Back on Blossom Street (14 page)

Colette nodded vigorously. “My feelings exactly.”

He sipped from his second glass of champagne as they read the dessert menu. Everything sounded delectable, and Colette was certainly tempted, but in the end declined and ordered tea instead. Christian did the same. Soon afterward, he settled the bill and they prepared to return to Seattle.

On the drive back, despite her best efforts to stay awake, Colette drifted off. The car was cozily warm, the ride smooth, the music soft. When he turned onto Blossom Street, she suddenly woke up, feeling disori
ented for a moment. She glanced at his unyielding profile, then looked out at the familiar street.

Instead of parking on Blossom as he had earlier, Christian drove into the alley near the rear entrance to her apartment. He switched off the engine and they sat in the dark. There seemed little to say.

A feeling of sadness came over her, and she felt regret that their relationship had dwindled down to this—mutually kept secrets, mutually told lies.

“Christian, listen—” she began, but he cut her off.

“Before you say anything, I’d like to make a comment, if you don’t mind.”

“No, go ahead.”

“We both agree that our…liaison, for lack of a better term, should never have happened,” he said. He appeared to be choosing his words deliberately.

She nodded.

“It was a mistake,” he said quietly, “and I apologize for my part in it.”

“I do, too.” Christian shouldn’t assume all the responsibility for something in which she’d been a willing partner. “Please, Christian, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“What I realize now is that by giving in to my—”

“Christian.” She placed her hand on the door handle, ready to end this uncomfortable discussion. He couldn’t say anything she hadn’t said to herself a hundred times. “This isn’t doing either of us any good. It happened. As you said, it shouldn’t have, but it did. I don’t blame you and I hope you don’t blame me.”

“Of course not.”

“Fine. Then let’s leave it. You said you wanted to end things on a positive note. We have. It’s over. I wish it didn’t have to end at all, but I can’t be a party to what you’re doing.”

“And I accept that.”

She opened the door. “Then this is goodbye.”

“Yes.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

She started to climb out of the car.

“Colette,” he said. Stopping her, he reached for her hand. “If you need anything, please contact me.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

Even in the darkness she knew he was smiling. “Somehow I figured you’d say that.”

“Take care of yourself, Christian.”

“You, too.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really sorry. About…everything.”

Christian released her hand. “I meant what I said, Colette. I won’t trouble you again.”

She swallowed, nodding slowly, unable to speak.

“I want only the best for you,” he added.

He opened the car door, and the interior light illuminated the alley with its concrete parking spaces and winter-bare tree. He walked around to the passenger side and helped her out, his hand clasping hers a little longer and a little harder than necessary.

It looked for a moment as if he intended to kiss her. Instead, he backed away and dropped her hand. Colette fumbled inside her purse for her keys; when she glanced up, she knew with certainty that this would be the last time she’d ever see Christian Dempsey.

He nodded once, then got back into the car, waiting long enough for her to unlock her door before he disappeared into the night.

Lydia Goetz

I
was on my feet from the moment I walked into A Good Yarn until I flipped the lock and turned over the Closed sign at the end of a very long afternoon. We did a booming business, with thirty-eight sales. By anyone’s standards, it was an excellent business day. I attributed this to the fact that it was now April, and spring had well and truly arrived.

Fortunately, Margaret seemed to be in a better mood. Although we didn’t have a spare moment to discuss it, I had the feeling the police were closing in on a suspect. Margaret had said she’d heard there was promising news but that was all she was able to tell me.

Toward the end of the day, we’d had a couple of unexpected visitors—Carol Girard and her son, Cameron. I was eager to tell Brad about Carol’s news.

When I got home, Brad had already started dinner, to
my relief. I’d put three boneless chicken breasts in a marinade of buttermilk and ranch dressing spices that morning, and there was leftover coleslaw from the night before, plus Cody’s favorite, Tater Tots.

Our son was in the backyard throwing balls around with a couple of neighborhood kids. As always, Chase was with him, barking and running after all the loose balls. The sound of Cody’s excited young voice drifted toward me, and tired though I was, I felt a surge of happiness knowing that right outside this window was my son.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I kissed Brad and he slipped an arm around me.

“How was your day?” I asked.

“Better, now that you’re home.” He smiled. “Aside from that, busy.”

I set my purse on the kitchen counter. “Mine, too.” Since Brad works for UPS, he has to meet a daily quota or “delivery expectation” every day, which means he’s constantly on the go.

I took a tray of raw cut-up vegetables and dip from the refrigerator. It was difficult to get Cody to eat vegetables and he could be downright inventive at finding reasons he shouldn’t have to. When he was eight, he’d announced in an earnest voice that God had personally spoken to him. When Brad asked him what divine message had been revealed, Cody had said that, according to God, he shouldn’t eat any more green beans.

“What’s so funny?” Brad asked, turning away from the stove.

“I was just thinking about God telling Cody he didn’t have to eat green beans.”

Brad laughed out loud. “Good thing the kid likes raw carrots and broccoli.”

“I suspect that has more to do with the dip,” I said, but
at least he was putting something green and orange in his mouth that didn’t contain sugar.

I opened the silverware drawer and extracted what we needed for the evening meal. “Carol Girard stopped in this afternoon,” I said.

Carol was a good friend and one of my very first customers. When I met her, she and her husband, Doug, had been experiencing fertility problems. In an effort to reduce her stress and prepare for the IVF treatments, Carol had quit her job.

After working in a high-pressure position as an investment banker, she’d discovered that staying home wasn’t as easy as she’d assumed. She’d grown restless and bored. Carol had wandered into the yarn store during one of the lengthy walks she’d started taking—and when she learned the class would be knitting a baby blanket, she felt it was a sign that she’d have her baby.

Their prayers were answered, but not in a way anyone had expected. She and Doug had adopted a baby boy they’d named Cameron.

“How is Carol?”

I looked my husband straight in the eye, grinning widely. “She’s pregnant.”

“Carol?”
A smile broke out.

I nodded. I knew what he was thinking because that very thought had gone through my mind, too. Doug and Carol had spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to conceive. They’d finally given up on ever having a child—and then they’d adopted Cameron. And now…

“She’s sure?”

“Three months sure,” I told him.

As I recalled, there was no medical reason Carol couldn’t conceive. It had just never happened, despite every test and procedure modern medicine could provide.

“I’ll bet Doug’s happy,” Brad said. Like my own husband, Doug was one of those men who value family—a natural dad.

“Doug is
thrilled.
So’s Cameron—they’ve told him he’s going to be a big brother.” The three-year-old was as excited as his parents. While they were in the yarn store, he’d wanted Carol to buy a plush lamb I had on display for what he called “Mama’s baby.”

“I’m glad for them,” Brad told me. “Why don’t we have them over sometime soon? We’ll celebrate.”

I nodded. I’d been on an emotional high ever since I’d heard the news. I knew Jacqueline and Alix would share my feelings. A new baby pattern book had arrived earlier in the week and I planned to knit a project out of it. Maybe another baby blanket. I could envision a reunion of that first knitting class in a few months. We’d present Carol with hand-knit gifts to welcome this new baby.

The high lasted until later that night as I got ready for bed. I was washing my face when it hit me. Carol’s pregnancy had suddenly, cruelly reminded me:
I would never have a baby.
The emotional punch came out of nowhere and struck with such intensity that I closed my eyes and leaned against the bathroom counter. I held my breath until the pain began to subside.

Brad was already in bed, sitting up against the pillows, reading. Cody had been asleep for a couple of hours. I was grateful for that, because I didn’t want him to see me like this.

Brad has always been sensitive to my moods. The moment I walked into the bedroom, he knew something was wrong. He lowered his book and looked at me.

With a huge lump in my throat, I lifted the covers and climbed silently into bed.

“Lydia, what is it?”

“I’m happy for Carol,” I said in a shaking voice. “But it hit me just now…. I can’t have children. I mean, I’ve known all along and it isn’t like it’s any surprise…so I don’t understand why I should feel like this
now.
”

“We’ll never have a baby of our own,” he said softly. “We have to accept that.”

I was in my teens when I first underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatments. From the time I was sixteen, I knew my ability to conceive had been lost. I would never, under any circumstances, bear a child. Brad and I had discussed this at length before we married. I thought I
had
accepted it.

“We have Cody,” Brad reminded me gently.

Cody was deeply important to me; I didn’t need to tell Brad that. And yet, I still ached. My arms had never felt so empty. My heart hurt. For the first time, I understood with all my being the pain Carol had endured before Cameron came into her life.

“Cody is as much my son as if I’d given birth to him,” I whispered.

“Yes, but you never knew him as an infant.” Brad was telling me he understood what I was feeling. “Do you want a baby?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

I nodded, deploring the tears that filled my eyes. “I want
your
baby.”

Brad placed his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. I knew he was struggling to find the words to comfort me. Above all, I needed his assurance that he loved me despite my physical inadequacies. If he’d married just about anyone else, he could have fathered a second child. It was his bad luck that he fell in love with me.

I was aware of how ridiculous I was being. I didn’t care. I wanted to feel a baby—our baby—stretching, kicking and growing within my womb. That was denied
to me because of my cancer. It was unfair and wrong and I was miserable, swallowed up in self-pity.

“I would’ve been a good mother,” I sobbed.

“You’re already a great mother.” Brad got out of bed and went into the bathroom, returning with several tissues.

“Let’s adopt,” Brad suggested as I mopped my face.

“Adopt?” I repeated the word as if I’d never heard it before. We’d talked about it, of course, but I suppose the option had never seemed real to me.

Brad stood there waiting for a response.

“Do you want to adopt?” I asked.

“I would if that would help you,” he said. He made it sound as simple as snapping his fingers.

“Oh, Brad.” In that moment I loved him so much. But the problem was, I didn’t
know
what I wanted.

“We can start calling adoption agencies tomorrow morning.” He seemed pleased with this solution. “I do have flashes of brilliance every now and then,” he murmured, getting into bed again.

“You do,” I said. With gratitude and love, I spread eager kisses over his cheeks and lips.

My husband took my face between his hands and kissed me back, each kiss growing in intensity. “This doesn’t mean,” he whispered between kisses, “that we should give up our efforts to…make a baby.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, sliding my arms around his neck and pulling him to me.

My husband is an appreciative lover, and I felt his tenderness and his love in every cell of my body as we moved together, whispering encouragement.

Afterward, we lay spent in each other’s arms. Earlier I’d felt bereft, lacking as a woman. Brad had showed me I was woman enough to satisfy him, and knowing that brought me intense pleasure and pride.

“I’m hungry,” he whispered close to my ear.

“Brad! How can you think about food at a time like this?”

“Sorry, I can’t help it. I’m famished.”

“There aren’t any cookies left.” I’d baked peanut butter cookies Sunday afternoon for Cody. But Brad liked them as much as Cody did and had eaten more than his share.

“I’ll have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” he said, tossing aside the covers. He shrugged into his robe. “Want one?”

My first reaction was to decline, but then I changed my mind. “Yeah, that sounds good,” I said, folding back the blankets. I found my nightgown and slipped it over my head.

By the time I joined Brad, he had the bread laid out on the countertop and was searching the cupboard for a jar of peanut butter.

“Next to the stove, right-hand side,” I instructed him.

While he made the sandwiches, I got out milk and poured us each a glass.

“So, should I check into adoption agencies tomorrow?” Brad asked.

“I…I’m not sure yet.”

“You don’t seem convinced.” He turned to look at me. “We need to be very sure about this before we apply.”

“Let me think about it some more, all right?”

“Of course.”

“There are a lot of questions we’ll have to ask ourselves,” I pointed out.

“Such as?”

“Well, we both work. What about day care?”

Brad unscrewed the lid on the jelly jar. “My mother watched Cody after he was born so Janice could work,”
he said. “I can approach her about that so we won’t have to worry about child care.”

“Okay.” Still, there were plenty of other questions. Like: Would we be willing to maintain a relationship with the birth mother if she wanted one? And what if the child had some inherited disease or condition—could we cope with that?

“I could pick her up after work,” Brad was saying.

“Her?” I teased.

“Did I say her?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I guess I just assumed you’d want a girl.”

“How about you?” I asked.

“I’d be happy either way.”

“Me, too.”

“On the other hand, if we have a choice, I think I’d like a little girl.” Brad slapped two slices of bread together and handed me the first sandwich. I reached for a plate and cut my sandwich in two. Brad ate his standing over the kitchen sink.

“Cody will be good with an infant,” I said, picturing my stepson with a baby. “Boy
or
girl.”

Brad agreed with a quick nod. He’d gobbled down his whole sandwich before I’d had the chance to eat half of mine. I put the second half in the fridge and we went back to bed.

We cuddled close and I felt the even rhythm of his breathing a few minutes later and realized he’d fallen asleep. It took me a while longer as I reviewed our discussion.
Adoption.

Brad and I could bring an infant into our lives. I thought about how my family was likely to react. I knew it would please my mother; she’d always wanted more grandchildren.

I could say with certainty that Margaret, however,
would insist adoption was a mistake. After making sure I knew she disapproved, she’d list ten excellent reasons why Brad and I shouldn’t adopt a child. But it wasn’t Margaret’s life, was it? I reminded myself that the decision was ours, not my sister’s.

What seemed like minutes later, the alarm on our clock radio was buzzing. The morning news followed. Brad was already out of bed and in the shower. Although I don’t have to be at work until ten, I make it a habit to get up with my husband.

Yawning, I went into the kitchen, started the coffee and dropped slices of bread in the toaster. Cody, lucky boy, could sleep for another hour before he had to wake up.

“Have you done any more thinking about what we discussed last night?” Brad asked me as he took his first sip of coffee.

“A little. What about you?”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Lydia.”

“Let’s talk about it again in a few weeks.”

He nodded. Before he left for work, Brad kissed me with extra fervor, and I took comfort in what he told me so effectively without words. I stepped outside with him, into a spring morning soft with promise. Standing on the deck, I watched him pull out of the garage.

I must’ve done something very good in my life to deserve Brad Goetz.