The Shop on Blossom Street (20 page)

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

F
riday afternoon Jacqueline arrived at A Good Yarn, her usual five minutes after starting time. Being “fashionably late” was a habit she’d picked up long ago and seemed unable to break. To her surprise, Carol was missing. Alix was slouched down in her chair with a morose look on her face.

“Where’s Carol?” she asked Lydia, who stood at the end of the table, knitting needles in hand. Lydia carried her yarn and needles around with her, so her hands were constantly busy.

“Carol decided to stay home this afternoon,” Lydia explained. “I’m afraid she had bad news. She lost the baby.”

Jacqueline had feared as much. “I’m so sorry.”

“She’s taking a few days to regroup, but I hope she’ll be back.”

Jacqueline nodded; she felt terrible for Carol. The other woman’s desire for a child was so strong it verged on des
peration. Jacqueline was worried about her and hoped Carol could, somehow, rebound from the loss. She recalled her own bitter disappointment over her inability to give birth to a second child, but at least she’d been able to have Paul. The likelihood that Carol and Doug would get a baby through adoption was slim. Jacqueline sighed. This was a sad turn of events, and there wasn’t a thing any of them could do.

“I’m afraid we might lose Carol,” Lydia said.

“Why? What do you mean?” Alix asked, anxiety in her voice.

“She didn’t say anything, but I think she might be returning to work. The only reason she quit was for the baby, and she told me a couple of weeks ago that the brokerage firm would like her to come back.”

Alix looked, if anything, even more dejected.

Jacqueline wondered what was bothering her so much. Worry about Carol was obviously part of it, but Jacqueline sensed that something else was wrong.

“How are you, Alix?” Jacqueline murmured, reaching inside her bag for her knitting. She was working on a scarf for her son. It was a lovely worsted wool, the same brown shade as a pony Paul had loved as a child. Jacqueline wondered if her son would remember Brownie and make the connection.

“Hi,” Alix murmured, keeping her head lowered.

Jacqueline looked to Lydia, who shrugged, indicating she didn’t know what was wrong, either. The shop grew quiet, the silence broken only by traffic noises from outside.

Alix glanced up, and Jacqueline saw that she was no longer working on the man’s sweater she’d taken over from Carol. In fact, she was knitting something entirely different.

“What’s your problem?” Jacqueline asked bluntly.

“That’s my business.” Alix’s eyes flared to life as if she’d welcome a verbal confrontation.

“Man trouble if I’ve ever seen it,” Jacqueline announced to Lydia, who grinned slightly and nodded in agreement.

Alix’s mouth thinned but she didn’t take the bait.

“My guess is it involves that minister you’re dating.”

“We weren’t dating…. We were just friends.”

“Past tense?” Lydia pried gently. “You aren’t seeing him anymore?”

“I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s got more than one friend, if you know what I mean.”

“You saw him with someone else,” Jacqueline guessed.

Alix’s head was so low her chin sank into her chest when she nodded.

“Someone pretty,” she mumbled. “And blond.” The girl in church.

“Naturally,” Jacqueline added. She’d always imagined that Reese’s mistress was blond, and regarded with suspicion any blonde who came near him. Not that she cared, she told herself, but Jacqueline had to admit she occasionally wondered what the woman looked like. At the same time, she
didn’t
want to know. In fact, she usually tried not to think about her at all.

Jacqueline’s marriage, what was left of it, had been strained since the night Reese had walked out on their dinner. She hadn’t forgiven him; more than that, she’d avoided him.

Reese hadn’t made any effort to bridge the gap, either. Apparently, finding his roses stuffed in the garbage the next morning had been message enough.

The three of them sat knitting together in silence. Lydia had to put her own knitting aside twice to help customers, and that left Jacqueline alone with Alix.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure what prompted the idea, but once it took hold in her mind, it refused to leave.

“I owe you a favor,” she announced with some fanfare.

“For what?”

Jacqueline was astonished that Alix had forgotten. “Dear girl, you might very well have saved my life.”

A hint of a smile came and then quickly vanished. Alix shrugged as if her stepping into the alley that day and standing up to those hoodlums was just a routine incident. An ordinary, everyday event.

“It’s time I repaid your kindness,” she said decisively.

Alix was plainly curious. “How?”

“I think,” Jacqueline said with flair, “that we’ll go for a complete makeover. My treat, naturally.”

“A what?”

“A beauty treatment.”

Alix frowned. “What good’s that going to do?”

“It might get you noticed by a certain young man.”

“What kind of beauty treatment?” Alix tried to disguise her interest, but she didn’t fool Jacqueline.

“We’d start with your hair.” Jacqueline examined the purple-tinted ends with a critical eye and resisted the urge to cringe. That dreadful color had to go. Motioning with her hand, she offered a few suggestions. “Get it cut and styled. Perhaps dye it a different color.”

“Only if I like it,” the girl said warily.

“Of course!”

“Any color I want?”

“Within reason.”

Alix made a careless movement with her shoulders. “I suppose that would be all right.” She acted as if she was doing Jacqueline a favor. Two months ago Jacqueline would have taken offense at that but now she knew it was simply posturing.

“I’d like to take you to my fashion consultant and—”

Alix was shaking her head even before Jacqueline had finished the sentence. “I don’t need any advice on how to dress.”

“Whatever you say, but I do think we should get you a couple of new outfits.”

Still Alix hesitated, but then she gave a halfhearted nod. “Your treat?”

“Of course.”

“I guess it’s okay. When do you want to do this?” She asked as if her social calendar was full.

“Soon.” Jacqueline set aside her knitting and retrieved her cell phone. “I’ll call Desiree right now. She’s the best hairdresser in town. It sometimes takes weeks to get an appointment.”

“Okay.” Alix couldn’t hide her eagerness now. She sat up straight, nibbling on her lower lip.

“I need an appointment with Desiree ASAP,” Jacqueline said, hoping the receptionist caught the hint of urgency in her voice. Desiree was a top beautician and the prices she charged were enough to perm Jacqueline’s hair
without
chemicals. Still, she was worth every penny because of the miracles she performed. All the women at the country club went to her, and if they didn’t, they wanted to.

Jacqueline waited impatiently while the receptionist put her on hold. It seemed forever before she returned. “Desiree says she’ll stay late this evening if you can be here by four-thirty.”

“Four-thirty?” She glanced at Alix, who nodded. “We’ll be there,” Jacqueline crowed triumphantly. She turned off the cell and placed it inside her purse. She felt certain that Alix didn’t realize her good fortune. Jacqueline had to book her haircuts a month in advance.

Lydia was back, and although she hadn’t heard a lot of the conversation, she seemed to understand what was happening and nodded in approval. Jacqueline was on a mission now, confident that with a change in wardrobe and a decent haircut she could turn Alix into an attractive young woman. A thrill of excitement went through her. This was going to be
fun
.

As soon as the knitting session was over, Jacqueline took Alix to Nordstrom for a new outfit. She purchased her own designer clothes at the Seattle-based department store, where one particular sales clerk had been in charge of Jacqueline’s wardrobe for years.

Victoria took one look at Alix and immediately went to work. Jacqueline accompanied the girl into the dressing room and was shocked at her lack of proper intimate apparel. She insisted on new bras and panties first, and none of those ridiculous and indecent thongs, either.

Alix made a fuss, but it didn’t last long. Still, while Jacqueline might have won
that
battle, Alix was the undisputed victor when it came to the war. She refused to even try on the St. John knitted suit or anything else Victoria delivered.

Considering the limited time available today, Jacqueline had to be content with buying Alix good-quality underwear. Before she was through, she swore she’d get her into something tasteful.

Unfortunately, the trip to the hairdresser didn’t go much better. Desiree gasped at Alix’s purple-tinged hair and started swearing in French. Even after years of high school and college French classes, Jacqueline couldn’t understand what the woman said. But judging by the tone of her remarks, it was preferable not to attempt a translation.

Jacqueline sat in the waiting area and sipped coffee
while a verbal skirmish occurred in the background. Fortunately, most of the shop’s elite clientele had already departed; otherwise, their ears would’ve been assaulted by the ongoing exchange between Alix and Desiree.

Ninety minutes after they arrived, Alix flew to the front of the salon as if she’d just been released from prison. Jacqueline hardly recognized her. Gone was the tar-black hair with the eggplant-purple highlights. Instead, Alix’s hair was a soft shade of brown with a reddish tinge that was similar to the yarn she’d chosen for Paul’s scarf.

“Alix,” she said, coming to her feet. Once again, Desiree had performed a miracle. Not only had she colored Alix’s hair but she’d styled it in a froth of curls.

“I
hate
it,” the girl cried as she ran her fingers through her hair, disarranging it. “This isn’t me.”

“No, my dear,” Jacqueline said patiently, “this is a new you.”

For a moment it seemed Alix was about to burst into tears. “I look like…like one of the Brady Bunch,” she moaned.

“You look lovely.”

“Greg,” she cried. “I look like Greg from the Brady Bunch.”

“You’re being silly,” Jacqueline said sharply.

“I’m not! Everyone’s going to laugh at me.”

The girl was making absolutely no sense. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“I know you meant well, but this just isn’t me…. It just isn’t me.”

Without a word of gratitude, Alix stormed out of the salon, leaving Jacqueline speechless.

“Where did you ever meet such a girl?” Desiree asked, shaking her head.

“It’s a long story,” Jacqueline murmured, discouraged
now. She’d wanted to do something nice for Alix, something kind to show her appreciation, and she’d failed.

When she got back to the house, she discovered Reese in the kitchen getting a beer from the fridge.

“Are you okay?” he asked as she hurried past him to her own area of the house.

Jacqueline was surprised at his question. They hadn’t spoken, other than to exchange basic household information, for days now. Another time she might have pretended not to hear, but tonight she was hurt and confused, and couldn’t hide it.

She didn’t know how her good intentions toward Alix could have gone so badly awry. Sitting down at the kitchen table, she accepted the glass of wine Reese brought her and launched into an explanation of her adventure with Alix.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong!” Jacqueline said hopelessly.

“How old is Alix?” Reese asked.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure. “Early twenties, I suppose.”

“You were trying to make her into another you, Jacquie.”

“I most certainly was not,” she cried, angry that Reese was so ready to find fault with her. She should’ve known better than to confide in him.

Then, at once, she realized he was right. She’d taken Alix to
her
salesclerk and
her
hairdresser. She met his gaze and slowly nodded. “Perhaps I was.”

“Next time, ask Tammie Lee to give you a few suggestions.”

“Tammie Lee,” Jacqueline repeated and automatically shook her head. “She couldn’t do any better than me.”

“Maybe not, but she’s closer to Alix’s age and might have a few ideas.”

“I suppose I could ask her,” she said. Her daughter-in-law might not do better, but she certainly wouldn’t do any worse than Jacqueline had.

LYDIA HOFFMAN

W
hen I didn’t hear from Dr. Wilson’s office by the end of the week, I didn’t think anything of it. Generally Peggy calls patients with their test results while the office is officially closed for lunch. From experience, I knew that if I needed a prescription refilled, I needed to contact Dr. Wilson’s office before eleven.

When I opened the shop on Tuesday morning, it occurred to me fleetingly that I hadn’t heard back from Peggy. Of course, she might have tried to reach me on Monday, but with the shop closed she would’ve gotten the answering machine. I realized I hadn’t given her my new phone number and the only way she had of getting hold of me was through the shop. I checked as soon as
I’d flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN, but found no messages.

I thought of it later and meant to phone the office myself, but was interrupted in the most pleasant manner possible. Brad stopped in on what he termed his coffee break.

My heart continued to do leaps of joy whenever he walked into the shop. We’d gone out to dinner twice in the last week and were together for much of Sunday afternoon. Cody spent the weekend with his mother who was often away on business, and this was a rare treat for us, even though I really enjoy Cody. He’s a lively little boy with a quirky sense of humor. He asked me to knit him a sweater with a dinosaur on the front, and I said I would.

“Hi there, handsome,” I said as Brad let himself into the shop. He dazzled me with one of his smiles.

“Have you got coffee made?” he asked when it seemed I was capable of doing nothing but staring at him in wide-eyed adoration.

“Not yet,” I said. “I barely got here.”

“I’ll put on a pot.” He headed for the back room, where we’d escaped any number of times for a private moment.

We both knew his coffee-making ploy was just an excuse for the two of us to be alone. I followed him on the pretense of helping, but the instant I walked past the floral curtain that served as a door, Brad placed his arms around my waist and pulled me close.

“I had a wonderful weekend,” he whispered with his hands locked at the small of my back.

“I did, too.” We’d gone for a canoe ride on Lake Washington and halfway across he’d brought out a guitar and attempted to serenade me. It was truly romantic and quite possibly the sweetest thing any man had ever done for me. “Just promise you’ll never sing to me again.”

“You don’t like my baritone?” He jutted out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

“No,” I said. “That’s not it. I love your singing, but I’m in serious danger of falling in love with you.” That wasn’t what I’d intended to say, but it seemed my heart had its own purpose.

“That’s what I want, Lydia.” He brought me closer still and kissed me with such energy and need that I was afraid I might collapse at his feet. We’d explored the attraction between us quite a bit over the weekend. I recognized that we’d reached a decision point in the relationship. It would be easy for this attraction to slip into the physical. Before that happened, though, I needed to be absolutely sure we shared the same values and life goals.

Margaret had warned me—and my mother had spoken her piece, too—about the importance of taking the relationship slow. I knew they were both right, but I felt so
good
in Brad’s arms.

“I want to be with you more and more,” Brad said. “You’re the first thing I think of when I wake in the morning and the last thing on my mind at night.”

He was in my thoughts day and night, too, and to be honest, it frightened me. Twice before, I’d been in promising relationships. The first time I’d been too young to really understand what I’d lost when Brian and I broke up after I was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

It was a different story with Roger, who broke my heart. I wanted to die when he walked out on me and in retrospect, I see that was exactly what I assumed would happen. Time is a great healer, as the old saying has it, and I understand now, almost six years later, why Roger left when he did. He loved me. I truly believe that. Because he loved me, he couldn’t bear to watch me die. He reacted the only way he knew how—by running away.

I heard that he got married just four months after we broke up. I tried not to think about him, but every now and then I felt a twinge of sadness. I didn’t want any regrets with me and Brad, no matter where the relationship took us.

“You’re very quiet.” He tenderly brushed the hair from my forehead as he looked down at me.

“We need to go slow,” I said. I’d told him about Brian and Roger, and just about everything else in my life there was to tell. He’d already known the basic facts, the outline of my emotional history, but I’d filled in the details when we were in the canoe. I’d leaned against him and gazed out over the beautiful green water of Lake Washington as we drifted. Brad had his arms around me. I found it easier to talk about my lost loves when I wasn’t facing him.

In turn, Brad described his marriage, and said he felt he’d failed Janice, his ex-wife. That was something I couldn’t understand, although I understood the impulse to assume blame. It’s part of the same impulse that makes us believe we’re responsible for everything that happens in a relationship or a family. But I’ve learned we can’t control other people’s feelings….

“What about dinner Friday night?” he asked now. He kissed me before I could respond.

The phone rang and I sighed with annoyance. “Hold that thought,” I whispered, easing myself out of his arms.

I hurried to the phone and grabbed it just before the answering machine kicked in. “A Good Yarn,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray what I’d been doing a moment or so earlier.

“Lydia, this is Peggy from Dr. Wilson’s office.”

“Oh, hi, Peggy,” I said, glad to have finally heard from her. “I was wondering when you’d contact me.”

“I meant to call on Friday.”

“That’s fine. I was busy all day.”

She hesitated and perhaps I should’ve caught it then, but I didn’t.

“I should have phoned,” Peggy said.

By now I’d detected reluctance in her voice.

“Bad news?” If it was, I didn’t want her to delay it a second longer. She’d given me the weekend as a gift and instinctively I realized that without her having to put it into words.

“I tried to call yesterday,” she murmured, “but then I remembered your shop’s closed on Mondays, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t leave a message.” The reason was obvious now. The news she had to give me couldn’t be left on an answering machine.

“No,” she said, her voice uneasy.

“What is it?” I asked, steeling myself for the worst.

“Oh, Lydia, I’m so sorry. Dr. Wilson looked over your bloodwork and he’s scheduled a series of X-rays for you. He’d also like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience.”

“All right.” It went without saying that the cancer was back. Another tumor was forming in my brain even as Peggy spoke. It was growing back and nothing would stop it this time, no surgery, no drugs, nothing. Had I been alone, I would have insisted Peggy tell me the worst of it then and there. But I couldn’t do that with Brad in hearing distance.

“Can I make you an appointment with the radiologist for tomorrow morning at eight?”

“Fine,” I mumbled.

“Dr. Wilson will want you to bring the X-rays for an appointment here at nine.”

“Okay.” I was numb. I’d been given this reprieve of six
years and I felt cheated not to have more. I wanted
so many
more.

Twice now, my father had been my strength, but this time he was gone and I was alone. Mom was incapable and Margaret would be furious when she heard this. I couldn’t help believing that my sister would find some way to blame me for the return of my tumor. She’d say my need for sympathy had encouraged its growth. I almost groaned as I imagined her reaction.

“Bad news?” Brad asked when I replaced the receiver.

I hadn’t noticed he was no longer in the back room. The coffee had obviously finished brewing because he held a mug in his hand.

“No,” I lied. “But unfortunately I won’t be able to make dinner on Friday.”

“Everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Of course.” How I managed to smile I’ll never know, but I did, gazing up at him with a look worthy of an acting award.

Brad left soon afterward and if he suspected anything was wrong, he didn’t let on. I’d give it an hour or two, then phone him on his cell and make sure he understood that our relationship was over. I knew I was taking the coward’s way out, but I didn’t want to argue about it or discuss the details with him. I didn’t want to hold out false hope or have it held out to me. Experience is the best teacher. I would make it easy on Brad and save him the trouble later.

Just when I’d begun to feel that I had a real chance at life, it was being snatched away from me—again. I knew this routine, having lived it. The tests come back with questionable results. A consultation is followed by even more tests, extensive ones that require an overnight stay in the hospital.

Then the prognosis is delivered by a grim-faced Dr. Wilson, who would squeeze my hand before he left the hospital room.

I’d always wondered what that little gesture was supposed to mean. At first I thought Dr. Wilson was telling me to be brave. To fight the good fight, to give this battle my all. Now I know differently. He was telling me how sorry he was. He’s only human, and there’s only so much he can do.

As soon as I could, I’d break all ties with Brad. Someday he’d understand and while he might not thank me now, I knew he would later.