Back on Blossom Street (7 page)

That wasn’t the
only
thing that had changed, she thought sarcastically.

“I pretended nothing was different between us,” he went on. “But it was…is. You’ve made your point. We need to discuss this like two mature adults and reach an understanding.”

“I don’t want to discuss it. And there’s nothing to understand. We made a regrettable mistake. Blame it on too much champagne, too much Christmas spirit.”

He raised his brows.

Colette stared down at the sidewalk. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Everything’s changed, Christian. I can’t go back to being your assistant.”

“Why can’t we both consider what happened at the Christmas party a slip in judgment and let it go at that? You’re a valuable employee. The company needs you.”

“The company?” she asked.

He exhaled slowly. “I need you,” he murmured. “I want you to come back.”

Colette supposed she should be flattered, since Christian Dempsey rarely admitted to needing anyone or anything. “It isn’t possible,” she said and she meant it. “We can’t undo what’s already been done. Don’t you see that?” He couldn’t honestly expect her to resume managing his schedule, his travel arrangements and his
dates.
As soon as he learned she’d contacted the authorities, he’d fire her anyway.

He didn’t answer.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“Why? Were you hiding?”

“No…”

“It wasn’t that difficult. I had Accounting contact your bank and get the new address—to mail your severance documents.”

She shrugged, feeling a bit foolish. But she couldn’t resist another question. “Did you hire a new assistant yet?” She could have asked any of the friends she’d made through the years. But the company must be rife with gossip and rumors as to why she’d quit so abruptly, and for that reason, Colette hadn’t called anyone at Dempsey Imports. Getting in touch with them to ask for information like that was a last resort.

“Lloyd York,” Christian said.

“Lloyd,” she repeated. She tried unsuccessfully to remember a face to go with the name. “I don’t know him.” As much as possible, Christian made it a practice to promote and hire within the company.

“He’s a temp.”

Colette felt her eyes widen. Christian disliked using personnel from a temporary agency and until now he’d avoided it. The fact that he’d looked outside the company only underlined his guilt. What she didn’t understand was his reason for wanting her back. Surely he knew she’d uncover his activities sooner or later.

“I hoped you’d come to your senses and return voluntarily. When I didn’t hear from you, I had no choice but to contact you myself.”

“Christian, I’m sorry, sorrier than you know. But I’m not going to change my mind.”

“You’re sure you won’t reconsider?”

“No.” She closed her eyes. Despite everything, she missed him, missed the demands and challenges of her position. Not a day passed that she didn’t think of him. She wanted to tell him about the baby but knew she couldn’t until everything had played out. Needless to say, she couldn’t predict how or when that would take place.

“You
want
to come back, Colette. I can feel it. Tell me what’s stopping you and I’ll make it right. You want a raise, fine. I’ll double whatever your salary was before. We know each other well and—”

Angry now, she whirled on him. “I beg to differ. After five years of working side by side, you know next to nothing about me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” she flared.

“On the contrary, I know you
very
well, Colette Blake.” The innuendo was so sharp, it felt like a carefully aimed needle pricking her vulnerable skin—and her pride.

“See what I mean?” she said as calmly as her hammering pulse would allow. “You just made my case. What happened…happened, and there’s no going back. I sug
gest you hire a permanent replacement, Mr. Dempsey, because I can assure you I have no intention of working for you again…ever.”

Conscious of the need to retain her dignity, Colette marched off, leaving him standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

Lydia Goetz

I
f today wasn’t the first knitting class for the prayer shawl, I would’ve closed the shop in order to be with Margaret and Julia. My niece was in bad shape. The hospital had kept her for two days after setting the pin in her arm, which was badly broken. Her face was swollen and bruised. I could barely look at her and not cry. It was beyond my imagination that anyone would do something like this to my beautiful Julia. More damaging than the physical injuries was what this carjacking had done to her emotionally.

To her and to my sister! I’d never seen Margaret
angrier. At the hospital she paced the waiting room snarling like a wounded beast, snapping at the staff, demanding answers and generally making a nuisance of herself. I couldn’t even talk to her. I don’t know what would’ve happened if not for Matt. My brother-in-law handled the situation so tactfully. Again and again, he reminded Margaret that Julia was
alive.
The loss of the car was of no consequence as long as their daughter had survived the attack. Insurance would replace the vehicle but nothing could ever replace their child.

The door opened on this bleak Wednesday afternoon, and Alix walked into the shop. I was pleased that she’d decided to sign up for another class, although she didn’t really need one, since she’s turned into an accomplished knitter. Because Colette and Susannah were beginners, I’d offered to teach two patterns, one a simple prayer shawl, and the other, for Alix, a more elaborate, complicated lace pattern. She required a challenge, otherwise she’d quickly grow bored. She also needed distraction, and I figured this lace pattern would do the trick.

I was so grateful to see her I almost broke into tears. I’d been so distraught by the assault on Julia that my emotions were completely off-kilter.

“Did you hear?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice from shaking.

Alix nodded. “How’s Julia doing?”

“She came home after a couple of days in the hospital but she refuses to see anyone other than family.” With her face swollen and discolored, Julia was afraid of what her friends would say. She’d immediately gone into her bedroom and hadn’t come out. I understood better than anyone might have guessed. After my first brain surgery, my head swathed in bandages, I’d been terribly self-conscious. Little did I realize this was just the beginning of
my ordeal. I wouldn’t allow my friends to see me, either, and later, when I was lonely and depressed, there were only a few who’d hung on. In retrospect, I knew I was responsible for sending them away; I hoped Julia didn’t repeat my mistake.

All I could do was pray for my niece and give her my love and support. Her arm would mend and the bruises fade, but I doubted she’d ever be the same lighthearted girl she’d been a week ago.

The car thief had stolen more than their vehicle that day. He’d also taken Julia’s innocent trust that the world was decent and safe. He’d blindsided my sister and Matt, too. Whoever he was, this man had a great deal to answer for.

“Did the boys in blue find the guy who did it?” Alix asked as she sauntered up to the table in the back room of the shop. That was where I held my classes. She set down her backpack and took out the yarn and needles she’d purchased earlier in the week.

“No word yet.” Frankly, I didn’t have much hope. The officer who’d talked to Margaret explained that the car was probably on a container ship in the Port of Seattle within a day of the attack. Apparently the new car my sister had chosen was one of the most desirable vehicles on the black market. The whole family had been so proud of their first brand-new car, and this only added to the burden of Margaret’s guilt.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Alix muttered.

I knew Alix distrusted the police. I should’ve said something positive to counter her cynicism, but I didn’t feel like arguing. Besides, it wasn’t getting the car back that was important to my sister. It was justice she wanted. Justice she
demanded.
Margaret wasn’t one to easily forgive and
forget, and she was fiercely protective of her family, especially her daughters Julia and eleven-year-old Hailey.

The bell chimed a second time and in strolled Susannah and Colette. All three women had already bought the necessary needles and yarn and I’d supplied the pattern as part of the class fee. Because Colette and Susannah were new knitters, most of my time would be spent helping them.

“Susannah, Colette, this is my friend Alix,” I said. “She works at the French Café, so you’ve probably seen her around the neighborhood.”

Alix shrugged her shoulder in an unfriendly manner. Her attitude reminded me of the way she’d acted during my first knitting class, when she’d sat across from Jacqueline Donovan. I hadn’t seen this side of Alix in a long while and knew something must be troubling her. Once more I bit my tongue.

“Colette, why don’t you introduce yourself,” I said, hoping to begin the class on a more optimistic note.

“Well, I obviously know Susannah and Lydia, and I’ve seen Alix at the café. I’m Colette Blake.”

When she didn’t offer any other information, I prompted her. “Tell us about yourself,” I urged.

Colette looked at Alix. “What would you like to know?” she asked.

Again Alix answered with that halfhearted shrug. “Nothing, unless it’s some little fact you’re dying to tell me.”

I could no longer remain silent. “Alix!” I snapped, telling her I found her behavior downright rude.

She had the good grace to apologize. “I’m sorry, Colette, I’ve had a rotten day. Please, tell me about yourself.”

Colette shook her head. “Actually, I don’t have anything to say. I’d prefer it if we just started the class.”

“Hey, everyone,” Susannah inserted. “This is supposed
to be a fun class. We’re knitting a prayer shawl, for heaven’s sake! Not a bulletproof vest.”

That made me smile. “Okay, Susannah, why don’t you take a turn?” I said. She, at least, seemed willing to chat.

“Well,” she began, “as everyone here knows, I bought Susannah’s Garden last September. It’s a real change from my teaching position, which I had for over twenty-four years.”

“What made you quit teaching?” Alix asked, sitting a bit straighter.

“I was in a rut,” Susannah explained. “Burned out. Without realizing it, I’d lost my enthusiasm. When I started teaching, I loved every minute of it. Back then, I almost hated to see the school year end. The last year I taught, I couldn’t wait for summer and I realized I was cheating my students—and myself.”

Alix’s question made me wonder if she wanted to have her own bakery one day, the way Susannah had opened a florist’s business. I found that an exciting idea, but wasn’t sure how Jordan would feel about it.

“Why a flower shop?” Colette asked, leaning forward.

Susannah gestured expansively. “I’ve always had a beautiful garden and my mother did, too. I guess I inherited my love for flowers from her. Actually, I would never have thought of owning a flower shop if not for my husband. Joe knows me best.” She paused and smiled. “I’ll amend that. On a good day, he can be astonishingly intuitive about me and what I need. He’s the one who checked out the For Sale sign at Fanny’s Floral and talked to the previous owner. When he suggested I buy the shop, I knew right away that it was exactly what I should do.”

“You like being your own boss?” Alix asked.

“I absolutely love it,” Susannah said fervently. “Although I have to tell you I’ve never worked harder in my life.”

Alix looked out the window at the French Café. I knew she’d once dreamed of working in such a place and her dream had become a reality, the same way mine had.

“Say, Alix, didn’t someone tell me you’re getting married in June?” Susannah asked.

Alix nodded, but not with much vigor. I feared her bad day was directly related to the wedding. I wish I knew what had set her off. But Alix isn’t one to freely share her troubles; I suppose that kind of reserve comes from having only herself to rely on all those years. She’d been living on her own from the time she was sixteen.

“Have you ordered the wedding flowers yet?” Susannah asked.

Alix squirmed again. “I’m leaving that up to Jordan’s mother.”

“Don’t you want a say in the matter?” Colette asked, glancing at Susannah and then at me.

“Not really.” Alix reached for the knitting needles and yarn as if the subject bored her.

“But flowers are an important part of the wedding,” Susannah said. “Shouldn’t they—”

“I haven’t made a single decision yet,” Alix broke in. “Why would I start now?” She turned to me. “Are we going to talk all afternoon or are we going to knit?”

“Knit.” Apparently the wedding was a subject best avoided. I picked up the needles and a skein of yarn. “There are various ways to cast on stitches,” I explained as I inserted my index finger into each end of the rolled yarn. I’ve developed my own method of finding the end and pulling it through the skein. To be honest, I’m not always successful. Fortunately, this time I looked like a genius. I pulled out the end, then had Susannah and Colette do the same.

Finding the end of the yarn was a good ice-breaker and I was sorry I hadn’t started with that. Alix clearly wasn’t
in a talkative mood, and Colette didn’t seem interested in sharing a single piece of information about herself. I assumed she’d be willing to tell Alix that she was a recent widow. Or maybe she thought Alix had already heard. Then again, Colette might prefer to keep her grief about Derek’s death private.

I continued by showing Colette and Susannah how to cast on stitches by knitting them onto the needle. It’s not my favorite way of casting on; however, I find it one of the less complicated methods. It’s also an effective prelude to learning the basic knitting stitch.

Alix had completed the first inch of the pattern before Colette had finished casting on and counting her stitches.

Colette frowned as she looked across the table. “You know how to knit,” she complained. “Why are you taking the class?”

Alix glanced up and made brief eye contact with me. “Jordan—my fiancé—suggested it might help calm my nerves.”

“I’m not getting this,” Susannah groaned and set the needles and yarn aside. “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.”

“Not necessarily at the beginning,” I said.

“No kidding,” Susannah muttered.

Alix burst out laughing. “You should’ve seen me when I was learning. Jacqueline turned three shades of purple when I dropped my first stitch.”

“As I recall,” I said, grinning at the memory, “it wasn’t because you dropped a stitch but because of how you reacted—with a whole vocabulary of swearwords.”

Alix’s lips quivered with amusement. “I’ve toned down my language, so don’t worry, ladies.”

“You aren’t going to say anything I haven’t heard from my kids,” Susannah told her.

“Don’t be too sure.”

Smiling, I raised my hand. “Are you two going to get into a swearing match?” I asked.

“Not me,” Susannah said as she finished her first real stitch. The tension was so tight, it amazed me that she could actually transfer the yarn from one needle to the other. She heaved a sigh and turned to me for approval, as though she’d achieved something heroic.

“Good,” I said as I leaned over to examine her work.

“I need some help,” Colette moaned, the yarn a tangled mess on the table.

I couldn’t tell exactly what she’d managed to do, but there was nothing I hadn’t seen in the last three years. I soon corrected her mistake and again showed her the basic stitch, standing behind her to make sure she understood. If I did the knitting for her, that would accomplish nothing. She had to do this on her own.

“I agree with Susannah,” she said after a few minutes. “This has got to be the most nerve-racking activity I’ve ever tried. When does the relaxing part begin?”

“It just happens,” Alix told them both. “All at once you’ll be knitting and you won’t even need to count the stitches. The first thing I made was a baby blanket, and after every single row I had to stop and make sure I hadn’t accidentally increased or dropped a stitch. By comparison, the prayer shawl you’re doing is easy.”

I had to admit Alix was right. The baby blanket had been an ambitious project. I’d chosen it because it required about ten classes. If I’d started with anything smaller, like a cotton washcloth, I would’ve needed only one, possibly two, sessions. The blanket justified the number of classes I’d scheduled.

“Who are you knitting your prayer shawl for?” I asked Susannah.

“My mother,” she answered without hesitation. “She’s doing really well, better than I expected after we…after I moved her into an assisted-living complex in Colville.”

“My own mother’s in assisted living, as well,” I said. “But it must be a worry living so far from her.” Margaret and I shared the responsibility of checking up on Mom and spending time with her.

We hadn’t told Mom what had happened to Julia. It would only have distressed her. I was afraid she might’ve guessed something was wrong because Margaret hadn’t been by in several days. Mom, however, hadn’t seemed to notice.

“It’s not so bad,” Susannah said, responding to my comment. “We talk every day, Mom and I.” She paused, biting down on her tongue as she carefully wrapped the yarn around the needle. “I have a good friend who stops by periodically and lets me know how Mom’s doing.”

“What would we do without friends,” I said, and saw how Alix instantly looked up. She seemed calmer now.

“What about you, Alix? Have you decided who you’ll give the prayer shawl to?”

She nodded. “At first I thought I’d keep it for myself. I’m going to need plenty of prayers to get through this wedding, that’s for sure.” She grinned, shaking her head, and continued knitting. “But I’m going to give it to Jordan’s grandmother. I think she’ll really like the fact that I knit it for her.”

“I’m sure she will,” I said. “What about you, Colette?”

She didn’t raise her head. “I might just keep it. Does that sound selfish?”

“Not at all,” I assured her. I realized that the act of knitting had already worked its magic on all of us. Alix had come in stressed and ill-tempered, on edge about the wedding. Colette, too, had been nervous and unhappy, for
reasons I didn’t know. I was certainly upset, because of what had happened to my niece and to Margaret. Susannah had her own struggles, launching a new business. We were relaxed now, talking together, laughing,
knitting.