. The mayor and two city council members had been in attendance, along with their wives and three other couples.

At the last minute, not bothering to check with Jacqueline, Reese had invited Paul and Tammie Lee. Having Paul there was, of course, perfect, but Jacqueline had cringed at the prospect of her daughter-in-law sharing her unsophisticated sense of humor with members of the city government. Well, there was nothing Jacqueline could do about it.

Thankfully, the evening had gone surprisingly well, with only one minor glitch. The mayor had asked Tammie Lee her opinion of the country club. Without a pause Tammie Lee said in her heavy southern twang that it was nothing but tennis and bridge, dining and whining. After a second’s pause, during which Jacqueline wanted to slink away and die, the mayor laughed uproariously. He said it was the most honest thing anyone had ever said to him. Jacqueline wasn’t sure whether he actually meant it or was just being a good guest.

Reese had glared across the dinner table at Jacqueline, as if to tell her how wrong she was about Tammie Lee. And how right he was.

The invitation to their son and his wife wasn’t the crux of their most recent argument, however. Jacqueline and Reese rarely argued; there was no reason for it. But Reese had exploded when he learned she’d been accosted and nearly mugged by those two creeps. Thank goodness both had been apprehended and arraigned. Despite that, her husband had ranted at her for at least ten minutes, unwilling to listen to reason and all because she’d parked the car in the alley. He had the gall to claim she’d asked to be mugged. And then he’d called her stupid.

Jacqueline was still furious. How dare Reese say such things to her—especially when she’d been doing him a favor! Because of him, her entire day had been ruined. She’d missed her nail appointment entirely, was late for lunch and so rattled she hadn’t found a thing to buy on her shopping spree.

Other than unavoidable conversation, they hadn’t spoken in five very long days. They wouldn’t be speaking now except for the dinner party, which had been planned weeks earlier. Canceling at the last minute was not an option, so they’d put their argument behind them and assumed their best behavior. Jacqueline was astonished that Tammie Lee had noticed.

“Did you hear me?” Tammie Lee asked, following Jacqueline into the kitchen with an armload of china.

Anyone else would have gotten the message and dropped the subject. Not Tammie Lee.

“You can put those dishes on the counter,” Jacqueline instructed. “Really, there’s no need for you to help. Martha will be here in the morning.” The housekeeper lived in the small guest house in the back. Now that she was older, she rarely had the energy for serving dinner parties. She wanted to retire but Jacqueline relied on her and so Martha stayed on.

“You don’t want to leave these dishes on the table overnight,” Tammie Lee had insisted and she was right. As soon as everyone had left, Jacqueline would put everything in the dishwasher, a task she preferred to do herself.

“It was a lovely party,” her daughter-in-law said.

“Thank you.” Jacqueline bit her tongue to keep from mentioning that one day Tammie Lee would be expected to hold similar parties of her own. She could only hope that when the time came, Tammie Lee would’ve learned a lesson or two from her. Somehow Jacqueline doubted it.

“You’re such a gracious hostess,” Tammie Lee said, returning with her second load of bone china plates.

“Thank you.” Jacqueline fought the impulse to remind her daughter-in-law that each of those plates cost more than Tammie Lee’s entire summer wardrobe. “Where are Reese and Paul?” she asked curiously. Jacqueline was tired; the party had drained her and she was ready for bed. She wanted Paul and Tammie Lee to go home so she could finish up.

“They’re in the den talking.” All the dishes must be in the kitchen now, because Tammie Lee sat down and propped her feet on the opposite chair. She planted her hands on her round belly and rubbed gently. It was more and more obvious now that she was pregnant. Jacqueline hadn’t yet forgiven her son and his wife for keeping the news to themselves for nearly six months.

Jacqueline wondered what Reese and Paul were discussing that could possibly take this long. She scraped off the plates and set them inside the dishwasher.

“I hope you didn’t mind me showing the mayor the blanket you made for our baby,” Tammie Lee murmured. “I think it’s a perfectly lovely thing to do for your first grandchild.”

Jacqueline scowled but kept her head averted so Tammie Lee couldn’t see her reaction. “No, that was fine.”

“Paul and I are so thrilled you knit something for our baby girl.”

Jacqueline nodded rather than respond verbally. She continued to scrape leftovers into the garbage disposal.

When she’d finished, she claimed a chair next to Tammie Lee, first pouring herself a glass of wine. If she was going to be trapped in the kitchen with her daughter-in-law, she needed fortification.

Tammie Lee studied her. “Did I ever tell you about the time my mama ran over the mailbox with my daddy’s tractor?”

Jacqueline swallowed her groan. “I don’t believe I’ve heard that one,” she said as she swirled the wine around in her goblet.

If Tammie Lee noticed her sarcasm, she chose to ignore it. “It’s the only time I can remember hearing my daddy holler at Mama. My mama went rushing into the house in tears and I went, too, outraged that my daddy would raise his voice to her.”

“Men tend to speak their minds,” Jacqueline said. She sipped her wine and let it linger on her tongue. At fifty dollars a bottle, she was taking the time to appreciate the finer qualities of this merlot.

“Later Mama told me that the only reason Daddy had been hollering was because the tractor might have toppled on her. He didn’t care one bit about that mailbox. It was my mama he loved, and she might have been crushed getting that close to the irrigation ditch in the tractor. His yelling was a sign of how much he loved her.”

Jacqueline was sure there was a point to this story, but at the moment it escaped her. She sipped the wine.

“I hope I didn’t speak out of turn earlier,” Tammie Lee said softly, her eyes wide.

Jacqueline shrugged carelessly. “I believe the mayor was … amused.”

“Not the mayor,” Tammie Lee corrected. “I meant when I asked if everything was all right between you and Reese.”

“Everything is perfectly fine between my husband and me,” Jacqueline primly informed her. She downed the rest of the merlot—finer qualities be damned—and set the glass on the table.

“Good,” Tammie Lee said, “because Paul and I love you so much and our baby’s going to need her grandma and grandpa.”

Somehow Jacqueline managed a smile. “So your mother actually ran the tractor over the mailbox?”

“Twice.”

“Twice?” Perhaps it was the wine, but Jacqueline laughed out loud.

“Daddy wasn’t any happier about it the second time, either.”

Jacqueline would bet not.

“But my daddy loves Mama the same way Reese loves you.”

Jacqueline stopped laughing. Reese hadn’t truly loved her in years. Their marriage was one of convenience and comfort. She didn’t complain about his Tuesday night appointments and he didn’t mention the balance on their credit cards. They had a mutually agreeable relationship, but whatever real love they’d once shared was dead.

“Tammie Lee.” Paul’s voice rang from the dining room.

“In here,” she called, her voice high and animated.

Reese and Paul came into the kitchen, leaving the connecting door between the kitchen and the dining room swinging in their wake.

“You must be exhausted,” Paul said, smiling down on her with such love it was painful to watch. “Are you ready to head home?”

Tammie Lee nodded and Paul helped her to her feet. Then, to Jacqueline’s shock, her daughter-in-law bent down and threw her arms around her neck.

“Thank you,” Tammie Lee whispered, hugging her warmly.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure how to respond. She placed her arms carefully around Tammie Lee and hugged back. It’d been so long since anyone had touched her with so much affection that she found herself close to tears.

“You’re such a wonderful mother-in-law,” Tammie Lee told her. “I think I’m the most blessed woman in the world.”

Jacqueline gazed at Reese over Tammie Lee’s shoulder. She saw something powerful flickering in his eyes. Could Reese possibly still have feelings for her? Was it the reason he’d been so angry about her parking the car in the alley? That apparently was the point of Tammie Lee’s story.

The thought seemed almost inconceivable.