Back on Blossom Street

Colette’s heart ached for the little boy Christian had been.



“For a year afterward, Elliott buried himself in the bottom of a whiskey bottle, too immersed in his own grief to help Christian deal with his.” Elizabeth set her cup back in the saucer with a sharp clink. “My husband, God rest his soul, brought young Christian to me. Charles and I had never been blessed with a family. Unfortunately, we were of an age at which we didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do with a youngster. We kept him until Elliott had straightened himself out and then sent him home to live with his father.” She paused, shaking her head. “I regret that to this day.”



Colette tried to picture Christian as a hurting, motherless little boy but couldn’t. He seemed too self-possessed, too confident, too remote. Perhaps his childhood explained the unyielding exterior he presented to the world.



Only three times in all the years she’d known him had Christian revealed a different facet of his personality. The day of Derek’s funeral, the night of the Christmas party and just recently, when they’d gone to dinner.



“Did his father ever remarry?” she asked, wanting to know more details of Christian’s young life.



“Unfortunately, no. When he finished with alcohol, Elliott buried himself in his work. He traded one addiction for another, although arguably a less destructive one. Christian was raised by a series of housekeepers. I sent for him every summer and at Christmas, but as you can imagine, neither Charles nor I knew how to entertain a young boy.”



Colette smiled, picturing Christian sitting at that huge dining table for a formal meal.



“I did teach him to play bridge, and I’ll admit he’s quite good.”



Colette had never heard that he played any form of cards.



“Unfortunately, his relationship with Elliott is strained. My nephew decided long ago that Christian would one day take over his investment firm. Christian’s never shown the slightest interest in stocks and bonds. From the time he was a child, he loved to travel. Christian spent hours in this very library, studying maps and reading about faraway lands. He started the import business with an inheritance he collected from his mother’s side of the family.”



“He’s very successful at the business,” Colette said, and wondered anew why he’d put so much at risk.



“And an utter failure at personal relationships, much like his father. Elliott blamed the world for his loss and instead of getting on with life, he held his bitterness inside. I’m afraid Christian is more like his father than he realizes. He, too, keeps everything hidden. He refuses to get close to anyone.” Elizabeth shook her head sadly.



“He…he seems to have plenty of women friends.”



“Pieces of fluff,” Elizabeth said scornfully. “They never last long, do they? He woos them and then grows bored with them. Am I correct?”



Colette felt as if she was telling tales out of school. “Uh, that was his pattern when I worked with him. But I haven’t been with Dempsey Imports for the last four months, so I can’t say about more recent…relationships.”



The other woman put down her tea cup and studied Colette. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”



Colette felt the blood rush to her face. “I wouldn’t say that….”



The old woman gestured with one elegant hand. “Don’t bother to deny it. You wouldn’t have come here otherwise. Stand up,” she demanded. “I want to get a good look at you.”



Haltingly, Colette complied, thankful for her loose-fitting clothes.



“Straighten your shoulders,” Elizabeth snapped. “What’s the problem with young people these days? It’s a wonder you don’t all come down with back problems.”



Colette managed to restrain a smile.



“I like you,” Elizabeth announced abruptly.



This time Colette did smile. “I like you, too. Do you mind if I sit?”



“Go ahead.” Elizabeth nodded. “All I can say is that it’s high time my great-nephew settled down. I was beginning to wonder if he had the brains God gave a goose.”



Colette wanted to laugh at Elizabeth’s disgusted tone.



“Can you stay for dinner?”



“That isn’t necessary. I—”



Elizabeth cut her off with an imperious wave. Before Colette could stop her, she’d called for Doris, instructing the housekeeper to set another place at the table.



“Over dinner, tell me everything you know about Christian. I haven’t seen the boy in months and I’m starving for news of him.”



“I—”



“Elliott and Christian are my only living relatives,” Elizabeth said before Colette could attempt an answer. “One day this house will be his.” As she looked around, her gaze fell lovingly on the things in the room—the books, the antique desk, the rich Oriental carpet. “I’ll tell you right now, if he marries one of those…those girls he’s been dallying with for the last few years, I’d rather donate my home to the zoo. As I said, it’s time he settled down and married a lady.”



“I…I’m not sure I qualify as one,” she murmured.



The older woman’s gaze narrowed and she appeared to carefully choose her words. “You’ll do. Now, tell me about yourself.”



Colette paused and was about to describe her own family when Elizabeth raised a hand.



“Before you get started, I’d like you to answer one question. It might be an uncomfortable one and I apologize for that in advance. Nevertheless, I insist on the truth.”



“All right.” Colette hoped it wasn’t the question she feared most.



Elizabeth leaned forward and stared at Colette intently. “It’s obvious you love the boy. Something’s gone wrong. What?” “I…” “The truth,” she demanded.



Colette clasped her hands and nodded. “It’s complicated.”



The older woman sighed. “My dear, dear girl, love is always complicated. It wouldn’t be love unless it was.”



Colette agreed with a silent nod.



“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”



Colette’s eyes widened and then instantly flooded with tears.



CHAPTER 18



“I love capturing the beauty and movement of a dog in intarsia knitting. It’s fun to use a colorful palette of yarns, to knit a sweater that shows not only the splendor of the breed but its owner’s love and pride.”



Peggy Gaffney, www.kanineknits.com



Lydia Goetz



F riday started off well. Sales were steady, and I saw some of my favorite customers.



At home the night before, Brad and I had spent hours discussing adoption, weighing the pros and cons.



My biggest fear, and one I shared with Brad, was the future. It was one thing to open a yarn store; if the cancer returned, I could always sell out. Bringing a child into our lives was another story entirely. As much as I lived in hope and health, the threat of the disease always hung over me and I couldn’t ignore that and neither could Brad.



By the end of the evening, we were still of two minds, but I felt closer to him than ever. We decided to set the question of adoption aside for the moment.



Friday morning, I noticed an improvement in Margaret’s attitude. I assumed this had come about because of Thursday’s conversation with Detective Johnson. It seemed likely that the suspect they’d been watching would soon be picked up. Margaret was in a state of excitement all day, and I felt so pleased for her. Pleased and relieved. Yes, by all means, I wanted this lunatic found, charged and sent to jail. Even more, I wanted this matter shelved for Julia’s sake. And my sister’s.



The yarn store was doing well financially and I felt such a strong connection with my customers, especially the women in my prayer shawl class. I’d noticed that Colette and Alix had become friends. That shouldn’t have surprised me, and yet it did. I wouldn’t have thought they had much in common. But then, Alix is probably one of the most complex people I’ve ever met. She’s able to adjust to people and situations easily—except for that out-of-control wedding. Still, she was doing her best to cope because she loves Jacqueline.



Who would’ve believed Jacqueline Donovan and Alix would become so close? That was a shocker. I think the world of Jacqueline and Reese for the way they helped Alix, helped and encouraged her through her schooling and as a bride-to-be.



When Paul, their only son, married Tammie Lee, Jacqueline wasn’t involved in the wedding. At one time there were hard feelings because of this. Now, of course, that’s all water under the proverbial bridge. With Alix’s wedding, however, it was as if Jacqueline was making up for lost time—and lost opportunities. She was planning the social event of the year. I had to hand it to Alix; she’d been patient and good-natured about the whole thing.



At about four o’clock, the phone rang, and because I was standing closest to the cash register I automatically reached for it. “A Good Yarn,” I said into the receiver.



“Aunt Lydia?” It was Hailey, my niece and Margaret’s youngest daughter.



“Oh, hi—”



“Don’t say my name,” Hailey pleaded. She was whispering. “Is my mother there?”



“Well, yes.”



“Is my mom watching you? She doesn’t know it’s me on the phone, does she?”



This was a very odd conversation, and it was beginning to alarm me. “She’s with a customer,” I said, lowering my own voice. Margaret apparently wasn’t listening, since she didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Is something wrong?”



“I…I don’t know what to do. Julia’s crying.”



“What happened?”



“I…I don’t know,” Hailey said, and she seemed close to tears herself. “No one’s here and…and Julia’s talking crazy.”



“What do you mean, crazy?” I asked urgently.



“I…I don’t want to tell you.”



“All right.” I hesitated for a moment. “Let me talk to Julia.”



“Okay.” The relief in Hailey’s voice was evident. “I’ll take the phone to her.”



“She’s in her room?”



“No, she’s on the kitchen floor,” Hailey said.



As soon as she walked into the kitchen, chatting as she went, I could hear Julia’s heart-wrenching sobs. Crying like this wasn’t normal, and the sound sent shivers through me.



The customer left and Margaret looked at me. I tried not to reveal that I was talking to her daughter.



“Hold on a minute,” I said to Hailey.



“Okay.”



I held the phone away from my ear and glanced at Margaret, who’d gone into the office to retrieve her purse.



“I’m going to run over to the French Café for a latte,” my sister told me. “Can I get you anything?”



I shook my head. “Thanks anyway.”



“I shouldn’t be more than ten minutes,” Margaret said on her way out the door, blissfully unaware of what was happening in her own home.