The Shop on Blossom Street (25 page)

CAROL GIRARD

C
arol stood in the doorway of what would’ve been the baby’s nursery, and her eyes fell on the empty crib with the mobile dangling above it. Tiny zoo animals hung from a small umbrella with a music box attachment. She didn’t know why she was torturing herself like this. Nothing was going to change.

Doug came and stood behind her. “I’ll call and arrange for the department store to pick up the furniture.”

“No…don’t. Please.”

“But…”

“I made an appointment with an adoption agency.” She said the words in a rush, as if to convince him that this was the logical next step.

She felt Doug tense.

“We can’t give up now,” she implored. She couldn’t forget her need for a child. She’d tried. She’d had to accept the fact that there would be no biological child for her, but she couldn’t entirely let go of their dream. “I want so badly to be a mother. I
need
to be a mother. Just like you need to be a father…”

Doug’s shoulders sagged and he didn’t speak.

“I have to do this,” she pleaded. They’d discussed adoption any number of times, but always as a last resort. Carol had held on to this last thread of hope, and yet she’d feared Doug’s reaction. He’d been so quiet lately; she could feel him withdrawing from her emotionally and she couldn’t endure it.

“You’re sure you want me to go to an adoption agency with you?” he asked.

“Of course! It’s important that we prove we’re good candidates as adoptive parents.”

Her husband’s mouth thinned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think having a crib and a change table is going to sway an agency to choose us as potential parents.”

“I know, but it can’t hurt. I want the agency to see that we’re ready, and that we could take a baby at any time.”

He turned away from her, walked into the living room, and stood in front of the large picture window that overlooked Puget Sound.

“You don’t want to go to the interview?” Carol asked as she joined her husband. They stood side by side without touching. Like Doug, she kept her gaze trained on the waterfront.

“How much is this going to cost?”

Carol didn’t have an answer for him. The initial interview required a five-hundred-dollar deposit and as for the actual adoption, she didn’t know. “It costs as much as it costs,” she said. Whatever it was, she didn’t care.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you have any idea how much we’ve already invested in this quest for a child?”

She didn’t and furthermore it didn’t matter. As far as she was concerned, money was of little consequence. “Not really.”

“There’s a limit,” Doug said starkly, “and frankly I’ve reached it.”

“All right, then,” she snapped. “I’ll go back to work if that’s what you want. The only reason I didn’t suggest it earlier is because I thought the adoption agency would prefer a stay-at-home mother, and that might put us closer to the top of the list. But I’ll go back to work if you want me to.”

Doug turned to face her. “This is exactly what I mean,” he shouted. “We’re no longer a couple. Everything we do revolves around a baby. We used to laugh together, go out, have fun.”

“We still do,” she countered, but when she searched her memory, she realized he was right.

“I’ve been as patient with this whole process as I can stand.” Anger vibrated from him. “It costs too damn much and I—”

“In other words, money is all you’re worried about?”

“If you’d allow me to finish,” he said slowly, enunciating each word, “you’d have heard me say that the emotional price is too damn high.” He shook his head. “I can’t stand seeing you go through this pain and turmoil when the procedures don’t even work—injections five times a day, seeing the doctor every forty-eight hours…. It’s taken over your life. Our lives.”

She agreed the toll on their emotions, especially in the last few months, had been extreme. One day she was filled with despair and the next, riding a wave of hope and optimism. That was when she’d assumed Rick’s baby might be available to them. The only avenue left open to them now was adoption. They
had
to try. Doug couldn’t mean they should stop!

“Now you want to drag us through yet another emotional quagmire and, Carol, as much as I love you, I don’t think I can do it.”

“You have to,” she cried.

“Why?” he shouted. “Why is it always about
you
and
your
need for a baby?”

In all the years of their marriage she’d never heard Doug use this tone of voice with her. “I—it’s for us.”

“Not more than five minutes ago, you admitted the baby was for you. It’s all about your need to be a mother. You, you, you. What about
me,
Carol? What about my needs? What about my wants?”

“I—”

“For the last…dear God, how many years has it been? Five, six? The entire focus of our lives has been on getting you pregnant. That apparently isn’t going to happen, so fine, let’s deal with it and get on with our lives.”

“But…”

“I don’t want to adopt.”

The world all but exploded in pain and disbelief. “You don’t mean that.” Was Doug telling the truth? He couldn’t be. He was emotionally drained. She understood, because she’d hit bottom herself, but she’d recovered and Doug would, too, given time.

“I do mean it.”

“But…you just told me we could go to the appointment with the agency.” Carol was counting on that.

“You go. I don’t want to.”

“But…why?”

“Because I can already see what it’s doing to you.”

She’d never known Doug to be so unreasonable. “What exactly is it doing to me?”

“We have to prove to complete strangers that we’re worthy of being parents. I feel like a beggar singing and dancing, cap in hand. All so someone I don’t even know will like me enough to consider me father material.”

“You’ll be a wonderful father!”

“Would have been,” he muttered.

His words scored deep wounds in her heart.
Would have been.

“I can’t do this anymore, Carol. I’m not the man you think I am. I want out.”

“Do you want out of the marriage?” she asked through numb lips, hardly able to say the words.

“No. I vowed to love you and I do.”

“You make it sound as if this is some promise you made and regret,” she said bitterly. “Would you have married me if you’d known I couldn’t have children?”

His hesitation was just long enough to supply the answer.

Her pain was so intense that for one unbelievable moment the room went dark and she started to sway.

Doug’s arms came around her, and he buried his face in her shoulder. “I was crazy in love with you when we got married and I’m just as crazy in love with you now. I want us to stay married, but I can’t live like this anymore.”

“I…I can’t have a baby.”

“I know and I accept that.”

“No, you don’t.” He might be saying it, but deep down he’d always resent the fact that she couldn’t give him children.

“I do,” he said sharply, “but I need you to accept it, too. Let go of this, Carol. Accept the fact that we just weren’t meant to be parents.”

“But we could be someday. If we put our name in with the agency, then—”

“Then what? Three, four, five years from now—if we’re fortunate—we might be chosen as worthy recipients of an infant? Do you realize I’ll be forty-four in five years’ time? I’d be sixty-two when our child graduated from high school.”

Carol hid her face against her husband’s chest. Her emotions reeled with the impact of what he’d said. Doug was right. It was time to surrender this need. She’d never been a quitter, didn’t know how to give up. Everything she’d ever set her mind to, she’d accomplished. Except for this…Her effort to have a child had become the focus of her life; more than that, it had become the purpose of her life. Her clenched-teeth determination was ruining their marriage.

Doug released her and walked away. Carol stood frozen and miserable, shaking with a combination of too many emotions, but mostly defeat.

The front door opened and she whirled around. “Where are you going?”

“Out. I need to think.”

“When will you be back?” Her eyes begged him not to leave her, but she refused to ask him to stay.

“I…don’t know.”

She nodded and turned back, hands to her mouth.

“We both need to think this through, Carol.”

She nodded silently. The choice was clear. Either she renounced this need or she ruined her marriage and both their lives in the process.

It was nightfall before Doug returned. Carol sat in the darkened living room, curled up tight on the sofa with her arms circling her knees.

Doug came slowly into the room. “Are you okay?”

She wasn’t yet, but in time she’d adjust. “I cancelled the appointment with the adoption agency.”

He thrust his hands in his pockets. “You can deal with that?”

She nodded. She had to accept that there would be no baby.

Doug sat down across from her and leaned forward, bracing his arms against his knees. His shoulders drooped.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“A walk.”

“For three hours?”

He nodded.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

He shook his head.

“I phoned Bon-Macy’s. They’re coming to collect the baby furniture next week.”

He stared down at the carpet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I am, too.” Sorrier than he’d ever know.

Doug extended his arm to her. “We’ll be all right, just the two of us.”

“Yes,” she whispered as her fingers clasped his. It was true. It would be true.

It
had
to be true.

“Knitting is a haven, a safe place where one can touch history, dance with art and create a peaceful life.”

—Nancy Bush, author of
Folk Socks

LYDIA HOFFMAN

A
t first I was angry when I didn’t hear from Brad. After all his affirmations about being there for the long haul, he’d walked out on me like every other man in my life, with the exception of my father. A thousand times over, I wished I’d read his letter. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer—I had to know.

I turned to my sister for advice; I’d come to rely on her more and more, especially in emotional matters. So on Monday, I called her.

“Where are you?” Margaret demanded immediately after I’d said hello.

“At the shop.”

“It’s Monday. I thought you took Mondays off.”

“I do, but there are always a million things to do here and well, it’s where I’m most comfortable.” I did all my best thinking with walls of yarn around me. I’d always looked upon skeins of yarn as unfulfilled promises—the way some people, writers or artists, look at a blank page. The potential is there, and it’s up to us to make something with that yarn or write something on that page. It’s the sense of possibility I find so exciting.

Actually, I gave a lot of thought to that analogy. My relationship with Brad held promise and because of my fears I’d let him go. I didn’t do anything with all those possibilities.

“You’re calling about Brad, aren’t you?”

Sometimes Margaret seems like a mind-reader. “If you must know…yes. Have you heard from him?”

“Me? What makes you think he’d contact me?”

“Wishful thinking, I suppose.” Even over the telephone line, I could tell my sister was amused by my question.

“Are you going to call him?”

The idea had been swirling around inside my head all week. “I might.”

“Then why are you calling me?” The gruffness I’d experienced so often with her was back in full force.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe because I was hoping you’d tell me I was doing the right thing and that I wouldn’t make a complete idiot of myself in the process.”

Margaret hesitated for only a moment. “If I were you, I’d go for it.”

“You would?” Hope sprang to life.

“Call me back once you do, okay?”

“Okay.” I had to pause to be sure the warmth in her voice was directed at me. “Margaret.” I swallowed, finding it difficult to continue.

“What?”

“I wanted to thank you for being so wonderful these last few months.”

My gratitude must have taken her aback, because she didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Time seemed to be suspended and then I thought I heard a soft sigh.

“It’s very nice to have a sister, you know,” she whispered.

I couldn’t have agreed with her more.

Once I’d determined that the only thing to do was call Brad, I was on a mission. I’d rehearsed several approaches before I dialed his home number later that evening.

His son answered on the second ring. “Hello, Cody,” I said.

“Hi.” He sounded unsure as if he didn’t recognize my voice.

“I’m Lydia. Remember? We met a little while ago.”

“I remember! You’re the lady who owns the yarn store. You said you were going to knit me a cool sweater with a green-and-yellow dinosaur on it.”

I smiled to myself. “I’ve already started it.” I’d put the project aside when I went into the hospital, but with concentrated effort, I could have it finished by the end of the week. “Is your dad home?”

“Just a minute. I’ll get him for you.”

My heart died a hundred deaths in the time it took Brad to pick up the receiver. It must’ve been less than a minute but it seemed closer to an hour before I heard his familiar voice.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” My mouth was so dry, my tongue refused to cooperate. “It’s Lydia.” His silence was nearly my undoing, but I forged ahead, simultaneously blessing and cursing Margaret for encouraging this.

“What can I do for you?” he finally asked.

“Could we meet and talk?” I asked.

“When?”

“Whenever it’s convenient for you.” I wanted to shout
the sooner, the better,
but it depended on his schedule and not mine.

“All right. I’ll let you know when I can arrange it.”

I waited for him to say something else and when he didn’t, I had no choice but to end the conversation. “I’ll wait to hear from you, then.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” The line went dead and I was left standing with the receiver in my hand and the dial tone in my ear.

This was much worse than I’d imagined. I’d secretly hoped that once Brad heard the sound of my voice, he’d be so pleased that whatever pain I’d caused him would evaporate. How foolish I’d been not to consider his feelings.

Over the years Margaret’s complaint about me had been that I was self-absorbed. I know she resented the fact that Mom and Dad focused their attention on helping me through my ordeals. I’d always believed that her accusations were unfair, based on her own jealousies and insecurities, but now I began to see things differently.

How cheated she must have felt. Cheated and abandoned. For the first time, I wondered if she could be right about me. I couldn’t have done anything about my cancer, but I could’ve changed my reaction to it. I had the victim mentality down to an art form.

I remained standing in my kitchen, toying with the idea of calling Margaret again, when the phone rang, startling me. I grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”

“I can meet you in half an hour at The Pour House.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes,” he said as if that should be obvious.

“All right.” The phone clicked as he hung up.

Within five minutes I’d brushed my hair and dabbed my wrists with a lovely French perfume my dad had given me years ago—the one I saved for my most special occasions. On my way out the door, I grabbed a light sweater.

I’d found a corner booth and paid for a pitcher of beer by the time Brad walked into the pub. He glanced around, saw me and then headed toward the booth. He slid in across from me.

Hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop watching him. All of a sudden, my eyes started to fill with tears. I would die of mortification if he noticed. I did everything but dive head-first into my mug of beer in an effort to hide this ridiculous crying jag.

Of course he noticed.

“Lydia, are you crying?”

I nodded and dug frantically in my purse for a tissue. “I am so sorry,” I sobbed, hiccuping in an effort to hold back the tears.

“For crying?”

I nodded, letting my head bob a time or two more than necessary. “For everything. I treated you terribly.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I was so afraid and—”

“You didn’t read my letter.”

“I know.” I paused long enough to blow my nose. “I couldn’t, because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep you out of my life. I
had
to let you go, for your protection and for mine.”

Brad lifted the pitcher and refilled my mug. “I prefer to make my own decisions.”

“I know, but…” All my excuses sounded hollow and insincere now. “Margaret thinks I’m self-absorbed and she’s right. I’m so sorry, Brad, for…everything.”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me? Why you called and asked me to meet you?”

I nodded again. It was what I’d wanted to say, but there were other things, too. My throat seemed to close up, and the silence that fell between us felt utterly unmanageable.

“There’s more.”

Brad looked up from his beer expectantly. He wasn’t making this easy, but then I didn’t deserve that.

“Ever since I met you, since we started seeing each other, I’ve been…happy.”

He shrugged. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“I know…You see, I’ve realized I have a hard time handling life when everything’s going smoothly. I’m not used to being happy and I don’t know how to deal with it. So I do something stupid to mess it up.”

“You figured this out on your own?”

I shook my head. “Margaret helped.” None too gently, either, but he didn’t need to know that. My relationship with my sister was still complicated, but now I knew she cared about me.

“Ah yes, Margaret. Little Ms. Matchmaker.”

“She’s all right.” It surprised me how defensive I felt toward her.

“Yes, she is—and so are you.”

I smiled through my tears. “Thank you.”

He took a deep swallow of beer. “Okay, now that the apology’s out of the way, where does that leave us?”

I didn’t know what to tell him. “Where would you like our relationship to go?” My heart was hammering so loudly, it was nearly impossible to hear my own thoughts.

“In the same direction it was headed until your most recent tests.” His look grew intense as he reached across the table for my hand. “What about you, Lydia? What do you want?”

“I want the entire month wiped from my memory and I want us to go back to the way things were before and…and I want us to be close again.” Then, because he should know, I added, “But it’s important that you understand there are no guarantees.”

“Your sister told me everything.”

“Everything?” Then he knew. “And you still want…”

“I want you more than ever, Lydia, but I don’t want you shoving me out of your life because you think I can’t deal with your illness. Let me make that decision for myself.”

It was hard to give him that control, but I knew he was right. He was asking more of me than he realized.

“I can’t make you any promises,” he continued, “but I can tell you that I care for you a great deal.”

“I care for you, too.”

“That’s a starting point, and where it leads neither of us can know.” He smiled at me with those devilish blue eyes and I understood that Brad Goetz wasn’t going to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. He was a man I could trust. A man I could lean on. A man who was my father’s equal in every way.