Back on Blossom Street (8 page)

Knitting had linked us all.

Alix Townsend

F
inished for the day, Alix poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the staff table in the bakery’s back room and put her feet up on the chair across from her. The French Café did a thriving business and she liked to think she’d played a role in that success. Her muffins, coffee cakes, cookies, sweet rolls and cakes, baked fresh every morning, had attracted a following of regular customers.

Molly, one of the baristas, stuck her head into the kitchen. “Jordan’s here,” she announced in a tone that said Alix was lucky to have met a man like him. But Alix already knew that.

“Jordan? Here? Now?” she asked. They weren’t supposed to meet for another hour.

“He looks like Jordan, talks like Jordan, walks like Jordan. My guess is, it
is
Jordan.”

“Cute,” Alix said, saluting Molly’s wit with her coffee mug.

“Want me to send him back here?”

Alix nodded, even though she was a mess. If he’d waited an hour as they’d originally planned, she’d have
showered and changed clothes. Seeing that he hadn’t, he’d have to take her as she was, which at the moment was tired.

Jordan appeared, and she lowered her feet and motioned toward the vacant chair. He pulled it up to the table with one hand, holding a disposable container of coffee in the other. Leaning back in the chair, he smiled.

“Did I get the time wrong?” she asked, although she was sure she hadn’t.

“No. I’m early.”

“Any particular reason?”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Have you had a chance to look through the books yet?” he mumbled.

“Which books?” But she knew exactly what he meant. His mother had hand-delivered huge binders filled with sample wedding invitations; she was supposed to study them and make her selection. She’d
tried
to choose but every invitation she liked had been vetoed by Jacqueline or Susan. It had frustrated her so much she hadn’t bothered to look again.

“Mom said we need to decide on the invitations right away so they can be ordered.”

Alix did her best not to groan aloud. “Did
you
look at them?”

“No, I’m busy at the church and—”

“You think I’m any less busy?” she demanded, her anger firing to life.

Jordan met her eyes. “Alix, listen, I didn’t come here to argue. We’re both busy, that’s a given, but we need to get serious about this wedding.”

“I am serious.” If she wasn’t so tired, she would’ve had more control of her temper.

“I am, too,” Jordan said. “Everyone’s on my case about choosing the invitations.”

“By everyone, you mean your mother.”

“And Jacqueline,” he added.

“Then let
them
choose,” she cried, clenching her fists in frustration. Still, Jordan was right about Jacqueline. She was so consumed with wedding details that Alix had taken to avoiding her. Every conversation with her friend and mentor revolved around some aspect of the wedding or the reception. Jacqueline had actually hired a ten-piece orchestra! Then this morning, she’d said she was talking to someone about releasing doves at some meaningful point in the ceremony. Doves? As far as Alix was concerned, the idea of white birds flapping their wings, leaving droppings in their wake, was simply ridiculous. There’d even been talk of a horse-drawn buggy to transport “the bridal couple” from the church to the country club. The last she’d heard, it was still under consideration. A buggy! She could hardly bear to think about the flowers and the cake.

Alix didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings but this was
her
wedding and it seemed she should have at least a little say about the kind of event it was. Against her better judgment, she’d given in on this country club reception, because she knew a big reception would please Jordan’s mother. Alix hoped to have a good relationship with her in-laws, especially Susan Turner, so she’d been willing to compromise. Except that it felt as if she was the
only
one doing any compromising.

“We can go through the sample books this evening.” Alix finally said. It was pointless to argue.

“You don’t seem too happy about it.”

“I’m not.” She might be conceding but she wasn’t willing to pretend. “You know what I thought?” she asked, growing a bit sad that their wedding had slipped away from her.

“You were looking forward to some time for the two
of us tonight. We’ll have that, Alix, I promise, as soon as we pick out the invitations.” Jordan sipped his coffee.

“It isn’t just that,” she said wistfully. “When you gave me the engagement ring and we started talking about the ceremony…” She paused. “I thought it would be a small service and I’d make the invitations myself.”

“Really?” Jordan seemed impressed. “Maybe we could do it together.”

She doubted it. “How many people on your mother’s list?” she asked. Needless to say, her own would be considerably shorter.

“Three hundred at last count.”

Alix’s heart rate went into overdrive. “Three
hundred
people?”

“Invitations,” he corrected, apparently unaware of what this news had done to her. “That means maybe five hundred people.”

“You’ve got to be joking!”

“Alix, my father is a pastor. You wouldn’t believe how many friends and associates my parents have. Mom’s whittled the list down to three hundred invitations. If I told you how many she started out with, you’d have a panic attack.”

“I’m having one now.”

Jordan grinned, clearly thinking she’d made a joke; she hadn’t. The idea of walking down the aisle in a church filled with hundreds of wedding guests—all of them strangers—was enough to make Alix sick to her stomach.

“I hope you realize how much I love you,” she muttered.

Jordan grinned again as he reached for his coffee. “I sure do.”

“Can we talk about something other than the wedding?” she asked. The inside of her elbow was beginning to itch and she suspected she was breaking out in
hives. She hadn’t experienced hives since she was a kid and assumed she’d outgrown the tendency, which she’d learned to associate with stress. Obviously not.

“Sure,” he agreed readily. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Uh…” A few minutes ago she’d had a dozen different things she’d looked forward to discussing with Jordan. All of a sudden her mind was completely blank. “I went to the first knitting class for the prayer shawl.”

“How’d it go?”

“All right, I guess.”

“Tell me about the other people in the class,” he said.

“There’s only two other women. Susannah and Colette.” Alix enjoyed having a smaller class. She’d helped Lydia teach Susannah, who’d had some of the same problems Alix did when she’d started knitting.

“Susannah, from Susannah’s Garden?”

Alix stiffened. “I suppose your mother’s upset because I haven’t decided on the flowers yet?”

Jordan blew out an exasperated sigh. “Alix, we weren’t going to talk about the wedding, remember?”

“Right.” Actually that was a relief. It seemed there was always
something
she needed to be doing or should have done with regard to the wedding.

“Okay, so you’re knitting a prayer shawl.”

She nodded. “Lydia gave us a bit of the background on prayer shawls. Some church groups apparently take them to nursing homes and use them as part of their ministry. Lydia said the whole idea came about as a way of nurturing and caring for family or friends who’ve got health problems. I don’t think the recipient necessarily has to be ill, though. The shawls are…small displays of love,” she said on a burst of inspiration.

Jordan smiled in approval.

“I’m going to take your suggestion and knit mine for your grandma Turner.” Right away she could see that Jordan was pleased.

“Alix, she’ll adore you for that.” His brown eyes were soft with appreciation. “You made quite an impression on her, you know.”

Alix had begun to think of Sarah Turner as her honorary grandma. She couldn’t remember having grandparents of her own, although she must have. At any rate, neither her maternal nor paternal grandparents had played a role in her life. If they had, she might not have ended up in foster care.

She’d never spent time around elderly people, so meeting Jordan’s grandmother had been an experience. Grandma liked to talk and Alix had found her fascinating. Everyone in the family had heard Grandma’s stories, but not Alix and she hung on every word. Grandma talked about the Depression and World War II, when she’d worked as a school secretary for twenty-five cents an hour. Later, when her husband was in the army overseas, Grandma Turner had gone to work at the shipyard in Portland, Oregon, as a welder and saved five thousand dollars. At the time, that amount of money was a fortune. With her savings they were able to purchase the property on Star Lake, near Seattle, where she lived to this very day. The Turners had raised their two sons there; she’d been a widow nearly twenty years.

Jordan reached for Alix’s hand and entwined their fingers. “How about if we splurge and go to a movie?”

“Popcorn?”

“Why not?” He smiled and Alix leaned close to give him a lingering kiss.

They left soon afterward, stopping at Alix’s place just long enough for her to change clothes. She’d been tired and cranky when Jordan arrived, but no more.

Date night with her fiancé was exactly what Alix needed to lift her spirits and take her mind off the fuss everyone was making over their wedding.

Her irritation was a symptom of nerves, she realized. By the time of the wedding, she’d be past all of that and eager to settle into married life. It would be a piece of cake. Wedding cake! And she was baking her own. On that, Alix wouldn’t budge.

A few weeks ago, she’d tried to convince Jordan to elope. Now she understood how foolish that idea had been. Susan Turner would never forgive her if they got married in secrecy.

When they were back from the movie—a romantic comedy Alix had chosen—Jordan reminded her that they couldn’t put the invitations off any longer. They sat side by side at her kitchen table in the Donovans’ guesthouse and flipped through the huge three-ring binders, hoping to make a selection. Some of the invitations were elaborate and eye-catching, but those didn’t suit Alix’s taste in the least. She thought others were far too frilly and Jordan agreed. And some were just…silly. She couldn’t imagine who’d want Donald and Daisy Duck on a wedding invitation. The simpler examples seemed too plain. In the end, after going through each binder twice, Alix couldn’t find a single one she liked that would pass muster with Jacqueline and Susan Turner.

“What do you think?” Jordan asked.

“I wish I had time to make them myself.” Alix had looked forward to that. Something elegant, individual…

“I wish you did, too,” Jordan murmured, his head close to hers.

“You decide,” she told him tiredly. “Just pick one.”

“Me?”

“I can’t.”

“I can’t, either.” She didn’t want Jordan to think she wasn’t interested, because she was. But her choices weren’t acceptable to Susan and Jacqueline—Wedding Planners run amok, she thought with a sudden grin.

“What am I going to tell my mother?” Jordan asked. He sounded a bit desperate.

Unable to stop herself, Alix grinned again. Apparently she wasn’t the only one afraid to stand up to Susan Turner. Well, that wasn’t entirely fair. Susan was his mother and wanted the best for them. The Turner family had put their very heart—and their bank account—into this wedding, and the Donovans had, as well.

“I know what we’ll do,” Alix said, feeling inspired. “I have a solution!”

“What?” Jordan asked eagerly.

Alix laughed and threw her arms around him. “Choose one,” she insisted. “Any one will do. Close your eyes if you want.”

Giving her a puzzled glance, he opened the first binder and turned a few pages. He pointed to one of the more elaborate designs.

Alix wrinkled her nose.

“That one, then,” he said, pointing to one on the opposite page.

“That’s no better.”

“Okay,
you
choose,” he said.

She picked out an invitation with Disney characters.

Jordan grimaced. “
That
one?”

“How about this?” She purposely picked out one she knew Jordan would object to.

“No way.”

“Good.” She beamed him a smile. “We can’t decide and we can’t compromise, right?”

“Well…maybe we could?”

“Right?”
she reiterated pointedly.

“Right,” he echoed. “That means…”

“It means we’ll have to let your mother and Jacqueline decide for us.” The wedding was really for Susan and Jacqueline anyway, Alix reasoned. This way they’d be able to choose the invitations they wanted…and they could do it with Alix and Jordan’s blessing.

Colette Blake

C
olette woke from a warm and comfortable sleep, dreaming of Christian Dempsey. Alarmed, she opened her eyes, trying to banish his image from her mind. She’d worked hard to avoid any thought of him. And yet she’d forever be reminded of him through their child. Again, she felt torn, wanting to tell him about the baby, and realizing she couldn’t….

Countless times, she’d gone over their last meeting, when he’d shocked her by coming to Susannah’s Garden. The day she walked away from Dempsey Imports, she was convinced she’d never see Christian again. She’d never
wanted
to see him again. She’d been appalled and angry at what he’d done. But the weeks since then had blunted her outrage; unaccountably she found herself making excuses for him, trying to invent reasons for such immoral, illegal activities. Maybe he had a misguided sense of compassion, she told herself hopefully; maybe his intentions were actually good. Maybe he was helping people find a better way of life….

She shook her head, dispelling
that
idea, and got ready for work, dressing in loose jeans and a red cable-knit
sweater. With her morning tea, she knit another row of the prayer shawl. The knitting was going well, and Colette was beginning to look at yarn in a different way. After only one lesson, she was already thinking about patterns she might one day attempt. Her next project, she decided, would be a sweater for the baby.

The day before, Lydia had shown her a new shipment of alpaca wool as expensive as it was lovely. Recalling it now, Colette immediately pictured that yarn in a cardigan, a man’s sweater, and Christian Dempsey flashed into her mind. Irritated, she abruptly set aside her knitting. She had to stop thinking about him! He wasn’t the man she’d believed he was, and the sooner she accepted that, the better. Again and again, she mentally reviewed the computer file she’d read. There could be no other explanation.

Susannah was at the flower shop when Colette got in and they worked together until noon. March had arrived the day before, and typical of late winter in the Pacific Northwest, one rainstorm had followed another all week long. Then—a thrilling surprise—the clouds parted and the sun peeked out, bathing Puget Sound in golden, glorious light. All at once, Colette felt an urgent need to get outside and breathe fresh air.

“I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said when Susannah returned from her lunch break. After nothing but drizzle for two weeks, Colette craved the sun on her face.

Taking her jacket in case the weather turned nasty again, she headed down the hill to the Seattle waterfront and the Pike Place Market. She loved the market and often used to shop there with Derek, although he’d never found the same pleasure in being downtown as she did.

With the sun out, the city had surged to life. There was a new sense of energy, of well-being, and Colette felt in
vigorated. People seemed to move more quickly, laugh more loudly. She giggled at the antics of a troop of uniformed schoolkids, whose teachers merely smiled in resignation. Purchasing a decaf latte she sipped it while she wandered toward the market.

“Colette!”

At the sound of her name, she turned but didn’t see anyone familiar. After a moment, she gave up and continued into the market. Fishmongers tossed whole salmon back and forth, to the delight of tourists. She stopped to watch; it was a scene she’d witnessed any number of times but always enjoyed.

“Colette?”

Again she turned, and this time she caught sight of a man wearing a black overcoat. At first she didn’t recognize him. When she did, she came to a halt, an astonished smile on her face.
“Steve?”
she said as he hurried toward her. “Steve Grisham!”

He stood directly in front of her and for a minute or two, all they did was stare at each other.

“What are you—”

“You moved and—”

They started speaking at once, then paused and laughed.

Steve motioned to Colette. “You first.”

“Oh, my goodness, I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, hardly knowing where to begin. Steve had been a good friend of Derek’s, his first partner when Derek had joined the Seattle Police Department. The more experienced officer had been paired with her husband during Derek’s initial two years on the force. Then Steve had been assigned elsewhere and eventually he’d made detective. Derek and Colette had attended a party his wife, Jeanine, had organized to celebrate his promotion.

“How are you?” Steve asked, his eyes serious as he
studied her. His hands rested lightly on her upper arms, as if he wanted to hug her but wasn’t sure how she’d respond.

“I’m fine,” she told him, and at that moment it was true.

“What are you doing here in the market…now?” he asked.

When they realized they were holding up foot traffic in the narrow passageway between the stalls, they started walking together, leaving the market entirely and wandering down Post Alley.

“I’m on my lunch break,” she explained, dumping her empty latte container in a trash can. “What about you?”

“Same thing. I came down to grab a quick bite. Join me,” he said. “I’d like the company.”

“I’d love to.” He led her to a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant where the ambiance left much to be desired but the food was known to be exceptional. It was a police favorite, a place Colette had occasionally met Derek for lunch. Once or twice, Jeanine had come, too. Colette felt the predictable twinge of nostalgia but resolutely ignored it.

The last time she’d seen Steve was at Derek’s funeral. With so many people in attendance, she hadn’t been able to acknowledge and speak to everyone. She’d seen Steve and Jeanine but hadn’t done anything more than thank them for their love and support.

“I tried to call you,” Steve said after the waiter had taken their order. “You changed your phone number?”

“I moved and…well, there didn’t seem to be any reason to get a phone. All I really need is my cell.”

“You sold the house?” Steve asked in surprise.

“The very first day it was on the market. It went so fast I didn’t have time for second thoughts.” She suspected Steve had tried to contact her on the one-year anniversary of Derek’s death.

He nodded as if he understood her need to move on.

“I tried to reach you at work, too,” he said next.

“You did?” She was astonished he’d gone to such lengths to search for her.

But before she could question him further, their food arrived. Colette had ordered soup and Steve a hamburger and fries.

“I wanted to see how things were going,” he said, squeezing a liberal amount of ketchup on the side of his plate. “It’s been a year now, right?”

She didn’t answer the question. “I’m doing okay,” she assured him a second time.

He raised his head. “You look great,” he said with an appreciative grin.

His scrutiny unsettled her and in an effort to hide her uneasiness, she picked up her spoon. The beef soup was homemade and full of vegetables and pieces of seasoned meat. It was so hot, steam rose from the bowl.

His expression sobered. “I didn’t know if you’d heard about me and Jeanine,” he said, grabbing the burger with both hands.

Colette hoped he wasn’t about to tell her they’d split up. Colette had always liked Steve’s wife and saw them as a good match, with Steve’s practical nature balanced by Jeanine’s whimsy and sense of humor.

“Jeanine filed for divorce,” he said abruptly. “She moved to Yakima before Christmas.”

Saddened at the news, Colette set her spoon aside. “Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry.” The couple had two little girls who were going to grow up without their dad.

His eyes revealed a depth of sadness as he finished chewing. “We both tried, but it didn’t work out.”

“How are the girls holding up?”

“They seem to be doing well—very well, considering,” he said. After a brief hesitation he shrugged. “They’re so
young and with the crazy hours I work, I was hardly ever around anyway.”

When he’d been with Derek, they’d worked swing shift, but she supposed a detective had to be available around the clock. Still, family should always come first. In her view, anyway. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, thinking she might be able to help but with no idea how.

That sad look returned and he lowered his gaze. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

“Too late?”

“The divorce is final this week. And like I said, Jeanine moved to Yakima—to be closer to her parents.”

“But the girls?”

“I hated to see them leave Seattle but in the end it’s probably for the best. Our parenting plan spells out my visitation rights and I have them for two weeks every summer, spring break and a week at Christmas. Jeanine’s family really loves the girls, and all in all, it’s a workable solution. Although I miss my family….”

Reaching across the booth, Colette touched his forearm. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.

Steve nodded. “So am I. Being a cop’s wife isn’t easy. You know that. I always admired the open, honest relationship you had with Derek. That’s one reason I was hoping to talk to you.”

Not sure what to say, Colette glanced down. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“You were a good wife.”

Her throat thickened with grief—and guilt, because it was Christian who dominated her thoughts these days, not Derek.

“Colette?”

“Sorry,” she said, plucking a napkin from the canister on the table.

“May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” She lifted her head in surprise.

“I know this must come out of the blue, but would it be all right if I phoned you sometime?” Steve said quickly.

“I…” Colette felt flustered and uncertain. “Sure, I…guess.” This wasn’t what she’d expected him to ask. It’d been years since she’d dated. That was obviously true for Steve, as well; he looked as uncomfortable as she did. If they were to start seeing each other, she’d have to tell him about the pregnancy. And yet, it seemed wrong for Steve to know and not Christian.

Suddenly he smiled and she saw him as the attractive man he was—not just Derek’s friend and one of a social foursome. His features were classic with a square jaw that suggested he could be stubborn, as well as determined. His dark brown eyes were perhaps a bit small and slightly close together, but that didn’t bother her. His hair was thick and well-groomed. He’d always looked good in a uniform and even more so in a suit. He exuded an authority that people instinctively respected. She remembered Derek’s saying that Steve had spent time in the marines.

“Are you doing anything this evening?” he asked, then laughed gruffly. “I don’t mean to rush you. It’s just that I’ve been lonely, and I like the idea of having someone to talk to.”

“Sorry, I’ve got a book club meeting this evening.” She considered skipping it but Anne Marie, the bookstore manager, had asked her to attend. This was the first session, so Colette felt obliged to keep her word.

Steve seemed disappointed. “Okay, I understand.”

“You could join us if you’d like,” she added, not wanting to discourage him. “I doubt everyone’s read the book, anyway.”

“You think it’d be all right?”

“I’m sure it’d be fine,” she said, warming to the idea. This wouldn’t be a real date. They’d be around other people, and conversation would focus on the story, not on them.

“I don’t remember you as a reader,” he commented, going back to his burger. “Jeanine always had a book in her hand.”

“I used to read quite a bit. After Derek died I couldn’t for the longest time. No matter how gripping the story, my attention wandered. It was all I could do to scan the newspaper and do the crossword puzzle.” In an entire year, she hadn’t finished a single puzzle. “But now, thanks to this book, I’m reading again.”

“What’s different about it?”

“I guess the story strikes close to home for me. It’s about a widow adjusting to life without her husband. The title is
Good Grief,
and it’s by a writer named Lolly Winston. It’s very moving and surprisingly funny, and I really enjoyed it.”

Colette had met the bookstore manager, who’d recommended the book, by accident. Anne Marie had been walking Baxter, her Yorkshire terrier, and the tiny dog had gotten his leash wrapped around Colette’s ankles. When Anne Marie learned that Colette lived above the yarn store, she’d invited her over for tea. Her own apartment was above Blossom Street Books; in other words, they were neighbors. Colette liked Anne Marie and had agreed to join the discussion group, especially after she’d read the book.

“Good Grief,”
Steve repeated.

“I identified with how the widow felt. At one point she goes to work in her pajamas and housecoat. I laughed out loud and at the same time I was weeping because…well, there were days like that for me, too, especially at first.”

Steve nodded and was about to speak when his cell
phone rang. He automatically reached for it and snapped it open. “Grisham,” he said in a terse voice, instantly the professional.

Colette ate a little more of her soup but after the latte her appetite was gone. She really should be getting back to the shop; she was already five minutes late and still had a brisk walk ahead of her.

Steve closed the cell and clipped it back to his waistband. “I have to go.”

“Me, too.” She picked up her purse.

“Listen, I’d better take a rain check on tonight,” he said and slid out of the booth. “Work intrudes.” He scooped up the tab and headed over to the cashier.

Colette found a pen at the counter and wrote out her cell number on a napkin, then handed it to him.

He smiled and thanked her. Colette went back to Susannah’s Garden in a good mood. The clouds had lifted in more ways than one and she felt as if her life was finally taking shape.

That euphoric sensation didn’t last long, however. When she walked into the shop, the first person she saw was Christian Dempsey, drumming his fingers on the counter.

Colette felt her heart plummet. She could hear Susannah on the phone in the back room—which meant there was no one to rescue her. “What are you doing here?” she muttered.

“I’ve come to order flowers.”

“A special occasion?”