Summer on Blossom Street

He posed it as a serious question, like something he’d heard on the evening news.



Cody shook his head. “Not me.”



“Me, neither,” Casey said.



“Apparently, the man wanted to f inish his own surgery. The surgeon explained that all that remained was the stitches.”



I thought I knew what was coming.



“The man said he could do that, so the surgeon told him to suture himself.”



Cody groaned.



“Good one,” Casey said, grinning broadly. “Suture himself,”



she repeated, and burst out laughing.



Cody’s laughter joined hers, while I was content to roll my eyes and lick my ice cream. Brad was obviously quite happy with himself.



Casey looked at me, her eyes brimming with joy. It was diff icult to remember that this was the same angry, def iant girl who’d shown up on our doorstep a few weeks earlier.



“When do we have to return the bikes?” Cody wanted to know. Brad checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”



Cody roared to his feet. “That’s long enough to ride around the lake one more time.” He grabbed his helmet and slammed it on his head. “Last one back is a dead frog.”



Well, I for one had no intention of being referred to as a dead frog, so I f inished my cone and hopped on my bike. Cody and Casey were already way ahead of me. Brad took his time but it wasn’t long before he sailed past.



I was the last to arrive at the bike rental shop—to no one’s surprise. Cody leaned against the side of the building with his ankles crossed, as though he’d been waiting there for hours. Brad, who stood beside him, tapped his watch.



“Here comes Lydia, the dead frog,” my husband announced. Casey bent double with laughter as if this was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Fortunately I’m a good sport.



“You three had better beware. You never know what might turn up in your stew tonight.” I was planning to ask Brad to grill hamburgers, but I wasn’t telling Cody and Casey that. “Frogs, anyone?”



Cody shifted toward Casey and said in a stage whisper, “Last Halloween Mom made monster eyeballs.”



“Yuck.” Casey pretended to be horrif ied.



“It was really meatballs with a green olive poking out,” Cody explained.



“Don’t forget the bat wings,” I reminded him.



“They looked like chicken wings to me, but what do I know?” Brad said.



“Ghosts, too,” Cody added. “Those were really just mashed potatoes.”



Casey glanced at me. “You have a great imagination.”



“I try,” I said and looped my arm around her neck as we walked back to the car.



On the way home we stopped at the grocery store and picked up hamburger buns and fresh tomatoes, although Cody and Brad both hated them.



Casey and I liked tomatoes and cheese on our burgers, however, and I wasn’t about to be cheated out of this small treat. While I picked out the best tomatoes, Brad and Cody went to the deli for potato salad and baked beans. We were going to have the perfect summer feast.



While Brad lit the barbecue, Casey and I got everything into serving dishes and set the picnic table in the backyard. Chase and Cody raced around the grass. Cody tossed a Frisbee in the air and the dog caught it every time.



“You want to throw it?” Cody asked Casey when she’d f inished helping me.



She shrugged. “I guess.”



I could see that she was grateful, and again I wanted to hug Cody for his thoughtfulness. Our son was capable of real sensitivity and I was sure that was due, in part, to the diff icult situation with his mother. He hadn’t said much about his visit with Janice a week earlier, and I hadn’t asked. Brad had stayed in the car, listening to the radio, while Cody was up in her condo. Cody, like any little boy, loved his mother. He loved me, too, and I didn’t want him to feel guilty about his feelings for Janice. I hurt for him that Janice showed so little interest in his life. During dinner Brad told more of his silly jokes. I remembered a few old knock-knock jokes my father had told when I was a kid. We all laughed rowdily as if we were clever and funny when we were probably neither. We were just having fun as a family. By the time we’d f inished cleaning off the outside table, we decided to work on the jigsaw puzzle again. With the four of us all f inding pieces, it was coming together quickly. Eventually, we grew tired of that and gathered around the television to watch a movie Brad had rented while we were at the grocery store. When the f inal credits rolled, Cody was yawning. It’d been a full, full day.



“Church in the morning,” Brad reminded the two children.



“Do we have to go?” Cody whined.



There were no Sunday School classes during the summer months, which meant Cody had to sit with Brad and me. It was his least favorite thing to do, but his father and I felt it was important. Casey had accompanied us each week, without comment.



“We’re all going,” Brad informed Cody.



“You’ll be glad you did,” I told him.



“No, I won’t,” Cody said, pouting.



I had to laugh. He was such a typical kid.



“Come on, Chase,” he muttered, starting down the hall toward his bedroom. He paused halfway, then started back. I thought he might want to argue some more about church. Instead he hugged his father, then walked over to me and threw both arms around my waist.



“I had fun today.”



“So did I,” I said and hugged him back.



As Cody returned to his bedroom, I saw the look of pain in Casey’s eyes.



“Hey, Casey,” I said. “How about a hug from you, too?”



She seemed unsure.



But I didn’t wait for her to come to me; I walked over and gave her a f irm hug. “I’m glad you were with us today.”



For a moment I thought she might let her arms dangle at her sides, but then she hugged me. “I had a good time, too.”



“I’m glad.”



“In fact,” she whispered, “it was probably the very best day of my whole life.”



Chapter 22



Phoebe Rylander



The weekend in Westport with Hutch was incredible and wonderful and exciting. Those were only a few of the words Phoebe could think of to describe their time together. The condo overlooked the Pacif ic Ocean on one side and Gray’s Harbor on the other. The community was f illed with quaint shops, delectable seafood restaurants and antique stores and seemed completely unspoiled.



Holding hands, they’d walked barefoot along the beach and on Saturday afternoon, Hutch assembled huge, complicated kites for them to f ly. Phoebe stood on the shore and laughed hysterically at Hutch’s attempts to keep their strings from tangling. Later on Saturday, after a dinner of Phoebe’s seafood linguine, they sat on the beach in front of a campf ire that crackled and shot sparks in the air. Hutch slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. They didn’t talk; conversation seemed unnecessary. Instead, they’d looked into the mesmerizing f lames as the driftwood burned and simply enjoyed being together.



Sunday morning, Phoebe insisted on making a cheese omelet, which Hutch praised as lavishly as he had her pasta the night before. They both grew subdued that afternoon, preparing to return to their respective lives. Phoebe regretted having to leave this idyllic place.



Hutch had kissed her several times, and Phoebe loved being in his arms. He didn’t pressure her to sleep with him, which was a pleasant change from other men she’d dated—Clark in particular.



It was while she sat staring into the f ire that she’d realized the biggest difference between the two men and the reason she’d always found an excuse to delay her wedding to Clark. Hutch was sincere, genuine, kind, while Clark had shown little evidence of those qualities. Clark’s entire world revolved around him—his career, his ambition, his needs. The more time she spent away from him, the more Phoebe saw how blind she’d been. His inf idelity had been a blessing wrapped in pain and betrayal. How grateful she was now that she hadn’t married him. As she sat by the f ire on the beach, thinking about Clark, Phoebe’s eyes had welled with tears. She could only feel thankful that she’d recognized the truth before it was too late. Hutch seemed to believe that her emotions were connected to the death of her f iancé. Phoebe wanted to tell him the truth and knew she needed to do it soon. She regretted the lie. When she’d f irst introduced herself to the class, it had just seemed easier than launching into a complicated explanation. This was the weekend she’d planned to tell him about Clark, but she’d been afraid. She hadn’t wanted to ruin their time together, so she’d put it off yet again.



Hutch dropped Phoebe at her apartment around eight on Sunday evening. After giving Princess a few minutes’ attention and refreshing her food and water, Phoebe checked her phone. The message light was blinking wildly. Caller ID informed her that the majority of calls had come from Clark. Without listening to any of his attempts to contact her, Phoebe deleted each message until she got to her mother’s.



“Phoebe, where are you? Why aren’t you answering the phone?” Her mother’s voice rang with urgency. “Clark’s father suffered a massive heart attack. He’s in the hospital. No one knows what’s going to happen. Please call Clark as soon as you get this. I just pray it isn’t too late.”



Phoebe gasped. She’d always been fond of Clark’s father, and the thought of losing Max shook her badly. Without thinking she grabbed the phone and dialed Clark’s cell.



“Phoebe!” he said. “Thank God you called.”



“How’s your father?”



“He had emergency bypass surgery on Saturday morning. Where were you? No one seemed to have any idea.”



“That isn’t important,” she told him. Phoebe didn’t owe him any explanations and she certainly wasn’t about to tell him she’d been in Westport with Hutch.



Her words had a sobering effect on him. “You’re right, of course,”



he said. “Listen, Phoebe, Dad asked if you’d come and see him. Will you do that? You know how special you are to my father.”



“Of course I’ll visit him.”



“Would it be possible for you to come now?” Clark asked softly.



“Now?”



“Please. It would mean the world to Dad.”



“I…I suppose.”



Clark gave her Max’s room number at Swedish Hospital, which she wrote down on a pad near the phone. “I have one request,” she said.



“Anything.”



Clark was acting far too agreeable. Perhaps she was being cynical, but past experience had taught her he wasn’t to be trusted.



“If I go to see your father now, you can’t be there.”



“But…” Clark hesitated.



“Agreed?”



“Phoebe, I—”



“That’s my stipulation and either you agree or I’ll arrange another time to come by the hospital.” She’d visit Max during working hours because the one thing she could count on was that Clark wouldn’t show up if it interfered with law-f irm business. Again he paused. “You’ve changed, Phoebe.”