Back on Blossom Street (17 page)

Alix Townsend

“I
want to bake my own wedding cake,” Alix said. She looked at her future mother-in-law and Jacqueline, who both sat across the table from her. They were in Jacqueline’s home, and this meeting was one Alix had delayed as long as she dared. The last time she’d been involved in a wedding discussion had been the Saturday she’d gone to the gym with Colette. Susan had already determined the entire menu for the rehearsal dinner. Why, Alix wondered, had Susan even gone through the facade of soliciting her opinion?

Instinctively she knew these two women she loved would try to thwart her on the issue of the cake. Alix had done her best to be amenable, biting her tongue, sweeping aside her natural inclinations. The wedding cake, however, was a different matter. Her professional pride was on the line.

“Alix,” Jacqueline said, sounding sympathetic and conciliatory. “It’s perfectly understandable that you’d want to make your own wedding cake. You’re a baker—it’s what you do.” She gestured vaguely. “But, darling, you’ve got so many other things to worry about.”

“Actually, I’m looking forward to it,” Alix insisted. She practically needed diplomatic training to prepare for this wedding. With tolerance and patience (Jordan’s words, not hers), hoping to inspire unity (again from Jordan), Alix had all but given Jacqueline and Susan Turner free rein. However, with the wedding cake, she was determined to get her own way. She had a very distinct idea of what she wanted.

“You’re going to be far too busy to spend time on the cake,” Susan chimed in, agreeing with Jacqueline.

The two older women had become friends during all of this. Alix was pleased for them both—and alarmed that neither seemed to realize how much they’d alienated her in the process. They had a vision of what they wanted this wedding to be and as far as Alix could figure, she and Jordan were just props. Alix tried to remember that they loved her and were doing this for her and for Jordan.

“Actually, I’d like something to take my mind off things,” Alix said. Every time she had to deal with another aspect of this stupid wedding, her skin started to itch.

“Alix,” Jacqueline said in the same tone of voice she used when speaking to three-year-old Amelia. “I don’t think you recognize the pressure you’re putting on yourself.” She shook her head. “Susan and I aren’t saying you can’t bake your cake.”

“Thank you.” Alix felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. She reached for her coffee and sipped from the edge of the cup. She didn’t usually drink coffee from anything other than a mug, but Jacqueline didn’t own one. Everything was top-of-the-line china for her.

Now that her friend was a grandmother twice over, she’d compromised her standards—to a degree. The kitchen was a good example; the cupboards were still stacked with the finest dinnerware, while the bottom
drawers contained an assortment of toys and children’s eating utensils.

“That’s not a good plan,” Susan challenged, sitting back and regarding the two of them.

“Why don’t we discuss the cake itself,” Alix said, hurriedly changing the subject. She might still end up attending those diplomacy classes at the rate this was going.

“All right,” Susan reluctantly agreed.

“I was at a wedding a couple of years ago,” Jacqueline piped up enthusiastically. “And the wedding cake was incred-ib-le.” Eyes closed, she enunciated each syllable. “I was surprised to find out it was cheesecake.”

“Cheesecake?” Susan repeated.

“I don’t think—”

Jacqueline broke in. “Cheesecake would be perfect for the wedding dinner at the country club. It would be such an elegant finishing touch.”

Susan shook her head, dismissing the idea. “Since my husband’s a pastor, we’ve had the opportunity to attend a
large
number of weddings. So I can tell you that the huge wedding cake isn’t how it’s done anymore.”

“Really?” This came from Jacqueline, who looked somewhat taken aback.

“Oh, there’s a formal cake, but not one of those three-tiered monstrosities that so often dominated a reception table. My heavens,” she said, warming to the subject, “I remember a wedding where there was a larger cake—” she held her hands a distance apart to indicate the size “—and then five or six smaller ones surrounding it. I must say it was all cleverly done. I learned later that the cakes cost—well,” she said, mildly embarrassed. “None of that’s important.”

“I want the very best for Alix,” Jacqueline insisted proudly.

“I was thinking of baking a traditional white cake,” Alix inserted, seeing that the conversation was rapidly getting away from her.

The room went silent as both women stared at her. Her suggestions seemed to be neither wanted nor appreciated.

Susan picked up her coffee, and after clearing her throat, said, “What I started to explain is that a lot of brides are opting for a variety of flavors. Not everyone enjoys white cake.”

“It’s
my
favorite,” Alix said, although it was plain no one heard her.

“The last wedding I attended served carrot cake and lemon cake and the most delicious chocolate one with a mousse filling,” Susan continued. “I meant to ask what bakery they used but I got sidetracked.”

“Carrot cake,” Jacqueline repeated, sounding astonished. “How…unique.”

“It was wonderful with the cream cheese frosting.”

Jacqueline nodded excitedly. “The cheesecake I mentioned was beautifully decorated. I remember wondering what they’d used for frosting and it was a sweetened cream cheese, too. It would be
perfect
for Alix and Jordan.”

“How about a traditional white cake?” Alix asked.

Both women frowned at her as if they’d grown irritated with her interruptions.

“We want this to be a wedding everyone remembers,” Jacqueline said kindly. “I’m afraid white cake is just so—” She paused, apparently searching for the right word.

“Ordinary,” Susan supplied.

“Yes, ordinary,” Jacqueline echoed.

“Jordan and I would prefer an ‘ordinary’ wedding and an ‘ordinary’ cake baked by me.” The only way to get either woman to listen was to speak loudly. She didn’t want to be rude but Alix had taken about all she could stand.

Not entirely to her surprise, their immediate reaction was silence. Her words seemed to fall like large stones onto the table, startling Jacqueline and Susan.

“I see,” Jacqueline murmured, looking crestfallen.

Despite her exasperation with them, Alix felt contrite. She didn’t want to hurt Jacqueline’s feelings, or Susan’s, either. She just wanted them to
hear
her. “I don’t mean to sound unappreciative,” she said earnestly, “but—”

“Maybe we should ask Jordan,” his mother suggested as if it was necessary to bring in reinforcements.

Alix hated to drag her fiancé into this, and yet it might be the only way to settle the matter once and for all. Jordan knew how badly Alix wanted to bake her own cake. They’d discussed that very subject the night before. True, Jordan had seemed distracted and tired, but he’d agreed she should be able to do this. Alix knew he couldn’t care less if the cake was white, yellow or purple. Like her, he just wanted this affair over with.

“He’s at the church,” Susan pulled her cell phone from her purse and hit speed dial. “Jordan Turner, please,” she said, smiling over at Alix.

Alix crossed her arms and waited impatiently, wishing now that she’d taken the initiative and called him herself.

“Hello, Jordan,” Susan said, her voice brightening now that her son was on the line. “We’re all here discussing the wedding and we seem to be at a stalemate.”

After a moment she laughed.

Alix frowned and wondered what Jordan had said that his mother found so amusing.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Susan said next. She glanced at Alix. “Now, about the wedding cake…”

After a few seconds, Susan sighed audibly and handed the phone to Alix. “Jordan wants to talk to you.”

Alix took it. “It’s me,” she said unnecessarily.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said.

“Hi.” Alix kept her voice devoid of emotion, suddenly uncertain whether he even remembered their discussion the night before. Her stomach tensed as a familiar ache came over her. “What’s this about the wedding cake?” Jordan asked.

“Jacqueline wants cheesecake, frosted with sweetened cream cheese.”

He made a noncommittal reply. She supposed that was so she’d know he was listening.

“Your mother suggested a selection of cakes in a variety of flavors.”

“That’s okay, too,” he murmured vaguely.

“Jordan, are you
listening?
”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was reading an e-mail.”

“This is important,” she snapped. She stood up and walked over to the window, presenting her back to Jacqueline and Susan. “We’re talking about our wedding cake, Jordan. Yours and mine.” In other words, the cake celebrating the beginning of their marriage should be one chosen by them, not anyone else.

“Of course it’s important,” he said. “Listen, can you wait a minute? I’ve got a call coming in.”

Before she could answer, Jordan put her on hold. It was fast becoming clear that her fiancé was less than interested in the details of their wedding.

“Sorry,” he said, switching back after an irritating two minutes.

“No problem,” she lied. It
was
a problem. This whole wedding was. The inside of her elbow started to itch, and Alix scratched at it through the sleeve of her jean jacket.

“What were you saying?”

“We’re discussing the wedding cake,” she reminded
him, trying not to sound as annoyed as she actually felt. “You and I, Jordan,” she said, speaking slowly and distinctly, “discussed this very subject last night and we reached a decision.”

“Yes, we did.”

“Do you remember what that decision was?” she asked pointedly.

Jordan laughed. “You didn’t tell me there’d be a test.”

“Yes, and this happens to be a
big
test,” Alix said evenly. “Call it the final exam.”

The amusement was gone when he spoke again. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”

“You could say that.”

“What
did
we decide last night?” Jordan asked.

“You don’t remember, do you?” Knowing beforehand that there’d be a showdown with Susan and Jacqueline, Alix had pleaded her case with Jordan. She’d explained how much she wanted to make a personal contribution to their wedding. The cake was perfect for her. She’d baked several wedding cakes already and this was something she could do and do well. Despite what Jacqueline and Susan seemed to think, she was more than capable of making that cake a showpiece.

“I’m asking you to tell your mother what we decided,” Alix repeated, a cold chill running down her spine.

“I’m sorry, Alix, I was tired last night. I had other things on my mind.”

“I…see.

“Is it really that important?”

“Apparently not,” she returned. She realized how flippant that sounded—and didn’t care.

Jordan sighed. “Come on, Alix,” he pleaded.

She reacted with stone-cold silence.

“I assumed you could make at least one decision on
your own. Do what you want. Bake the damn cake if it’s that important to you.”

Jordan was angry now and not bothering to hide it.

“I will, then.”

“I’ve got another call,” he said and without asking, put her on hold again.

She clicked off the phone. Taking a moment to allow her nerves to settle, Alix turned back to face the two women. “We’ve reached a decision,” she told them.

“That’s a relief,” Susan said.

“Cheesecake?” Jacqueline asked, her eyes wide with hope.

Alix nodded. “For one of the cakes.”

“You’re going to do what I suggested?” Like a little girl who’d been promised a special treat, Susan clapped her hands cheerfully. “We’ll have several smaller cakes, right?”

Alix nodded again.

“Each of the cakes will be a different flavor?” Susan turned to Alix for confirmation. “One a cheesecake, of course.”

“That’ll be fine.” Alix walked across the kitchen and gave Susan back her cell.

“I hope Jordan talked you out of baking it yourself.” Susan dropped the phone in her purse, watching Alix.

“He did.”

“Good.” Jacqueline looked pleased. “You’ll thank us later, Alix. Just wait and see.”

Alix’s cell phone rang and she knew without checking that it was Jordan. She turned it off.

“You made the right decision,” Susan assured her. “You’ll have enough to think about on your wedding day without worrying about the cake.”

Alix murmured agreement. Only she was seriously beginning to wonder if there’d
be
a wedding day.

Colette Blake

C
olette glanced at her watch. She was meeting Steve Grisham for dinner at seven-thirty; it was only ten after now. She’d arrived at the restaurant early. This Italian place was new to her and because she’d walked, Colette had given herself an extra fifteen minutes.

Actually, it’d been her idea to meet Steve here rather than have him pick her up. Susannah’s husband, Joe, had recommended the restaurant. It was romantic with small, intimate enclaves, dim lighting and flickering candles. The pungent scent of garlic drifted from the kitchen. If the food was half as good as it smelled, she’d be in epicurean heaven.

Colette wasn’t sure why she hadn’t wanted Steve to come to her apartment. He had before, several times. It just seemed more convenient to meet him here, she told herself.

The waiter brought her iced tea and she thanked him and paid for it. This was the fourth time she’d gone out with Steve. She enjoyed his company but didn’t feel any real attraction to him or any strong sense of connection beyond friendship, and a fairly casual friendship at that. He’d been Derek’s friend more than hers. She didn’t
know if anything had happened between them, but the men had begun to grow apart, although the two couples had still socialized fairly often. Derek and Steve were partners for a few years and then Derek had started a new assignment. Colette had assumed the reassignment came from headquarters. She was no longer so sure of that.

She felt uneasy with Steve but couldn’t explain precisely why; to some extent, she blamed the fact that she was keeping such an important secret. If they continued to see each other, she’d have to tell him. However, she couldn’t really imagine doing that and wondered if it was such a good idea to go on seeing him. Although Steve hadn’t said anything overt, he’d made it plain that he’d like to deepen their relationship. Colette didn’t want that. Thinking about it, she decided the main reason she’d accepted his invitations was his link with Derek. Her husband was their most consistent topic of conversation. They’d exchanged memories of Derek as a rookie and laughed about the day Steve had helped them move; it’d been midwinter and the men had accidentally killed most of Colette’s houseplants, leaving them in the cold truck for hours. They’d recalled happy times, like the New Year’s Eve after Steve’s first daughter was born and the four of them had stayed up all night, delirious with exhaustion. Steve sometimes talked about the end of his marriage, too.

What she and Steve had in common besides their memories was their pain. But was this a solid basis for the kind of relationship he seemed to want?

Colette forced herself not to consider these uncomfortable thoughts for the moment. Since she had a few minutes to wait, she decided to check her mail, which she’d slipped into her purse on the way out. The first two envelopes contained bills. The following three or four pieces were junk mail and the last was a card, addressed
to her. She immediately recognized the handwriting as Christian’s.

The night before, Colette had dreamed of him. She’d awakened around three that morning and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Those dreams shouldn’t have surprised her, though. Christian constantly turned up in her thoughts. She was in love with him and she worried about his future. She hadn’t told his great-aunt any of what she knew. How could she disillusion this woman who loved him so much?

It annoyed and perplexed Colette that she was always looking for him. A man would walk past Susannah’s Garden and for a split second she’d think it was Christian. Her heart would race with excitement—and then she’d recognize that she’d made a mistake.

Reading the handwritten return address on the card, she frowned. In all the years she’d worked for Christian, she couldn’t remember him ever sending a card. But then she wouldn’t, would she? He could mail out a thousand such cards and she’d never know it.

Feeling nervous, she delayed opening the envelope. Then she couldn’t stand to wait another second. Steve wouldn’t be there for five or ten minutes; she had plenty of time. Eagerly she tore open the envelope and withdrew a small card, a single sheet of heavy deckle-edged paper.

She read the short note he’d written.
I wish you only happiness, Colette. But I’m not sure Steve Grisham is the man who will give it to you.

A comment like this was so unlike Christian that Colette just stared at the card. As he’d promised, Christian had stayed out of her life—until now, until this.

She still believed Christian Dempsey was a man of his word. Once she’d told him she didn’t want to see him again, he’d made no attempt to contact her. That he’d done
so now meant he knew something about Steve, something he felt
she
needed to know. Otherwise he would never have broken his word; Colette was positive of that.

“You seem very absorbed,” Steve murmured, standing beside the table. He kissed her cheek before pulling out a chair to join her.

Colette quickly slipped the mail back inside her handbag.

“I see you got a head start on me,” Steve said and nodded toward her glass of tea, apparently believing it was the Long Island variety. He raised his hand to get the waiter’s attention and motioned that he wanted a glass for himself and another for Colette. She smiled, thinking how shocked he’d be when plain iced tea was delivered.

Their dinner was enjoyable. Steven had quickly switched to wine and he ordered port following the meal. She declined, choosing decaf coffee instead. As always, her date was charming and personable. They shared the usual reminiscences of Derek, and Steve regaled her with stories about his job and the investigation he’d just wrapped up. He seemed to know people wherever they went. Apparently, not everyone had heard about his divorce, and Colette received several curious looks. They lingered over their drinks and talked until Colette yawned and said she really did need to get home. After collecting his car from a nearby parking garage, Steve drove her the short distance to her apartment.

“I had a lovely evening,” she told him. And it was true, although Christian’s warning was never far from her mind.

“I did, too,” Steve said, leaning close.

They kissed, his mouth moving fervently over hers until she squirmed away. When they broke apart, Steve whispered, “Are you sure you don’t want to invite me in for coffee?”

“Not tonight.”

“Soon?” he asked.

She smiled and gently kissed his cheek. “Perhaps.”

Steve released a sigh. “Colette, Derek’s been gone over a year now.”

“Yes, I know,” she said in a small voice.

“It seems longer than that.” He pressed his thumb against her chin and inclined her face toward his. “It’s time you moved on with your life,” he urged, his eyes warm. “Derek wouldn’t have wanted you to hide yourself away, working in this—” he hesitated, apparently searching for the right word “—obscure little flower shop. He’d want you to be happy.” Once more he lowered his lips to hers. “I can do that for you, Colette,” he promised in a husky voice. “I can help you remember what it means to be loved and cherished.”

“I…I—” The words clogged her throat.

“I’m not pressuring you,” Steve said, kissing the side of her neck. “Just know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

In her rush to escape, Colette reached blindly for the door handle and nearly fell out of the car.

“Thank you again for dinner,” she said. She couldn’t get inside the apartment fast enough. Without looking back, she scrabbled for her keys and let herself in. Her heart pounded as she leaned breathlessly against the closed door. A moment later, she secured the dead bolt. She stood there motionless, her hand on he forehead. What was wrong with her? It was more than Christian’s message. More than her own sense of caution. Only Colette didn’t know what.

Sunday afternoon, Colette picked up the phone, put it down and paced her tiny living room, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Then determination took hold and she picked up the phone. She called directory assistance; half a minute later, she had Jeanine Grisham’s number.

Jeanine answered on the third ring.

“Hello, Jeanine,” Colette said, hoping she sounded cheerful, when in fact her hands trembled with a combination of anxiety and fear. “This is Colette Blake.”

“Colette! Oh, my goodness, how are you?”

“I’m fine.” She hesitated and then decided to plunge into the reason for her call. “I heard about you and Steve. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, but the girls and I are doing well.” Jeanine paused. “I heard via the grapevine that you sold the house and moved. Are you still in Seattle?”

“Yes…yes.” Colette explained the changes—some of the changes—in her own life since they’d last talked.

“It’s been ages! I meant to keep in touch after Derek’s funeral, but you know what they say about good intentions. By then, Steve and I were having major problems—and well, I was pretty consumed by all of that. How did you find me?”

“Steve told me you’d moved to Yakima to be closer to your parents.”

“For that and other reasons,” Jeanine confirmed. “So you’ve been in touch with Steve?”

“Yes… Actually, he’s why I phoned.”

“He asked you out?” Jeanine’s voice cooled considerably. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It isn’t like that….”

“Listen,” Jeanine said without emotion. “Steve and I are no longer married. If you want to date him, you don’t need my permission.”

“That’s not why I called.”

“Okay.”

Colette looked out the window to the alley below. The conversation had grown uncomfortable, but she’d come this far and wouldn’t turn back now. “Steve…he never really explained why you got a divorce.”

“No, he probably wouldn’t,” Jeanine murmured.

“I’ve just started to date again,” Colette said. “Derek and I were married for a long time, and the whole dating scene’s changed so much.”

“You’re telling me?” Jeanine laughed lightly, the tension in her voice gone.

“Since it’s a whole new world for both of us, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I asked you a few questions.”

“Me?” Jeanine said. “Hey, I’m no expert.”

“What I mean is, can I ask you a few questions about Steve?”

“Oh, I see…” The wariness was back. “Colette, I like you. I’ve always liked you, but I don’t think I’m the right person to talk to about my ex-husband.”

“Who else would know Steve the way you do?” she asked.

Jeanine’s laugh lacked any pretense of humor. “Oh, about fifty other women.”

“What?”

“Colette, I’ll be blunt here. Steve couldn’t keep his fly zipped.”

Colette sank onto the edge of the sofa. “Steve…cheated on you?”

“It was more than that. He screwed anything in a skirt.” She snorted in disgust. “He was indiscriminate. Any woman who was available—and some who weren’t.”

Colette felt like she was going to be sick.

“You know this for a fact?” she finally managed to say.

“Oh, yes. It started even before we were married. I heard from a friend, a good friend, that she’d seen Steve with another woman about a week before our wedding.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Of course I did. He made up this completely credible story about this other girl being a cousin of his. When I
mentioned this to my friend, she said they were obviously kissing cousins.”

“I’m so sorry.” Colette hated opening old wounds like this.

“The only one to blame is me. I was gullible enough to believe him. The man is a consummate liar. He’ll lie even when it’s more convenient to tell the truth. It’s his nature.”

“But…he’s a detective.”

“Astonishing, isn’t it?”

“But…”

“You can’t say anything I haven’t asked myself a dozen times,” Jeanine told her. “Steve can be the most devoted, wonderful man in the world—when he feels like it. The girls adore him, even now, and yet he practically ignores their existence.”

“They’re his
children.
” Colette found herself getting angry on Jeanine’s behalf.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” Jeanine muttered.

“But you stuck it out for so many years. Why did you divorce him now?”

Jeanine’s sigh came in a long rush. “My parents asked me the same question and I wish I knew the answer. I think Steve was more shocked than anyone. I didn’t even ask him if he was seeing someone else. He probably was, but I didn’t really care anymore and that frightened me. My emotions had become paralyzed, and that made me realize what I was doing. Over the years, Steve had become blatant in his affairs. I’d turned a blind eye for so long I literally couldn’t see anymore.”

Colette heard the pain in her friend’s voice.

“One morning I woke up,” Jeanine continued, “and I knew that if I didn’t get out of this marriage I’d lose my sanity. Steve left for work and I phoned my parents and
asked if I could move in with them until I found an apartment in Yakima. They agreed.”

“You went that day?”

“That same day,” Jeanine said. “I knew with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t change my mind. It wasn’t just my pride at stake, or my children’s future. I know this might sound melodramatic…but my very soul was at risk.”

“Did Steve ask you to reconsider?”

Jeanine snickered softly. “He was convinced I’d come back and God knows he tried to talk me into it. He can be persuasive when he wants. What he didn’t understand was that he’d killed whatever love I’d felt for him. To be fair, I’d threatened to leave him any number of times.”

“Did you ever do it?”

“No, more fool me,” she said. “It took him six months to figure out I wasn’t moving back to Seattle.”

“You never let on, all the times we saw you. I would never have believed Steve was that kind of man.”

“That’s the sad part. I couldn’t believe it even when I had the evidence right in front of me.”

“I’m not going to see him again.” Colette’s mind was made up about that. Christian’s note and her own instinctive reaction to Steve were all she needed to know that Jeanine had told her the truth. Deep down she’d felt something was wrong, but she couldn’t identify it. Because she hadn’t trusted her instincts, it was Christian’s note that had prompted her to contact Steve’s ex-wife. How Christian had learned this about Steve, she had no idea.