Back on Blossom Street

I knew about Julia’s reluctance to get psychological help, but the rest was news to me, and I felt dreadful. All Margaret had shared with me was her frustration with the police. My sister seemed to feel that everything would change once the perpetrator was behind bars. She seemed to believe that the situation would automatically revert to normal and Julia would be okay again. I didn’t think it was going to be that simple.



“Furthermore,” Margaret added, with a catch in her voice, “Julia won’t talk about the carjacking. No one’s allowed to mention anything about it. If we do, she gets up and walks out of the room. I wish now that Matt and I hadn’t bought her that iPod because all she does is use it to shut us out.”



“The shawl will be Julia’s shelter,” I said quietly. “When she wraps it around her shoulders, she’ll feel your love and prayers for her.” This was my hope for my niece.



“I just want her to put all this behind her like it never happened,” Margaret said.



That was what we all wanted, but I doubted it was possible.



“I wish I’d had a prayer shawl after Derek’s death,” Colette murmured, her concentration on her knitting and the pattern on the table in front of her. She kept her head lowered so it was difficult to hear her speak. “We had a good marriage. And then…he died.”



No one knew what to say to that, and an awkward silence fell.



“Oh, Colette,” Alix said, “I feel so bad that you went through such a horrible time.” She shivered visibly. “I can’t imagine what I’d do if anything happened to Jordan,” she went on.



Colette nodded. “I hope you two will be very happy.”



Alix smiled at her. “We have our future all planned. In two years we’re hoping to buy a small house. Jordan wants to turn one of the bedrooms into a study until we start our family.”



She positively glowed with happiness. It’s a cliché, I know, but I couldn’t have described this new serenity of hers in any other way. I remembered the first day I’d met her when she’d walked into the store, more than a little rough around the edges. At first she’d frightened me, but then I decided to treat her just as I would anyone else.



Susannah picked up the conversation by telling everyone about Joe’s and her first home, a one-bedroom apartment that apparently had a ghost who flushed the toilet at odd times of the night. The mood immediately lightened as we laughed together.



I was always surprised by how quickly class time passed. It was the fastest hour of my day—of my week, in fact. Margaret needed to leave early, so I told her I’d close the shop alone. Brad was stopping by to pick me up on his way home. Normally we don’t carpool because he has to be at work a couple of hours before I do, but he had a doctor’s appointment this morning, so he drove me in.



I cuddled Whiskers before I locked up and then opened the door to Colette’s apartment, knowing she enjoyed his company. For a while he traveled back and forth to the shop with me, but he’s comfortable in the apartment, which was, after all, his home for nearly two years. After closing the door, I set the alarm. My fickle cat had divided his loyalties. Fortunately I’m not the jealous type, at least not when it comes to my cat’s affections. But my husband—well, that’s a different matter entirely.



“Hello, beautiful,” he greeted me when I climbed into the front seat. “Have a good day?”



Every day with Brad and Cody was a good day, and I gave him a quick kiss—I had so much to thank him for. “I did. How was your physical?”



“Fine. The doctor says I’m a well man.”



I smiled at his reply. “Make sure you stay that way.”



“Yes, ma’am.”



After a brief silence I told him, “I had my prayer shawl class this afternoon.”



He nodded as he merged with the freeway traffic. We live only about fifteen minutes from my shop.



“Margaret’s decided to knit her shawl for Julia,” I continued. “She’s so worried about her.”



Brad glanced at me. “Is Julia sleeping any better?”



“I don’t think so. I don’t think Margaret is, either. She can’t let go of this.” My sister’s always had an intense personality. It served her well in high school, when she excelled at sports. She’s one of the most capable women I know; anything my sister set her mind to, she achieved.



Back when we were kids she was the top-rated female athlete in our school district and a star at every sport she tried. I was the sickly, puny sister everyone felt sorry for. It took Margaret and me a long time to start behaving like sisters. Sharing responsibility for our mother certainly brought us closer and so, of course, did the yarn store. I ached for Margaret now and badly wanted to help her. But Margaret was independent to a fault; in that way nothing had changed.



Last year, when Matt lost his job, she’d done everything possible to hide the fact that her family was about to lose their home. I’d been able to help them financially and was happy to do so, but Margaret—although certainly grateful—had difficulty accepting my gift.



“You’re very quiet all of a sudden,” Brad said as he exited the freeway. A few minutes later, we were driving into our neighborhood.



“I was just thinking about Margaret,” I told him with a sigh.



“Anything you want to discuss?” he asked.



I thought about it, then shook my head. “How about you? Anything you want to talk about?” I asked as we waited for the garage door to open.



“As a matter of fact, there is,” Brad said. Cody dashed across the street—after carefully looking both ways, just like we’d taught him. One of our neighbors, a stay-at-home mother, babysat our son for an hour every afternoon after school.



Cody collected the mail, handing it to Brad as we entered the house. Chase bounded frantically around us, and Cody let him out, into our fenced backyard.



“You had something you wanted to discuss?” I reminded Brad.



He lifted his head from the mail he was sorting. “You bet I did. What’s for dinner?” he asked with a grin. “I didn’t have time for lunch and your husband’s one hungry guy.”



CHAPTER 13



Alix Townsend



S aturday was one of those hectic days that sometimes overwhelmed Alix. She’d been with Jacqueline and Tammie Lee all morning, and by noon she was exhausted, although she still had a list of errands to run. Jordan would be away the entire day, taking the church youth group somewhere in eastern Washington to hear a Christian rock band. He wouldn’t return until much later in the evening. Normally she accompanied him, but this time she’d begged off.



She’d picked up some dry cleaning for Jacqueline, bought herself toothpaste and shampoo, and dropped off her library books. Since she’d always been a voracious reader, she spent an hour at the library, checking out a couple of new mysteries, a historical novel set in the Puget Sound area and a travel book about Australia. With clenched teeth she added a wedding guide to the pile.



Anne Marie from Blossom Street Books was still hosting the reading club she’d started earlier in the month. The book for April was the latest thriller by Brad Metzler. Colette, who’d also joined, had already finished it and offered to lend Alix her copy.



It was now midafternoon and she had yet to have lunch, so Alix decided to eat at the French Café, where she got an employee discount. By the time she arrived, most of the lunch crowd had left. She walked up to the counter, chatted with Julie for a minute, then ordered her favorite turkey sandwich and a cup of coffee.



As she surveyed the room, Alix caught sight of Colette Blake near the back of the café. Colette had brought her knitting and seemed intent on that. Alix debated whether she should say hello. During their knitting classes, Colette said very little. She seemed sad and vaguely troubled, although she was never rude or unfriendly. Alix hadn’t really had much of a chance to know her; they’d sort of gotten off on the wrong foot and Alix blamed herself for that.



As she approached an empty table, Colette glanced up, saw her and smiled.



“Mind if I join you?” Alix asked impulsively.



“Please do.” Colette put her knitting down with a sigh of abject frustration. “Tell me again that this is supposed to be relaxing.”



“It will be, in time,” Alix promised, sitting across the table from her. “Be patient with yourself. I lost count of how often I started my first project over. There were days I wanted to chuck the whole thing.”



“But you stuck with it,” Colette murmured.



“And I’m glad I did.” Knitting had proved to be a turning point in her life. Back then, she’d had something to prove to herself. Refusing to quit had given Alix confidence in other areas, too. “It didn’t come easy to me, either. I thought that was because I’m left-handed but Lydia kept telling me knitters use both hands, so that wasn’t any excuse. She said it often enough, I finally believed her. After a while, I got the hang of it. I finished the baby blanket and even knit Jordan a sweater. Okay, so the neckline turned out a bit sloppy, but he still wears it.” Alix smiled, thinking of her fiancé in that sweater. Now there was a real testament to Jordan’s love. Alix had wanted to rip the whole thing out and start over, but he wouldn’t let her. The yarn was ultraexpensive, too. Alix could never have afforded it on her own. Carol Girard from the class had given it to her. She’d refused any compensation for it, too. That kind of generosity had been a novel experience for Alix, and she’d never forgotten it.



“I’m not giving up, either,” Colette said with what sounded like renewed determination.



After swallowing a mouthful of her coffee, Alix continued. “I found that if I had something on my mind, it helped to sit down and knit. If I could free my mind for even a few minutes, I could sometimes settle whatever was bothering me.”



“Oh.” Colette’s shoulders slumped forward. “Knitting’s not really helping,” she said, staring down at her needles. “I might as well put it aside until after tomorrow. If I have to rip out this row again, I’m afraid the yarn will be completely frayed.”



Alix studied Colette and saw the lines creasing her forehead. She’d picked up her cup of tea and nervously clutched the delicate handle. Alix was afraid it might snap off in Colette’s hand.



“What’s happening on Sunday?” Alix asked. She didn’t mean to pry, but perhaps if Colette talked about her problem, whatever it was, she’d feel better. Alix was a good listener. Jordan had taught her the importance of sharing one’s troubles—and listening to those of others. Like Colette, she used to hold everything inside until it felt like she’d explode if she didn’t do something to get rid of all those ugly emotions.



Perhaps surprisingly, Alix had also learned a few things from the pastor of the church that employed Jordan, the church she now attended. Pastor Downey used lots of homespun analogies and practical advice about living in the real world. Just last Sunday, he’d said that the grass wasn’t greener on the other side of the fence; it was greener where it was watered. Alix liked that so much, she wrote it down on the inside flap of her Bible. She considered it good advice for a woman about to be married. It was advice she wanted to remember.