Blossom Street Brides (26 page)

Lydia was eager to spend time with her daughter. The ongoing saga with Casey’s nightmares continued. Just the night before, once again, the teenager had woken the entire household with her screams. Lydia had spent forty-five minutes with her afterward, holding and comforting Casey. These dreams shook Lydia. Because her daughter refused to discuss any aspect of the nightmare, Lydia was left with a feeling of helplessness and frustration.

“Nope, sorry, Grandma,” Casey said as she set her phone aside. “
Poset
isn’t a real word.”

Mary Lou Hoffman looked crestfallen. “I thought for sure that was a good word.”

“P-O-E-T-S works,” Casey supplied, and shuffled the tiny wooden tiles around, helping her grandmother. “And look, by putting it in this spot it adds up to even more points because you land on a double-point word space.”

“I do?”

Lydia continued to carefully watch her mother. It worried her how quickly her mother’s mind drifted from the past to the present and to places unknown. At first it was a few noticeable slips, but in the last six months there’d been a dramatic turn. The doctors had taken her off the medication she’d been prescribed that was said to help with memory function. After a certain period of time the prescription lost its effectiveness. That had been a turning point, and the decline had been rapid ever since then.

“Your father used to recite poetry to me when we dated,” Mary Lou Hoffman said, looking at Casey.

“He did?”

Lydia noticed how willing Casey was to pretend nothing was amiss. Clearly her mother had Casey confused with her or Margaret.

A wistful look came over the older woman. “Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was one of his favorites.”

“We read one of his poems in my English class,” Casey said. “It was all right, I guess, but I like Shel Silverstein better.”

Even more confused now, her mother looked to Lydia. “Who is that, dear? Should I know him?”

“Shel Silverstein is another poet,” Casey explained, without going into detail.

“His poetry has humor,” Lydia added. “He’s a favorite of Cody’s, too.” She hoped not to bewilder her mother any more than she already was.

“Your father is a romantic,” her mother continued. “He’d never admit to it, of course, but he enjoyed memorizing poetry. He recites it to me in bed. I always loved that. Why, just the other day he read me the most beautiful poem … He said it came out of the Bible. I didn’t know the Bible had poetry in it, did you?”

“The Psalms do,” Casey said softly. “I learned that in Sunday school class.”

Lydia’s mother looked down on the Scrabble board. “I’m not doing very well, am I?”

“You’re doing fine, Mom,” Lydia assured her. It was difficult to see her mother’s mind wander. Her father had been dead nearly ten years now, and for her mother to speak of him as if he were still alive forced Lydia to accept the fact
that her mother was losing mental ground faster than she realized.

“Look, Grandma, you’re ahead,” Casey said, totaling the game points.

“I am?” The older woman smiled softly and then looked away. “I do miss your father so,” she whispered.

“But you talk to him all the time,” Casey reminded her.

“I do. He visits often these days. He told me not long ago that I’ll be joining him soon.”

“Where is Dad?” Lydia asked, forgetting the game and taking her mother’s hands in her own.

“I don’t know, dear, he won’t tell me. He was with me earlier before you arrived, and he said it wouldn’t be long now.”

Lydia bit into her lower lip and was afraid her mother might be right. It wasn’t only her mental capabilities that had fallen of late, but the older woman’s health seemed to be declining at an even faster pace.

“What are you talking about?” Casey demanded. “You can’t travel, Grandma.”

“Travel?” she repeated. “No, I don’t suppose I can. I don’t have any idea what’s happened to my suitcase.”

Casey laughed.

Someone knocked on the door, and Casey was on her feet and rushing toward the door before Lydia had a chance to scoot back her chair.

“Oh, hi,” Casey said, and stepped aside to let in one of the nurse’s aides.

A woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a pink sweater
over her uniform of white shirt and pants came into the small apartment. Her name badge identified her as Sylvia. “I hope you don’t mind me interrupting.”

“Of course not,” Lydia assured her.

“I heard you were visiting your mother,” she said, directing the comment to Lydia, “and I wondered if it would be all right to give you the scarves.”

“The scarves?”

“Yes. I ride the bus into work, and there was a yarn basket at the bus stop. I’ve been knitting on the scarf almost every afternoon. It’s finished now, and a second one as well. I don’t get over to Blossom Street that often, and seeing that you’re here, I thought I could give them to you now … if that’s all right?”

“No problem,” Lydia said. “I’d be happy to take them with me.”

“Great.” Sylvia thanked her with a quick smile. “I’ll put them down by the reception desk, and you can collect them on your way out.”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Lydia had lost count of the number of scarves she’d collected from knitters all over the downtown neighborhoods. Baskets had turned up in the most unusual places, and when the projects were finished they were delivered to A Good Yarn.

“We’re playing Scrabble,” Casey explained to Sylvia.

“I’m ahead,” her mother added.

“That’s good, Mrs. Hoffman.”

“She didn’t cheat, either.”

“Casey!” Lydia chastised.

Her mother’s eyes drifted closed before she caught herself and forced them back open. It was clear the visit and the Scrabble game had worn her out. Sylvia left, and Lydia turned and said to Casey, “I think it’s time we go.”

“So soon?” the teenager objected.

“Mom’s getting tired,” Lydia said, lowering her voice.

Her mother looked up, and in that instant Lydia knew that her own mother didn’t recognize who she was. “Can I get you anything before we go,
Mom
?” she asked, emphasizing their relationship.

Her mother blinked several times, and then it seemed her mind cleared. “I don’t need anything.”

Casey started to collect the Scrabble pieces and put them back inside the plastic bag before folding up the game board. Lydia half expected her daughter to protest their leaving before they finished playing. Surprisingly, she didn’t. Even Casey couldn’t ignore the fact that her grandmother’s decline was more and more apparent.

After hugging her mother, Lydia left her mom’s small apartment feeling sad and a little depressed. It was time to prepare herself to let go and release this woman who had given her life.

Once they were in the hallway outside the apartment, Casey asked, “Grandma’s not going to die, is she?”

The question was heavy on Lydia’s mind as well. “We all die sooner or later,” she said, being as evasive as she could.

“I mean die
soon
,” Casey clarified. “All that talk about her joining Grandpa worries me.” She jerked her backpack
over her shoulder as if the weight of it had become heavier than she could carry.

“It worries me, too,” Lydia whispered.

Casey was silent until they reached the receptionist’s desk and collected the knitted scarves.

“That was a stupid idea,” the teenager muttered.

“What was?” Lydia asked.

“Whoever thought of those baskets with the yarn. It was stupid.”

Lydia realized Casey’s negative attitude was a result of the discussion regarding her grandmother. “Actually, whoever thought of it must be a generous, thoughtful person.”

“Why would you say that?” Casey asked. “All I ever heard was you complaining about it.”

“No, I haven’t.” Lydia was offended that Casey viewed her concern as complaining.

“Yes, you did,” she snapped. “You got all upset about that newspaper lady coming to talk to you.”

“I wasn’t upset,” Lydia explained. “I was worried because she seemed to think I was responsible, and I couldn’t take the credit when I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Once outside, they quickened their steps to avoid the drizzle.

“I hate the rain,” Casey muttered as she reached the parking lot.

“April showers bring May flowers.”

“It’s June. We should be watching flowers grow instead of dealing with this crap.”

“Casey, watch your mouth.”

Her daughter climbed into the passenger seat and slumped her shoulders forward as if saying she didn’t want to be interrupted. “I still say it’s stupid.”

“The rain?”

“That, too.”

“Are you still hung up on the knitted scarves?”

Casey didn’t answer.

“Actually, I think it was a good idea,” Lydia said conversationally, ignoring her daughter’s ugly mood. “It’s certainly brought attention to the shop. Business has increased by more than twenty percent since the knitting baskets started turning up.”

Completely uninterested, Casey glared out the side window. “Can I bake cookies when I get home?”

“If you want.”

“Gingersnaps, okay?”

Lydia hesitated. “You know those are Cody’s least favorite cookie, don’t you?”

“I happen to like gingersnaps.”

“You like a lot of cookies.”

“So now I’m fat.”

“Casey, my goodness, what’s the matter with you?”

“You just said I was fat.”

“I most certainly did not. What I meant to say was that there are any number of cookies you could choose to bake that the entire family would enjoy.”

“Why do I always have to cater to what Cody likes? It’s because he’s Brad’s real son and I’m adopted, isn’t it?”

Lydia was fast losing her patience. “That isn’t it at all. If you want to bake gingersnaps, then go ahead.”

“I don’t want to bake anything.”

“Fine, then don’t.”

For the remainder of the ride home, the silence in the car was as thick as a concrete block. As soon as Lydia put the vehicle in park, Casey opened the car door and jumped out as if she couldn’t get away from Lydia fast enough.

Gathering her patience, Lydia waited for a moment before following her daughter into the house. As soon as she opened the door, Brad looked up from the baseball game and frowned. “What’s Casey’s problem?”

“What happened now?” she asked.

Brad gestured weakly with his hands. “Don’t know. She walked in the door, looked at Cody, and called him a spoiled brat, and then proceeded down the hallway to her room. She nearly knocked the pictures off the wall, she slammed the door so hard.”

“Oh, dear.”

“What did I do wrong?” Cody asked, joining his parents. Lydia shrugged. “Casey wanted to bake cookies and suggested gingersnaps.”

“I don’t like gingersnaps,” Cody said.

“Which I told her, and now she’s upset.”

“Should I tell her I’ll eat gingersnaps?” Cody asked, eager to appease his sister.

“No way,” Brad insisted. “Let her pout, if that’s what she wants.”

Lydia put away her purse and removed her sweater before
joining her husband in the family area. Brad had the television on, watching the game against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Needing a distraction, she reached for her knitting.

“Casey’s worried about her grandmother,” Lydia said after a few stitches. “And frankly, so am I.”

“Anything new?” Brad reverted his attention from the screen back to Lydia.

“She claims she’s talking to my dad again.”

“Does Grandma really talk to him?” Cody asked, sitting on the floor and bunching up his knees.

“Of course she doesn’t,” Brad insisted. “He’s been dead since before I knew Lydia.”

“What do you think, Mom?” Cody asked.

She hardly knew what to say. “I think my mother misses him so much that in her mind he is still alive.”

“Oh.” Cody had an odd look as if he was willing to accept what she said even if he didn’t understand.

About a half hour later Casey came out of her bedroom. “You can bake gingersnap cookies if you want,” Cody called out to her. “I’ll eat them.”

“I don’t feel like baking,” Casey said as she slumped down on the sofa.

The phone rang, and Cody waited for a moment before he rushed to answer. Generally, Casey was the one who got to the phone first. “Hello,” her son said into the receiver.

“Yes. Hold on a minute, please.”

“Mom,” he said. “It’s the place where Grandma lives. They said it’s an emergency.”

Her first few days back at the shop, Lauren couldn’t get out of John Michael Jewelry fast enough. She hadn’t officially been married a week, and a good portion of that time had been spent dealing with customers at the store. Elisa and Garry remained in eastern Washington, and Lauren felt responsible for keeping the store open and running smoothly.

Earlier, Rooster had sent her a text saying he’d be waiting for her at The French Cafe just down the street when she was available. As soon as all the diamonds and higher-priced gems were safely tucked inside the safe, Lauren was free to leave.

Although the skies remained overcast, Rooster had chosen a sidewalk table. He stood as she approached. They briefly hugged, and she noticed that he’d ordered her a latte, which was waiting for her. Her heart melted a little; how thoughtful he was.

“Well, how was your day?” Rooster asked, looking relaxed as he sat down and crossed his long legs.

“Frustrating,” she admitted. “I couldn’t wait to get off so I could be with you. What about you?” she asked.

“Mostly frustrating,” he admitted, grinning and then lowering his voice. “I kept calculating how many more hours it would be before I could get you back in bed.”

“Rooster!”

He swung his head, and his ponytail bounced against his leather jacket. “What can I say, I’m a healthy red-blooded male who’s eager to make love to his wife.”

It hadn’t surprised her that Rooster had proven to be a thoughtful, gentle lover. It was hard to take in the fact that she was a married woman, although Rooster left her in little doubt of that. For a quickly arranged wedding, it had been wonderful. Lauren was grateful her family had been able to attend, and it’d been a bonus to have Max and Bethanne with them, too. Already, her mother and Bethanne had their heads together working on a reception.