Blossom Street

14
CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

Jacqueline checked her reflection in the hall mirror and sighed, praying for patience. Paul and Tammie Lee had invited her and Reese to their home for a barbecue. She couldn’t refuse; Paul would easily see through any excuse. Trapped, Jacqueline had no choice but to grit her teeth and make the best of it.

“Are you ready?” Reese asked for the third time.

Grumbling under her breath, Jacqueline joined him. He was jingling his car keys and pacing back and forth in front of the kitchen door that led to the garage.

“Can’t we get out of this?” she asked, knowing it was impossible.

Reese gave her one of his looks. He had several expressions that spoke as clearly as words, and over the years she’d come to identify them all. This one was the off-center humorless smile that conveyed his displeasure at something she’d said or done.

“What’s wrong this time?” she asked, fuming. “Don’t tell me you’re actually looking forward to this barbecue?” Heaven only knew what Tammie Lee might prepare for their dinner. Grilled possum? Barbecued squirrel?

“Don’t you see?” her husband said. “Paul wants us to get to know Tammie Lee and love her the way he does.”

Jacqueline shook her head in a gesture of denial and frustration. “It’s not going to happen, no matter how many barbecues he insists we attend.”

“The least you can do is give Tammie Lee a chance.”

Jacqueline was beginning to resent Reese’s attitude. Her husband was well aware of the importance of marrying the right person. He hadn’t chosen her because of her cute smile. Their parents were good friends, and she’d attended all the best schools and so had he. Yes, she’d loved Reese, but there was so much more to finding an appropriate marriage partner than love, which in her opinion was highly overrated, anyway.

She feared Paul was fast becoming like his father, with his brains situated somewhere below his waistline. Only Paul had married the girl. If he held genuine feelings for Tammie Lee, then her son should do as his father had and set her up someplace, visiting her once a week. Jacqueline didn’t know the extent of her husband’s monetary investment in his Tuesday-night woman, but she suspected it was substantial. She hadn’t checked his financial records after the first year, preferring not to learn the truth. His absence each Tuesday night told her all she needed to know.

They rode in silence to Paul and Tammie Lee’s house, a respectable two-story near Kirkland with a nice view of Lake Washington. Smoke spiraled from the backyard and Jacqueline suspected they’d already put on the meat. Good! The sooner this family gathering was over the better.

Reese rang the doorbell and together they stood on the steps and waited. Tammie Lee opened the door in bare feet, frayed jean shorts and a maternity top, looking like she’d stepped out of the 1960s television series Petticoat Junction.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she drawled, reaching for Jacqueline’s hands and practically dragging her into the house.

“Mom. Dad.” Paul was directly behind his wife. He shook hands with his father and briefly hugged Jacqueline.

Jacqueline didn’t mean to start the afternoon off on a negative note, but she didn’t think it was a good idea for Tammie Lee to be traipsing around the house barefoot. God knows what she could step on or where she might slip.

“I hesitate to mention this, but shouldn’t you be wearing shoes?” She’d asked out of genuine concern for the girl, but Jacqueline could see from the way Paul’s mouth thinned that he was annoyed with her.

“I know you’re right,” Tammie Lee said, leading everyone through the house and into the freshly mowed backyard. “Bless his heart, Paul keeps telling me the same thing, but I just can’t make myself wear shoes. I kick ‘em off the minute I walk in the door. Then last week I made the mistake of walking around the yard in my bare feet and I stepped on a slug.”

Jacqueline cringed.

“I started screaming like the Holy Spirit had come down upon me.”

Paul chuckled. “I’ve never run so fast in my life. I thought she’d been attacked by a swarm of bees or something.”

The patio table was already set and Tammie Lee held up two pitchers of iced tea. “Sweetened or unsweetened?” she asked.

In Jacqueline’s view, iced tea should be served only one way and that was unsweetened. Anyone who wanted to add sugar could do so at the time it was served.

“Unsweetened,” she said and took her place at the table.

“I’ll have the same,” Reese said.

Tammie Lee poured the tea and handed a glass to Jacqueline, who frowned at the green leaf floating on top. “There seems to be something in my tea,” she said, picking up her spoon to remove it.

“That’s a mint leaf,” Tammie Lee said. “My mama wouldn’t let me serve iced tea without fresh mint and lemon slices.”

Feeling like a fool, Jacqueline leaned back in her chair, determined not to say another word. Of course it was mint—she should’ve recognized it—but with Tammie Lee one never knew what to expect.

“This is very pleasant. It was nice of you to invite us over,” Reese said.

Jacqueline stared daggers at him. Nothing about this day was pleasant and he damn well knew it.

“Actually it was Tammie Lee’s idea,” Paul said, standing in front of the barbecue. To her relief, whatever he was cooking smelled divine. The meat sizzled and Paul coated it liberally with some garlicky kind of sauce.

“Yes,” Tammie Lee said, returning to the patio with a notebook and pen. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table with Jacqueline and Reese. She opened her notebook to a clean page. “I wanted to ask you about family traditions,” she said eagerly. “It’s just so important for Paul and me to start some family traditions, and I wanted to include yours as much as possible.”

“Traditions?” Jacqueline repeated as if she’d never heard the word before.

“Yes, you know. Like Derby Day?”

Jacqueline exchanged a quizzical look with her husband.

“The Kentucky Derby,” Tammie Lee explained, glancing from one to the other as if expecting them to smile and nod and exclaim “of course.”

“My daddy and all my uncles would wear their white suits and Panama hats, and Mama and my aunts would cook for days.”

“We don’t feel as strongly about the Kentucky Derby here in Seattle as your family does, sweetheart,” Paul said, joining them at the round patio table. He shared a smile with his father. “Tell her about Christmas, Mom.”

“Christmas,” Jacqueline repeated. “What about it?”

“How you used to hang my stockings on the fireplace mantel every Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, but I haven’t done that in years.”

“What about football?” Tammie Lee said excitedly. “Y’all enjoy football here, don’t you?” Her drawl had thickened as she grew more enthusiastic.

“Oh, yes.” It was Paul who answered this time. “Both Dad and I are Husky fans.”

“That’s wonderful! We’ll do tailgate parties. Mama says tailgate parties are a lot like church. All the women dress up in their Sunday best and cook up a tornado. Then we spend hours praying for a miracle.”

Both Paul and Reese laughed but Jacqueline didn’t see the humor in it. “Why would you pray?”

Tammie Lee grinned. “So our team would win.”

Jacqueline managed a tight smile.

As it turned out, the barbecue wasn’t as bad as Jacqueline had feared. She’d had visions of her daughter-in-law’s centerpiece being prepared by a taxidermist, but Tammie Lee had set out a lovely floral arrangement.

All in all, the afternoon was reasonably pleasant—to use Reese’s word—despite Jacqueline’s dire predictions. Dinner consisted of a delightful guacamole and blue corn chips, grilled brisket and potato salad, which was surprisingly good. The jalapeno cornbread was a bit spicy, but Jacqueline had a small piece. Reese raved about the meal, and Tammie Lee beamed with pleasure at his endless compliments. Now that she’d reduced her work hours, her daughter-in-law had time to lavish on meals to please her husband. As a young married woman, Jacqueline had done the same thing. These days, her interest in cooking was nil.

On the drive home, Reese and Jacqueline were silent. Most of the dinner conversation had revolved around family traditions. Apparently Tammie Lee’s family had quite a few, and she happily described each one in lengthy detail, frequently mentioning Aunt Thelma and Aunt Frieda, as well as “Mama” and “Daddy.” Jacqueline had begun to wonder if the girl was homesick.

Well, if she was, Tammie Lee could pack her bags and go visit her mama. With his wife out of the house, perhaps Paul would come to his senses.

“We didn’t have a lot of traditions with Paul, did we?” Reese said as they pulled out onto the freeway entrance.

“Of course we did,” she countered, although she’d been hard-pressed to think of any over dinner. “We made gingerbread houses with him every Christmas, remember?”

“Yes, but that was years ago, when he was a kid.”

“And there was always the Easter Egg hunt at the country club.”

“Yes, and Paul and I used to bring you breakfast in bed every Mother’s Day.”

“That’s right,” Jacqueline said, instantly feeling a sense of relief. She hadn’t failed completely as a mother. “Just because we didn’t dress up in those dreadful white seersucker suits and Panama hats to watch the Kentucky Derby doesn’t mean we didn’t have meaningful traditions with our son.”

Reese took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her. “Do you remember the year Paul insisted on making you Eggs Benedict?”

“Oh, my goodness, it took Martha months to get the stovetop clean.”

“But you ate every bite. You were such a trouper,” Reese said. “I don’t think I ever loved you more than I did that day.”

Jacqueline’s smile faded as she stared out the passenger window. They had loved each other, and in their own ways, they still did. All this talk about traditions and family had stirred up the dust of bygone years, swirling a storm of happy memories in her direction. It was all a bit unsettling.

“I’m glad Paul and Tammie Lee want to start traditions with their daughter,” Reese said as they neared the house. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jacqueline answered softly. She very much wanted that for her grandchild. She imagined a little girl, dark-haired like Paul, her small arms reaching up to Jacqueline. Tammie Lee might not be her first choice of a wife for her son, but Paul seemed happy. Soon he’d make her a grandmother. Yes, there were a few compensations to be found in this marriage.

Whatever the reason, Jacqueline felt better than she had in months. Perhaps Reese was right and she was being too hard on the girl.

15
CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol had been in a good mood all week. She and Doug had impulsively gone out for a wonderful Thai dinner last night, she’d had some encouraging conversations with her online group, and her knitting skills were improving daily. She was looking forward to her class the following day, the fourth in the series. In the last three weeks she’d begun to really enjoy knitting and tackled it with the same energy and enthusiasm she brought to everything in her life. Her first blanket had been a bit flawed; it had a few uneven stitches, so she’d donated it to the Linus Project and bought the yarn for a second one. She had much better control of the yarn’s tension and was pleased with how this new blanket was turning out.

Carrying in the mail, she set it on the table. An envelope addressed to her was on top and Carol recognized the married name of a college friend who’d moved to California. She tore open the envelope, excited to hear from Christine. It didn’t take her long to discover that it wasn’t a letter as she’d hoped, but a birth announcement.

In that instant, Carol’s good mood spiraled downward. She caught her breath and sank into a kitchen chair as she read the details about Christine’s infant born just two weeks earlier on May 27th. A baby boy, the card said.

Christine was the kind of woman who did everything according to a predetermined schedule. That included marrying the perfect man, getting pregnant exactly when she’d planned to, and then delivering a healthy baby.

Carol swallowed hard. Few people would understand the depression she felt at that moment. Only her online friends could fully appreciate her feelings.

Carol sat staring at the wall as she tried to overcome her sense of inadequacy and frustration. She was genuinely happy for Christine and Bill. Yet at the same time, she wanted to pull her hair out and scream at the heavens—demand to know why she wasn’t pregnant. Why her body didn’t function the way other women’s bodies did. These were all questions she’d asked herself dozens of times, questions she’d asked every expert she’d met, and still she had no answers.

Eventually she would have a baby. Carol had to believe that. But it was taking so much longer than she’d ever imagined. The waiting was the most maddening. She had to wait for the medical appointments with the specialists. Then she had to wait for the tests, wait for the treatments and wait again for additional treatments. They weren’t pleasant experiences, either. Forget about privacy and modesty. Forget about everything except this compulsion to have a child.

Carol’s periods had become far more than a monthly nuisance; it was as if her whole world centered on her menstrual cycle. And when they did start, her heart broke and she struggled with the bitterness of disappointment.

Every month that passed—every period that came—was like an hour chimed off by a grandfather clock. At best she had only twelve opportunities a year to conceive and if she wanted a second child or possibly a third, God only knew how many more years that would take.

Carol knew a lot of her friends thought of her as obsessed and moody. She was. But she was also afraid, so terribly afraid.

Making love with Doug had taken on a routine quality. Sex on schedule. And then the frantic wait, the frequent visits to the bathroom, just to check. Had her period started? And when it did …

This IVF had to work, it just had to.

If only someone could give her a definite answer. If only Dr. Ford would tell her and Doug one way or the other whether they could ever have a child. If his diagnosis was negative then they’d learn to deal with it, make adjustments, make other plans.

Instead he allowed them to hope and twice now, they’d plummeted into despair when the IVF failed and she’d miscarried. Twice they’d recovered, willing to try again, willing to do anything and everything, sacrifice all, for a baby.

Carol rubbed her eyes and stood to put on water for a cup of tea—decaffeinated, of course. She’d begun to avoid so many foods for fear they would hinder conception. Her grocery list read like an inventory list for a health food store. Some experts felt diet was critical; other medical professionals disagreed. Carol wasn’t taking any chances. She was going to try anything that might help her stay pregnant.

In so many ways it felt as if her entire life was on hold. She’d left a promising career, went to the best doctors, ate all the right foods, listened to all the motivational tapes and repeated the mantras she’d learned. She had to believe her mind could control her body and that the sheer force of her determination would eventually give her what she wanted most.

Filling the teakettle with water, she set it on the burner and sat down again while she waited for the water to boil. A short handwritten note from Christine caught her eye. Carol hadn’t noticed it at the bottom of the birth announcement. Christine’s lovely cursive said: “I haven’t heard from you in so long!”

There was a very good reason for that. Carol’s friendship with Christine wasn’t the only one she’d allowed to lapse. She’d ignored many of her close friends, mainly because the struggle to get pregnant demanded so much energy. Most of the women she knew were already mothers, and her friends with children socialized primarily with other friends who had children.

Carol and Doug had less and less in common with these friends, whose lives seemed to revolve around babies and playgrounds and birthday parties. If that wasn’t bad enough, there were often lengthy discussions that excluded them. Conversations about schools or day care, about tantrums and teething problems.

Then there were the so-called friends who dismissed their difficulties, who trivialized her desire for a child. One heartless woman in the office had laughingly suggested Carol was welcome to raise one of her four. Other people wanted to comfort her by saying it wouldn’t be long now and modern medicine was so wonderful that within a year’s time she was sure to be pregnant. Well, she wasn’t, and the most horrible fear of all had taken root. There might never be a baby for her and Doug. She could hardly bear it, but she’d rather face the truth than continue like this.

The kettle whistled and she slowly stood and poured the boiling water into the pot. She couldn’t allow such negative thoughts to invade her mind. That only made things worse. She had to believe. She couldn’t let a birth announcement do this to her. God had given her a sign. She had to believe, push aside all negative thinking. She had faith….

The door opened and Carol whirled around, surprised to realize it was so late. “Doug! Is it that time already?” She tried to sound cheerful but knew she’d failed.

“You okay?” he asked, studying her.

“Of course.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked, returning her attention to the teapot.

“Sure. It was fine.”

Doug immediately zeroed in on the mail. He walked over to the table and discovered Christine and Bill’s birth announcement. She watched his face as he read it, and wanted to cry out in pain at the longing she saw in his eyes. After a moment he set it aside as if it were a matter of only the slightest interest. She knew otherwise.

“They had a boy,” she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice.

“So I see.”

It should’ve been them, she wanted to scream. They should be the couple mailing out birth announcements. They were good people. They had a strong marriage and they’d be wonderful parents….

The infertility was a constant stress on their marriage. Doug had dealt with as much of the indignity as she had. The semen collection in a bathroom off Dr. Ford’s waiting room, the post-coital examinations—all of this was dreadful for him.

People assured her that one day they’d laugh about it. Carol didn’t think that was possible.

“I’m almost half done with the second baby blanket. I have another class tomorrow afternoon.”

Her husband nodded and grabbed the newspaper, heading for his favorite chair in the living room.

Carol wanted to shout at him to talk to her. Instead she bit her tongue and began preparing dinner, a meal she had no appetite for.

16
CHAPTER

ALIX TOWNSEND

Sitting at a window table in Starbucks, Alix concentrated on moving the stitches from one needle to the other and completing the row. No one else in class seemed to have a problem with this basic knitting concept. Carol was already working on her second blanket. Jacqueline was having a few difficulties, but not nearly as many as Alix. No matter how hard she concentrated, Alix would start out with a hundred and seventy-one stitches and by the time she finished the row, there’d be a hundred and eighty or more. Or less, depending on what she’d done wrong.

Lydia reassured her on a regular basis that this was a common problem and explained with limitless patience that Alix wasn’t completing the stitch properly. Well, duh! Then she’d show her again. And Alix would make the same stupid mistake. She didn’t care; she wasn’t giving up until she learned to knit, even if it killed her. She already had thirty bucks invested in this project!

At the end of the row Alix paused, sipped her frappuccino, a rare treat, and counted the stitches. Damn! A hundred and eighty-three! She’d done it again and added stitches where she shouldn’t. “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered, which was a tame version of what she was thinking. Apparently being around Jacqueline was rubbing off on her. She barely used the F-word anymore.

Shoving the knitting onto her lap, Alix closed her eyes, trying to ignore the frustration. This class was supposed to help her with anger management? That was a joke if she’d ever heard one.

Even more irritating, Laurel was at the apartment with John and had asked Alix to stay away for a couple of hours. She didn’t know what was going on with those two, but Alix didn’t think it could possibly be good. Things had gotten pretty intense between them recently. John had been making regular appearances at the video store, and Alix hated the way Laurel gushed all over the sleaze. As far as she was concerned, John was bad news.

Once her nerves were calm, Alix carefully unraveled the row, taking out one stitch at a time, which took more effort than it did to complete the frigging row in the first place. Two stitches from the end of the row, she lost her grip on the needle and dropped a stitch. A muttered curse escaped before she could stop herself.

Good thing Jacqueline wasn’t there to hear it. She was offended each and every time the knitting got the better of Alix, which unfortunately was often. Still, she was improving.

Thus far, Alix had avoided a confrontation with the other woman, but she could feel one brewing. At best Jacqueline tolerated Alix, and Alix felt the same way about her.

Jacqueline had a twisted view of the world, in Alix’s opinion. The only things that seemed important to her were pretense and prestige. At each class, she sat and chatted away, putting on airs as if anyone really cared who she saw at social events and club meetings. Most of the time, Alix didn’t know who she was talking about, anyway. Jacqueline spent most of the lesson name-dropping or discussing some ritzy party she’d attended. Well, la-di-da!

Biting down on her lower lip, Alix managed to pick up the dropped stitch and then just before she could slip it onto the needle, she lost it and the whole thing unraveled another two rows.

She muttered an even more furious curse under her breath and was tempted to ditch the entire project. If she had any sense she’d throw it in the garbage, needles and all, and slam out the door.

Alix felt someone’s presence and glanced up to find Jordan Turner standing next to her table. Her mouth went dry and her mind went blank. He was the last person she’d expected to see.

“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble.” He pulled out the chair beside her, turned it around and sat down facing her.

All Alix could do was stare at him with her mouth hanging open. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks. After suggesting they have coffee sometime, he’d vanished. Alix had been bummed out ever since. It was the story of her life; the minute she showed interest in a guy he either ended up in jail or skipped town.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, making sure he knew she wasn’t pleased to see him.

“Actually, I came in looking for you.” He folded his arms over the top of the chair and leaned toward her.

“Sure you did.” That was the type of line John fed Laurel. Alix wasn’t going to fall for it.

“It’s the truth. You can talk to Danny. I went into the store and asked him if he knew where I could find you.” Danny worked part-time during the day shift and was reliable. If she asked him about it, he’d be square with her.

Ignoring Jordan, she caught the dropped stitch and finished the row before she raised her eyes. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I thought I’d buy you a cup of coffee. Are you always this difficult?”

She fixed her gaze on him and refused to blink. “Not really.”

“So this I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude is for my benefit?”

She smiled despite her mood. “You could say that.”

Her lack of welcome apparently didn’t bother him. “Any particular reason?”

Alix picked up her knitting again. It sounded childish and petty to say she was disappointed because he’d led her to believe he’d be by to take her to coffee. Then … nothing. Rather than tell him all that, she started knitting again, paying close attention to her stitches, concentrating as she completed the action of slipping it onto the next needle. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” she said casually.

“Are you implying you missed me? I thought a lot about you while I was away, you know.”

She shrugged, looked up and felt a smile lift one side of her mouth. “I might have.”

He liked hearing that; Alix could tell by the way he shifted in his chair and leaned closer. He watched her for a moment and then asked, “What are you knitting?”

“A baby blanket for the Linus Project.”

Jordan nodded. “I’ve heard of that. There was a notice in the church bulletin about it a couple of months ago.”

Damn, he went to church, too? She really knew how to pick ‘em. “Don’t think I’m doing this wonderful deed out of the kindness of my heart,” she said gruffly. “I’m not putting this much effort into a baby blanket out of civic duty.”

“Then why knit it for the Linus Project?”

She might as well admit the truth, and looked up, wanting to gauge his reaction. “It’s a way to serve the community hours the court assigned me.” If that didn’t scare him off, then nothing would. She believed in being honest, and if this clean-cut guy was still interested in her, great. If not, she was better off knowing that now.

“Court-ordered community service? Why?”

“I crossed the law and the law won,” she said, finishing the row and paying less attention to the stitches than she should. “But it was a bogus rap and the judge knew it. I got community service instead of jail time. Does that shock a good boy like you?”

“No.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him but let it slide.

“My mother knits.”

Alix stopped herself just in time from telling him that her mother was in prison. Enough honesty for today, she decided; no need to overload him with the truth. His interest flattered her, and she rather liked the fact that he’d sought her out. Glancing up, she was tempted to ask what grade school he’d attended, still wondering if he was the Jordan Turner she’d once known. She only half remembered what that boy had looked like, although she recalled he’d worn glasses. Unlike this Jordan. She might have asked, except that he posed a question instead.

“Are you hungry?” He looked over his shoulder at the display counter in the front. “They’ve got great scones if there are any left. Want one?”

“I could eat,” she said which wasn’t the most gracious statement she’d ever made.

He got up and walked to the counter. Alix watched him for a moment and tried to calm her pounding heart. She turned back to her knitting and finished the row, then triumphantly counted exactly one hundred and seventy-one stitches. Jordan returned to her table, a coffee cup in one hand, with a plate and scone balanced on top of it. In the other hand he carried a second plate with a scone.

“We’re in luck,” he said as he set everything down on the small round table. “They only had two left.”

She nodded, accepting the scone. “Thanks.”

Jordan took a sip of his drink. “Danny didn’t actually know where you’d be and I just happened to see you in the window as I walked by.”

She broke the scone in half and was grateful this had been the only table available when she’d arrived an hour earlier. Normally she wouldn’t have sat in view of the entire street. It depressed her to see what was happening to the neighborhood, mainly because she sensed it was only a matter of time before she and Laurel lost the apartment. If that happened, it wouldn’t be long before she’d be back to sleeping in cheap, rat-infested hotel rooms every night. Getting another apartment would mean taking on a second job and waiting tables for tips in places decent guys like Jordan didn’t frequent.

“Where’ve you been?” Alix asked, since he hadn’t volunteered the information. He’d said he was away.

He sipped his coffee, then put it down. “I was running a youth retreat at Warm Beach.”

Alix didn’t have a clue what that was. “This whole time?”

“Not entirely, but the church needed help with the organization, so I worked in the Stanwood office for a few weeks.”

“Oh.” This was the second time he’d mentioned church, and she’d begun to feel a niggling suspicion.

“It’s nice to know you missed me,” he murmured.

“I didn’t say that,” she said a bit more defensively than she’d intended.

He chuckled.

Alix was relieved to see she hadn’t offended him. “Well, maybe I missed you a little.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You got any more youth retreats you need to organize?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Frankly, I hope not. When I accepted the job as youth minister, I expected to spend my time with the teenagers here in the Blossom Street neighborhood.”

Alix felt as if her world had caved in. “You’re … a preacher?”

“Youth minister,” Jordan corrected. “I’m currently working at the Free Methodist church in the neighborhood, the one right off Blossom.” His mouth twitched; he seemed to be suppressing laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she muttered irritably.

“Nothing. It’s just that you made it sound as if being a minister was like being a drug lord. Or worse.”

“It’s just that …” Alix was aghast and words failed her—as they always did when she was flustered.

“I’m a youth minister, Alix,” he said and reached for her hand. He smiled then. “You don’t remember me, do you?”