The Shop on Blossom Street (2 page)

What did my sister think? I had the necessary cash lying around in my bottom drawer? “I had to.” Given my medical history, no bank would grant me a loan. Although I’ve been cancer-free for four years now, I’m viewed as a risk in just about every area.

“It’s your money, I guess.” The way Margaret said it implied I’d made a terrible decision. “But I don’t think Dad would have approved.”

“He would’ve been the first one to encourage me.” I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“You’re probably right,” Margaret said with the caustic edge that never failed to appear in our conversations. “Dad couldn’t deny you anything.”

“The money was my inheritance,” I pointed out. I suppose her share is still accruing profit.

My sister walked around the shop, eyeing it critically. Considering Margaret’s apparent dislike of me, I don’t know why my relationship with her is so important, but it is. Mom’s health is fragile and she hasn’t adjusted to life without Dad. Soon, I’m afraid, it’ll be only Margaret and me. The thought of not having any family at all terrifies me.

I’m so grateful not to know what the future holds. I once asked my father why God wouldn’t just let us know what tomorrow would bring. He said that not knowing the future is actually a gift because if we knew, we wouldn’t take responsibility for our own lives, our own happiness. As with so much else in life, my dad was right.

“What’s your business plan?” Margaret asked.

“I—I’m starting small.”

“What about customers?”

“I’ve paid for an ad in the Yellow Pages.” I didn’t mention that the new phone directory didn’t come out for another two months. No need to hand Margaret any ammunition. I’d distributed flyers in the neighborhood, too, but I didn’t know how effective that would be. I was counting on word of mouth to generate customer interest and, ultimately, sales. Which was something else I didn’t mention.

My older sister snickered. I’ve always hated that scoffing sound and had to grit my teeth in order to hide my reaction.

“I’m just getting ready to post a sign for my first knitting class.”

“Do you seriously think a handmade sign taped in the window is going to draw people into your store?” Margaret demanded. “Parking is a nightmare out there and even when the street’s open again, you can’t expect much traffic through this construction mess.”

“No, but—”

“I wish you well, but—”

“Do you?” I asked, cutting her off. My hands shook as I walked over to the display window and secured my notice for knitting classes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I turned to face my sister who, at five foot six, stood a good three inches taller than me. She outweighed me by about twenty pounds, too. Looking at us now, I wonder if anyone would guess we were related and yet when we were small we resembled each other quite a bit.

“I think you want me to fail,” I said honestly.

“That isn’t true! I came this morning because…because I’m interested in what you’re doing.” Her chin went up a notch as if she was daring me to challenge her again. “How old are you? Twenty-nine, thirty?”

“Thirty.”

“Isn’t it time you cut the apron strings?”

That was blatantly unfair. “I’m trying to do exactly that. I left Mom’s house and I moved into the apartment upstairs. I’ve started my own business, too, and I’d appreciate your support.”

She turned her hands over to display her palms. “Do you want me to buy yarn from you? Is that what you want? You know I don’t knit and have no desire to learn. I much prefer to crochet. And—”

“Just this once,” I said, cutting her off a second time, “couldn’t you think of
one
nice thing to say?” I waited, silently pleading with her to search inside her heart for at least a token word of encouragement.

My request seemed to be an overwhelming task for Margaret. She faltered for several seconds. “You have a good eye for color,” she finally said. She gestured toward the display of yarn I’d arranged on the table by the door.

“Thank you,” I said, hoping to sound gracious. I didn’t mention that I’d used a color wheel to create the display. Hard as it was for Margaret to offer me praise, I certainly wasn’t going to give her an opportunity to withdraw it.

Had we been closer, I would’ve told her the real reason I’d decided to open a yarn store. This shop was my affirmation of life. I was willing to invest everything I had to make it a success. Like the Viking conqueror who came ashore and burned his ships behind him, I had set my course. Succeed or go under.

As my father might say, I was taking responsibility for a future I couldn’t predict.

The bell above the door chimed again. I had a customer! My first
real
customer.

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

T
he angry exchange of words with her married son had distressed Jacqueline Donovan. She’d honestly tried to keep her negative feelings regarding her daughter-in-law to herself. But when Paul phoned to tell her Tammie Lee was five and a half months pregnant, Jacqueline had lost her temper and said things she shouldn’t have. Paul had hung up in mid-rant.

To complicate everything, her husband had phoned soon afterward, asking her to drop off blueprints at the construction site on Blossom Street. The argument with Paul weighing on her mind, she’d confessed what she’d said and now Reese was upset with her, too. Truth be told, she didn’t much care what her husband thought, but Paul, her only child—now, that was a different story.

Feeling anxious and depressed, Jacqueline drove down to the job site and wasted twenty minutes finding a parking space. Needless to say, the one she found was quite a distance down the street, across from a seedy-looking video store. Clutching the blueprints, she picked her way through the construction mess, muttering under her breath. Just leave it to Reese to screw up her entire day!

“You brought the drawings?” Her husband of thirty-three years walked out of the trailer to meet her as she neared the site. Jacqueline stepped over steel tubes, trying not to dirty or damage her Ferragamo heels. Her husband’s architectural firm, Donovan and Gray, was responsible for this renovation project. Dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit and a hard hat, Reese was still a good-looking man at fifty-nine.

Jacqueline handed him the all-important set of rolled-up prints. It was unusual for Reese to ask anything of her, which suited her perfectly. He set the prints inside the trailer and turned back to face her, standing just outside the door.

“I’m worried about Paul,” she said, doing her best to maintain her composure. Reese gave a tired shrug. He worked long hours and Jacqueline pretended to believe that all the time he spent away from home was business-related. She knew otherwise. So if he was tired,
she
certainly wasn’t going to sympathize.

For the sake of Paul and their friends, Jacqueline and Reese managed to put up a good front, but the marriage hadn’t been happy for a number of years. Reese had his life and she had hers. They hadn’t slept together since Paul left for college twelve years ago. In fact, there was very little they shared except their love for their son.

“So Tammie Lee is pregnant,” her husband said, ignoring her concern.

Jacqueline nodded. “Obviously Tammie Lee’s a breeder, just as I suspected.”

Reese frowned; he disapproved of her natural wariness toward Paul’s wife. But they knew practically nothing about her family. What little Jacqueline had unearthed, between the girl’s tales of aunts and uncles and God-only-knew how many cousins, had been disheartening to say the least.

The sound of a crane overhead distracted Reese momentarily and when he returned his attention to her he was frowning again. “You don’t seem happy about this.”

“Come on, Reese! How do you
expect
me to feel?”

“Like a woman who’s about to be a grandmother for the first time.”

Jacqueline crossed her arms. “Well, I for one am not thrilled.” Several of her nearest and dearest friends had delighted in their status as new grandmothers, but Jacqueline doubted she’d make this latest adjustment as smoothly as her friends.

“Jacquie, this is our grandchild.”

“I should’ve known better than to say anything to you,” she said angrily. Jacqueline wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if not for the argument with Paul. She’d always been close to her son. He was the reason she’d stayed in this empty shell of a marriage. Her son was everything she’d hoped for: handsome, smart, successful and so much more. He’d gone into banking and was quickly climbing up the corporate ladder—and then, a year ago, he’d done something completely out of character. He’d married the wrong woman.

“You haven’t given Tammie Lee a chance,” Reese insisted.

“That is blatantly unfair.” To Jacqueline’s horror, her voice shook with emotion. She’d given this awkward relationship with Tammie Lee her best effort. For the life of her, Jacqueline couldn’t understand why her sensible son would marry this stranger, this…this little girl from the swamps, when so many of her friends’ daughters were interested in him. Paul called Tammie Lee his southern belle, but all Jacqueline saw was a hillbilly. “I took her to lunch at the country club and I’ve never been so mortified in my life. I introduced her to Mary James, and the next thing I know, Tammie Lee’s discussing a recipe for pickled pigs’ feet or some such with the President of the Women’s Association.” It had taken Jacqueline weeks to gather up enough courage to face her friend again.

“Isn’t Mary in charge of the cookbook? It makes perfect sense that the two of them would—”

“The last thing I need is for you to criticize me, too,” Jacqueline blurted out. There was no point in trying to explain anything to Reese. They couldn’t even have a civil conversation anymore. Besides, this construction dust was ruining her makeup and the wind was playing havoc with her French twist. Reese didn’t care, though. Appearances were important, but he had no appreciation of everything she did to maintain herself physically. He didn’t have any idea how much work was involved in styling her hair and doing her makeup properly. She was in her midfifties now, and it took a subtle hand to hide age lines.

His voice rose slightly. “What exactly did you say to Paul?”

Jacqueline squared her shoulders in an attempt to preserve her dignity. “Just that I wished he’d waited a while before starting his family.”

Her husband offered her his hand to assist her into the construction trailer. “Come inside.”

Jacqueline ignored his gesture of help and stepped into the trailer. Although Reese routinely visited his work sites, this was the first time she’d been inside one of these trailers. She glanced around and took note of the blue-prints, empty coffee cups and general disarray. The place resembled a pigpen.

“You’d better tell me everything.” Reese poured coffee and silently held out a cup. She declined with a shake of her head, afraid the cup hadn’t been washed in weeks.

“Why do you assume I said anything more than the fact that I was disappointed?” she asked.

“Because I know you.”

“Well, thank you very much.” Her throat was thickening but she refused to let him see how his rebuke had hurt her. “To make matters worse, Tammie Lee’s nearly six months along. Naturally Paul had a convenient excuse for keeping us out of the picture. He said they didn’t want to say anything until they could be sure the pregnancy was safe.”

“And you don’t believe him?” Reese crossed his arms and leaned next to the open door.

“Of course I don’t. People usually wait three months before they share their
good news
,” she said sarcastically, “but six? You and I both know he put off telling us because he knew how I’d feel. I’ve said from the first, and I’ll say it again, this marriage is a very big mistake.”

“Now, Jacquie…”

“What else am I to think? Paul goes off on a business trip to New Orleans and meets this girl in a bar.”

“They were both attending the same financial conference, and met for a drink later that evening.”

Why did Reese have to drag up unnecessary details? “They were together all of three days and the next thing I know he announces that he’s married to a girl neither of us has ever met.”

“Now I agree with you there,” Reese conceded. “I do wish Paul had told us, but it’s been almost a year.”

It still upset Jacqueline that her son hadn’t had a large church wedding the way she’d always envisioned. Jacqueline felt it was what Paul was entitled to—what
she
was entitled to. Instead she hadn’t even been invited to the wedding.

That wasn’t territory she particularly wanted to revisit. Her son’s only excuse was that he was in love, knew he wanted Tammie Lee with him for the rest of his life and couldn’t bear to be apart from her any longer than necessary. That was the reason he’d given them, but Jacqueline had her suspicions. Paul must’ve known she wouldn’t be pleased—and he must have realized that his in-laws would be an embarrassment. She could only imagine the kind of wedding Tammie Lee’s family would hold. The reception dinner would probably consist of collard greens and grits, with deep-fried Hostess Twinkies instead of wedding cake.

“Tammie Lee got pregnant within six months of the wedding.” She didn’t hide her contempt.

“Paul’s over thirty, Jacqueline.” Reese had that disapproving look in his eyes. She’d always hated it.

“And old enough to know about birth control,” she snapped. Paul had sprung the news on her the same way he had the marriage: over the phone without a moment’s warning.

“He told me he wanted a family,” Reese murmured.

“Not this soon, I’ll bet,” she burst out. Talking to Reese was impossible. He didn’t seem to care that Paul had married beneath him. Her daughter-in-law was nothing like the woman she’d envisioned for their son. Jacqueline had honestly tried to welcome Tammie Lee into the family, but she couldn’t bear to be around her for more than a few minutes. All that sweetness and insincere southern charm simply overwhelmed her.

“But Paul’s pleased about the baby, isn’t he?”

Jacqueline leaned against the table and nodded. “He’s thrilled,” she muttered. “Or so he says…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He…he doesn’t seem to think I’m going to make much of a grandmother.”

Reese’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say to him?”

“Oh, Reese,” she said, feeling terrible now. “I couldn’t help it. I told him I thought he’d made a terrible mistake in marrying Tammie Lee and that this pregnancy complicates everything.” She’d assumed that a year or two down the road, Paul would recognize his lapse in judgment and gracefully bow out of the marriage. A child made that a whole lot less likely.

“You didn’t actually say that to Paul, did you?” Reese sounded furious and that only made Jacqueline more defensive.

“I realize I should’ve kept quiet, but really, can you blame me? I’m just getting used to the fact that our only son eloped with a stranger and then he hits me with this pregnancy.”

“It should be happy news.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“It is to our son and Tammie Lee.”

“That’s another thing,” she cried. “Why is it every girl from the south has two names? Why can’t we call her Tammie without the Lee?”

“It’s her name, Jacqueline.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

Reese studied her as if he was really noticing her for the first time. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because I’m afraid of losing my son.” Paul and her close relationship with him was the only consolation she had in a life that brought her little joy. Now she’d done something stupid and insulted her son.

“Call him back and apologize.”

“I intend to,” she said.

“You could order flowers for Tammie Lee.”

“I will.” But the gesture would be for Paul’s sake, not his wife’s.

“Why not go to the flower shop on Blossom Street.”

Jacqueline nodded. “I plan to do something else, too.” She prayed it would be enough. She hoped her son realized she was making an effort to accept his wife.

“What?”

“I saw a sign in the window of that new knitting shop. I’m going to register for a knitting class. The sign says the beginning project is a baby blanket.”

Reese so rarely approved of anything she did that the warmth of his smile moved all the way through her.

“I might not like Tammie Lee, but I will be the best grandmother I can.” Someone had to provide the appropriate influences for Paul’s child. Otherwise her grandchild might grow up eating deep-fried pickles. Or going through life as Bubba Donovan…