The Shop on Blossom Street (16 page)

“Why is it,” she asked in a whisper, “that women who don’t want to get pregnant have such an easy time of it?”

She felt her husband’s slight nod of agreement. “I wish I had an answer, sweetheart, but life just isn’t fair.”

“No kidding,” she muttered for the second time that night.

ALIX TOWNSEND

A
lix slept late on Friday morning, lying in bed while the last remnants of sleep faded away. She was warm and comfortable and unwilling to move. Keeping her eyes closed, she let her mind linger on the kiss she’d shared with Jordan. Never in all her life had she realized a kiss could be so good.

She’d been kissed plenty, and had lots of other experience, too. Still, no kiss had affected her like that one. The men she knew tended to be rough and sweaty and urgent in their need to dominate. She’d never known such sweet pleasure from a simple kiss. But then, she reminded herself, this could all be tied up with a childhood dream that had been shattered one night in the sixth grade.

Even now, more than a week later, she remembered every nuance of his kiss. His hands had framed her face and his eyes had locked with hers. She’d seen his look of surprise—and uncertainty. They’d parted soon afterward,
and it almost seemed to her that they needed to get away from each other in order to assimilate what had happened.

Alix hadn’t seen Jordan since, hadn’t talked to him, either. She tried not to dwell on that. Unsure what prompted her, on Sunday morning Alix had walked over to the Free Methodist church Jordan had mentioned. She stood across the street and chain-smoked three cigarettes while she watched people file in.

Jordan was right about one thing: only a few of the older adults wore hats and gloves and dresses. Various families came with youngsters in tow, all carrying Bibles. Alix had only ever owned one Bible and that had been so long ago, she didn’t know where it had gone. Staring at the churchgoers, she saw that most people wore casual clothes, but that wasn’t a strong enough incentive to send her inside.

She’d loitered on the corner, hoping, she guessed, that Jordan would notice her. He obviously hadn’t; she didn’t see him either.

The music was good, upbeat and lively—not what she remembered at all. Alix had heard church music as a kid and it had sounded like something out of the Middle Ages, but it wasn’t that way now. Once she’d even caught herself humming along and quickly stopped.

After about forty minutes, she’d walked away, hands buried deep in her pockets. It wouldn’t have hurt to slip into the back pew and take a look, but fear made that impossible. Analyzing her actions now, nearly a week later, Alix wasn’t sure what she’d been so afraid of. The possibility of someone talking to her, perhaps.

Rather than brood on last week’s disappointment, Alix tossed back the sheets and climbed slowly out of bed. Laurel was sitting in front of the television, an old model
with a faded picture tube and tinfoil-wrapped rabbit ears. Her roommate stared intently at a kids’ cartoon.

“Morning,” Alix muttered as she wandered into their tiny kitchen.

Laurel ignored her.

“What’s your problem?” she asked irritably. They were supposed to be friends, but Laurel rarely spoke to her anymore. She’d been sulking for weeks now.

Laurel shook her head, silently indicating that she didn’t want to talk. Alix had no idea what was bothering her, but she assumed it had something to do with that worm of a used-car salesman. He hadn’t been around lately. For a while they’d been together constantly and then all of a sudden he was out of the picture. Whatever had happened remained a mystery. Laurel certainly wasn’t telling.

“Fine, be in a bad mood.” Alix reached for a banana. “See if I care.”

Once again Laurel ignored her. Peeling the banana, Alix plopped down on the one stuffed chair in the apartment. Someone had abandoned it in a vacant lot. Alix and Laurel had come upon it and carried it the three blocks back to the apartment. It was pretty ratty, but Alix had found a printed sheet and spread it over the chair. With a few tucks and folds it wasn’t half bad. No designers would be asking her to make a guest appearance on their shows, but it worked for now.

Biting into the banana, Alix noticed that the baby blanket she was knitting lay on the floor.

“What the hell happened here?” she demanded. She flew off the chair to rescue her project. The ball of yarn had unwound and ended up near the apartment door.

Laurel wasn’t paying her any heed.

Standing directly in front of the television, Alix glared
at her roommate. “I don’t know what your problem is, but get over it.”

“Keep your knitting away from me.”

Alix snickered; she couldn’t help it. “What’s the matter? Did it chase after you?”

“It was in my way.”

“So you threw it at the door?” Talk about unreasonable!

Laurel didn’t answer.

Alix examined the nearly completed blanket, unsure what she’d do if Laurel had caused her to drop stitches or worse, pulled out the needles. Laurel was treading precariously close to a fight. Alix was sick of her roommate’s bad moods, sick of her slovenly habits and sick of her mooning over a man who was a loser with a capital L.

“Get a grip, will you?” she snapped on her way back to the bedroom. They shared the one bedroom, which made life all the more difficult. The latest rumors floating around said the apartment building had been sold. Where they’d move next was as unclear as the stitches Alix had yet to master.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel if you…” Laurel didn’t finish. Instead she buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

Alix felt awful. Sitting next to Laurel, she sighed. “It’s lover boy, isn’t it?”

Laurel nodded. “He said…he doesn’t want to see me anymore.”

Anything Alix could say at that moment would have been wrong. Laurel didn’t want to hear what a loser John was. Alix didn’t understand why Laurel couldn’t see it when everyone else did. Okay, so John had a decent job. Nevertheless, he was a sleaze and nothing would discount that sad truth.

Laurel pulled her feet up and locked her arms around her knees. She’d been overweight when they met but now she seemed to be even bigger than Alix remembered. She’d obviously gained weight since the breakup. Now that Alix thought about it, they’d been going through a lot of groceries lately.

“Eating isn’t going to help.” Alix strived to sound sympathetic.

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“Not fat, exactly.”

“Okay, I’m fat and ugly. You think I don’t know that?” Her voice dipped with venom and her greasy blond hair fell forward as she buried her face in her knees. “And mean.”

“Mean?” Alix asked, her suspicions growing.

Laurel nodded. “Jordan stopped by the store on Tuesday and asked me to give you a message and I didn’t.”

A chill came over Alix. “What was the message?”

“He…he wanted to take you roller-skating.”

“When?”

“This afternoon with a bunch of kids from his church and I didn’t tell you…. I know I should have, but I didn’t want you to have a man when I don’t. I’m fat and ugly and no one wants me.”

Laurel stood and reached inside her jeans for a folded-up piece of paper. “I was supposed to give you this.”

Alix unfolded the flyer and saw that it announced an afternoon skating party at a rink five blocks away. Alix stared at the page and turned it over to find a note Jordan had written her. “Alix, I’m looking for a partner. You interested?”

The way her heart nearly exploded told her she was. But skating?
Her?
Alix had never put on a pair of skates in her life. When she was five or six, all the kids who lived
in the same apartment complex had roller skates. Alix had desperately longed for a pair. But finances were always a problem for her family. There wasn’t enough money for beer, cigarettes, drugs and roller skates, too.

“You want to come?” she asked Laurel, well aware of what it felt like to be excluded.

Laurel looked up, then shook her head. “No. Are you actually doing it?” She didn’t hide her astonishment.

Alix shrugged. “Maybe.”

She took an hour to think it over. Jordan claimed he liked her for herself. She wasn’t sure she should believe him; what he remembered was the girl she’d been at eleven, which was a far sight from the woman she was now. Despite her doubts she realized she wanted to trust him, wanted to be with him, the same way she had all those years ago.

Nothing had ever come easy for Alix. Everything had been a struggle. If she was going to have a good life, she had to make it happen herself. That recognition fired her determination to give this relationship a chance.

Alix was waiting outside the skating rink, leaning against the building, when the big yellow church bus pulled up. The doors opened and about a thousand preteens poured out. No one paid much attention to Alix until Jordan walked over to her, wearing the biggest grin she’d ever seen.

“I was hoping you’d show up.”

“I’m not skating.” She wanted that understood. “I came to watch.” She wasn’t willing to play the role of klutz in front of a crowd of teenyboppers.

“You’ll be missing out on all the fun.”

She didn’t care; no one was strapping her into a pair of skates.

The rink opened and the kids swarmed inside. Alix
hung around on the street, smoking a cigarette, then casually wandered into the rink. Already kids were skating on the polished wooden floor, speeding around and around with the music blasting. This wasn’t music Alix recognized—but then she realized she did. She’d heard one of the songs while she was standing outside the church last Sunday morning. The rink apparently provided Christian rock.

Alix had to look for Jordan. Then she saw him, surrounded by kids. They followed him wherever he went—as though he were Moses, she thought with a smile. Some of that Bible stuff had definitely stuck. Jordan was busy helping them with their skates and putting on his own. Before he ventured into the rink, he stopped and gazed around. When he saw her, he smiled that lazy, happy grin and she nodded her head in acknowledgement. He winked back, and it felt as if the sun was shining directly on her.

Despite her curiosity, Alix remained in the background, taking everything in. Jordan finally skated into the rink, faltering a bit before he found his balance. Once he did, he began skating smoothly and confidently; she found it a pleasure to watch. A few of the kids skated around him, and some of them were really good, skating backward and doing creative dance-style moves to the music.

When Alix lost sight of Jordan, she moved closer to the railing. Jordan skated past and waved. It didn’t take long for the church kids to notice the attention he paid Alix. Several stopped to look at her and chat among themselves. Alix ignored them.

“Is Jordan your friend?” a girl asked. She couldn’t be more than thirteen, with perfect dark hair and olive skin. Another girl, a blonde in braces, stood beside her.

Alix nodded.

“He mentioned you,” Blondie said.

Okay, so Alix was curious. “What did he say?”

The other girl answered. “Jordan said he’d invited a friend to join him. He said you used to be his valentine.”

Alix shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”

“He’s kinda cute, don’t you think?” Blondie said.

Alix shrugged again. Anything she said was sure to get back to Jordan.

“Aren’t you going to skate?” the first girl asked.

“Maybe later.”

Jordan went around the rink at least a dozen times, then pleaded fatigue and glided over to stand next to Alix. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been around.”

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

She almost hadn’t, but she didn’t mention the reason.

“You’ve never skated before, have you?”

“Every kid’s skated,” she returned, rather than confess the truth.

An hour later, Alix was wearing a pair of skates. Before she knew it, her two newfound friends had convinced her to give it a try. Once Alix had on the skates, the girls led her into the rink, each holding one of her hands.

“Don’t worry, we aren’t going to let you fall,” the blond girl promised.

The girls gripped her fingers hard enough for Alix to believe it.

She shouldn’t have.

Two feet onto the slick wooden floor, Alix started flailing. Not ten seconds later, she was flat on her butt. She didn’t have a chance to even think before Jordan came up behind her and tucked his arms under hers, swooping her upright.

“Everyone falls.” Then with his arm around her waist and his free hand holding hers, they made one full circuit of the rink. Kids whizzed past them at speeds that made Alix dizzy. She didn’t look. Couldn’t look. She needed all her concentration to remain upright.

“This isn’t so hard.” She was starting to get the feel of it. Despite herself she laughed. It was as if she were six years old again and Santa had delivered that pair of roller skates, after all.

“Cherie says you’re cool.”

Alix didn’t care what the little blond girl thought. “What do you say?” she asked Jordan.

He grinned down at her. “I think you’re pretty cool, too.”

His words were more beautiful than any music she’d ever heard.

LYDIA HOFFMAN

T
his has been quite a week. It’s unheard of for me to have two social engagements within the same seven-day period. My lunch on Wednesday with Carol did so much good—for both of us. I feel I connected with her and extended a hand of friendship. She responded, and I’m confident we’ll stay in touch, whether or not she continues to knit.

The class earlier this afternoon was the best yet. Following the incident in the back alley, Alix and Jacqueline were cordial and just shy of friendly. Jacqueline relayed the details of the confrontation in minute detail, with Alix
leaping in to add comments. Anyone looking at them would think they were longtime friends.

When I asked Jacqueline how her husband had reacted when she told him about the incident, she’d gone suspiciously quiet. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I have the feeling all is not well between Jacqueline and Reese Donovan.

The class flew by, and then I was seeing Brad for drinks. We were meeting at The Pour House for a beer at six after I’d closed for the day. Despite the drizzle we’d had intermittently since early morning, I was in a great mood.

The Pour House was about two blocks off Blossom, and seemed to be a popular hangout for the after-work crowd. The noise level was high with music blaring from a jukebox, high-spirited laughter and a television above the bar, which had a ball game on. I’m not very interested in sports, but I know lots of men are. Between the noise and the room’s darkness, I felt a bit disoriented.

Brad had found a booth near the back, and when he saw me, he stood, waving his arms over his head. I smiled and waved back, then quickly made my way across the room, negotiating tables and chairs.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it,” he said as he slid back into the booth.

“Am I late?” I glanced at my watch, and was surprised to see that it was almost fifteen minutes past six. I shook the rain off my jacket and Brad hung it up for me.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, but I’ve only got half an hour or so. The day care teacher said she’d keep Cody until seven-fifteen but not a minute longer and it takes me at least twenty minutes to get there.”

“How old is your son?”

“Eight. He keeps telling me he’s too old to be in day care, but I’m not letting him stay by himself all day.” Judg
ing by Brad’s frown, I guessed this had been a frequent argument over the summer. “Sometimes I swear that kid’s eight going on eighteen.”

I thought of my own two nieces and while I might not be a mother, I understood what he was saying.

“Since we don’t have much time,” Brad said, “I’d rather not waste it talking about me. I want to learn about you.”

I considered myself the least intriguing of subjects. Nevertheless, I was flattered by his curiosity.

“I know there’s a lot of interest in knitting, but isn’t it risky to open a shop right now?” he asked before I could forestall him with questions of my own. I knew so little about Brad except what my eyes told me. He was as handsome as sin. From bits and pieces of conversation, I also knew he was divorced and apparently had custody of his eight-year-old son, but that was about it.

He certainly wasn’t the first person to express concern about my timing. Everyone worried that I was going to become a victim of our weak economy, that I was in over my head. But I’d been treading water since I was sixteen, so opening my own yarn store was no riskier than anything else in my life. Margaret had come right out and declared that I was making a mistake. But if I’d waited until all the conditions were ideal, it would never have happened. After two bouts with cancer, I knew I couldn’t wait for life to be perfect. I had to find my own happiness and quit waiting for it to find me.

I saw that he’d already ordered a pitcher of beer, which had just arrived. He paid the waitress and poured us each a glass. “My dad died just after Christmas,” I said as if that explained everything. “I was dealing with that loss, and then one day I found myself knitting furiously and remembered a conversation we’d had several years earlier.”

Brad sipped his beer and nodded for me to continue.

My throat got a bit scratchy but I ignored the emotion that filled me at the mention of my father. I don’t know if I’ll ever grow accustomed to having lost him. I paused for a moment.

“Go on,” Brad encouraged.

“At the time, I figured I was the one who didn’t have long to live.”

“You said you had cancer.”

“Twice.” I wanted to be sure he understood. I waited for a reaction from him, but he gave me none.

“Go on,” he said again. “You were talking about your father.”

I sipped my beer. He’d chosen a dark ale and I liked it. “I was in the hospital, and it was the night before my second brain surgery. Mom and Dad came to spend the evening with me. Mom was reading, and Dad and I were talking.” I remember that night so well because in my own heart I was convinced I’d be dead before the year was over. Dad was the one who believed in me, who insisted I was going to cheat death a second time.

“He asked me to describe one perfect day,” I told Brad. I knew he was forcing me to acknowledge that I
wanted
to live. The question was his way of drawing me into a future. A future I firmly believed was unavailable to me.

“What did you tell him?” Brad had leaned forward and cupped both hands around his mug.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds. “That I wanted to wake up in my own bed instead of one in a hospital.”

“Can’t blame you there.”

I grinned. Brad made it surprisingly easy to talk about myself. “Next I wanted to be able to smell flowers and be close to the water and feel sunshine on my face.”

“In the Pacific Northwest?” He smiled as he asked the question and I couldn’t help responding with a laugh.

“My perfect day happens in late summer, when we get plenty of sunshine.” This past Wednesday was a good example. “Now don’t distract me.”

“Yes’m.” His eyes fairly twinkled and for a moment I was so mesmerized I had to make myself look away.

“I’d wake to sunshine and the sounds of birds,” I continued, “and my perfect day would begin with a cup of strong coffee and a warm croissant. I’d take a leisurely stroll along the waterfront.”

“And after that?”

“I’d knit.” I remember how astonished my father had seemed when I told him that. He shouldn’t have been. By that time I’d been knitting for years. I remembered how my wanting to knit—seeing it as a perfect part of my perfect day—bothered him. Knitting, in his eyes, was such a solitary activity that I’d soon become a recluse.

“Knitting in your own store?” Brad murmured.

“Sort of.” One of the things I love most about being a knitter is the community of other knitters. Anytime I run into another person (usually a woman but not always) who knits, it’s like finding a long-lost friend. The two of us instantly connect. It doesn’t matter that only seconds earlier we were strangers, because we immediately share a common bond. I’d talked to other knitters in doctors’ offices, in line-ups at the grocery store—anywhere at all. We’ve exchanged horror stories of misprinted instructions and uncompleted projects. And we all loved to brag about fabulous yarn buys and, of course, discuss our current efforts.

“I wanted to help people discover the same sense of satisfaction and pride that I feel when I finish a project for someone I love.” That was the best way to describe it, I thought.

“How would you end your perfect day?”

“With music and champagne and candlelight,” I said shyly, which was only partially true. I’d told my dad I wanted to end the day dancing.

My father had told me I’d have that perfect day. What neither of us knew was that he wouldn’t be there to enjoy it with me.

“What’s wrong?” Brad asked, watching me.

I shook my head. “I was just thinking about how much I miss my father.”

To my surprise, Brad reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”

I bristled. I didn’t want his sympathy or his pity. What I yearned for more than anything was to be normal. One of my biggest fears was that I could no longer recognize what normal was.

“Cancer is part of who I am, but it isn’t everything. I’m in remission today but I can’t speak for tomorrow or next week. I was in a holding pattern for most of my twenties but I’m beyond that now. It wasn’t just the doctors or the medicine or the surgery that saved me, especially since I’d died emotionally when I learned the cancer had returned.” I took a deep breath. “My father refused to let me give up, and when I discovered knitting, I felt like I’d found the Holy Grail because it was something I could do by myself. I could do it lying in bed if I had to. It was a way of proving I was more than a victim.”

Brad’s eyes grew somber and I think he really heard me.

“Anything else you want to ask me?” I sat up straighter, prepared to back off now.

A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “How come it took you so long to say yes to a beer with me?”

“Relationships aren’t part of my perfect day,” I teased, although that was far from the truth.

“No, seriously, I want to know.”

Mostly I’d been afraid of rejection, I guess. But all I said was, “I’m not sure.”

“Are you willing to go out with me again?” His eyes held mine.

I nodded.

“Good, because I only have a few more minutes and I want us to get to know each other.”

We talked for a little while longer, and I finally had the opportunity to ask
him
some personal questions, mainly about his marriage and his son.

Forty minutes later, I parked in front of Margaret and Matt’s house. I realized I’ve never shown up at my sister’s home without an invitation. Come to think of it, I don’t think she’s ever actually invited me—and yet here I was, so excited I couldn’t hold still. I was dying to talk to someone, and since my sister had practically forced me into this, I figured she should be that someone.

I rang the doorbell and then stepped back, half afraid she wouldn’t ask me in. It was Hailey who answered. When she saw me, she shrieked with happiness—and left me standing on the porch while she ran to get her mother.

“Lydia.” Margaret burst into the room and stood on the other side of the closed screen door. “It
is
you.”

“I told you it was,” Hailey said from behind her mother.

My sister unlocked the screen door and held it open for me.

“I don’t usually drop by unannounced,” I said, “but I just had to tell you about my meeting with Brad.”

“Oh, my goodness, that was tonight.” My sister’s eyes lit up as she pulled me into the house. Before I could comprehend what was going on, she had me sitting at the kitchen table and was on a stepstool in front of the refrig
erator, standing on tiptoe as she removed a liquor bottle from the cabinet above.

“What are you doing?” I asked, almost giddy.

“A night like this calls for homemade margaritas.” She had a bottle in each hand—one of tequila and one of cointreau.

I giggled like a schoolgirl. Hailey dug into the freezer portion of the refrigerator for ice cubes while Margaret found limes, then brought out the blender and special glasses.

In a matter of minutes, my sister had mixed the drinks and dipped the rims of both glasses in salt; she’d also made a virgin drink for Hailey, something involving ginger ale and fruit juice.

“Where are Matt and Julia?” I asked.

“Bonding at a baseball game,” Margaret explained, handing me my glass. “Now tell all.”

After two beers and now sipping a mixed drink, I wasn’t sure where to start. “I met Brad at The Pour House.” Both my sister and Hailey drew closer. “He had less than an hour because he had to pick up his son from day care.” If not for that, I had the feeling we could have spent half the night talking.

“He’s paying extra time at day care on a Friday night?” Margaret asked.

I nodded.

“You can bet he paid through the nose for that.”

“He didn’t say.” I looked from my sister to my niece who hung on every word.

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He asked a lot of questions but he didn’t talk much about himself. Mostly he talked about his son.”

Margaret shrugged as if that didn’t impress her half as much as his paying extra charges at the day care center. “What did he have to say about his ex-wife?”

I had to think about that for a moment, which gave me time to take another sip of the margarita. My sister possessed talents I would never have suspected. For one thing, this was the best margarita I’d had in years.

“Mostly he glossed over the divorce. They were too young and she decided she didn’t want to be married or responsible for a child. Not once in the entire conversation did Brad say anything negative or derogatory about Cody’s mother.”

Margaret smiled. “I like him, you know.”

So did I, but I was cautious. And nervous.

“You told him about having cancer?” my niece asked.

I nodded. “I felt it was only fair.”

“Are you going to see him again?” Margaret’s gaze was sharp.

“Yes.” I took another sip of my drink. “One more of these margaritas, and I’d probably be willing to marry him.”

My sister broke into peals of laughter. I can’t remember ever seeing Margaret this pleased with me and, silly as it sounds, I basked in her approval.