The Shop on Blossom Street

“Cancer?” he repeated and from the shocked look on his face I knew it was the last thing he’d expected me to say.



“The big, ugly scary kind,” I said, unable to hide my sarcasm. “You don’t want to make an emotional investment in me because it might not pay off. That’s the problem with cancer.”



“I…didn’t know.”



“Of course you didn’t. How could you? I appreciate the offer,” I said again, and I was sincere about that. “In fact, I’m downright flattered. But I’m saving us both a lot of grief, so please just accept my refusal and leave it at that.” I walked away from him and went to the back of the store where I sank down next to my sister.



Margaret glared at me.



I heard the door close as Brad walked out of the shop. “Why did you do that?” my sister demanded.



“Do what?”



“Turn him down! What harm would it’ve done to have a beer with the guy?”



I covered my face with both hands, unwilling to admit that it’d been so long since I’d been on a date, I didn’t know how to act around a man.



“He’s cute and he’s interested.”



“I know,” I whispered.



“You said you started this shop as an affirmation of life.”



I nodded. “I did—” Margaret didn’t allow me to finish.



“Then live. Get involved in life, Lydia. You should be thanking your lucky stars a man like that wants to date you. Good grief, what is it with you?”



“I…I…” I was so disconcerted I couldn’t put two words together.



“Live, Lydia,” she said again. “Get out there and find out what life’s all about. And do it before you shrivel up—or die.”



CHAPTER 18



JACQUELINE DONOVAN



J acqueline had been a member of the birthday club since joining the Seattle Country Club years ago. Once a month, a group of nine friends got together to celebrate their birthdays. If no one had a birthday that particular month, they celebrated anyway.



For June they chose a Mexican restaurant. While the ambience wasn’t really up to their usual high standards the food was excellent. After the women had finished a leisurely lunch and several margaritas, four of the waiters came to their table wearing large sombreros. It was time to serenade the birthday girl. One of the waiters had a guitar slung over his shoulder. Another brandished a pair of maracas.



“Señoritas, you celebrate a birthday, sí?”



“Sí,” Bev Johnson, president of the women’s group, told him. “It’s Ginny’s birthday.” She pointed across the table at the other woman, who blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl.



The man with the guitar strummed a few chords and strolled over to Ginny. “Would you like the long version or the short version?” he asked.



Jacqueline loved to see her normally poised and collected friend flustered by the attention. “By all means the short version.”



All four of the waiters immediately got down on their knees as they sang the traditional birthday song with a definite Mexican flair. The nine women at the table laughed and applauded, Jacqueline included.



She’d needed this outing in order to put Tammie Lee’s pregnancy out of her mind. Despite everything, Paul seemed genuinely in love with his wife; Reese, too, was taken with her. That left Jacqueline feeling like the villain of the piece. But even if Tammie Lee wasn’t quite as manipulative or tasteless as Jacqueline had assumed, she was so obviously wrong for Paul.



After Ginny blew out the candle on her small cake, and passed it around for everyone to taste, the party broke up. Jacqueline was waiting in line to pay the cashier when Bev came to stand beside her.



“I ran into Tammie Lee last week,” the president of the women’s club said.



Jacqueline froze. Bev was the most influential member of the association and she could only imagine what her friend thought of Paul’s wife. Already Jacqueline could feel the heat creep up her neck. She could think of no way to explain her son’s lapse in judgment.



“Haywood said he approved their application to the club.” Haywood was Bev’s husband and in charge of admissions.



“Naturally Reese and I were very pleased they were accepted.” It was gratifying to know that her years of volunteer work with the country club were paying dividends.



“We’ve always liked Paul.”



Jacqueline smiled. Anyone would be impressed with her son. He was charming and intelligent and destined to succeed in life. She had to restrain herself from bragging about his accomplishments.



“I understand Tammie Lee’s going to work on the cookbook committee.”



Jacqueline’s heart fell. She’d hoped to speak privately to the committee chairwoman and suggest that perhaps Tammie Lee might serve more effectively somewhere else. The thought of her daughter-in-law’s recipe for boiled peanuts and cheese grits in the Country Club Cookbook made Jacqueline shudder. What an embarrassment! She couldn’t allow that to happen.



“I’ve been meaning to talk to Louise about that.”



“It’s a stroke of genius,” Bev said.



It was Jacqueline’s turn to pay her lunch tab, and she set the cash on the counter, breathing far too fast. Surely she’d misunderstood Bev. She stepped aside after collecting her change and waited while the other woman paid.



“A stroke of…genius?” Jacqueline repeated as they started out the restaurant door.



“Why, yes. I first met Tammie Lee a few months ago. Haywood and I instantly fell in love with her. She’s a breath of fresh air that our women’s group badly needs. She’s so energetic. Don’t you just love that sweet southern accent of hers? I swear I could listen to her speak all day.”



Jacqueline had to bite her tongue to keep from admitting how irritated she was by Tammie Lee’s twang.



“It’s no wonder Paul fell in love with her. I think Haywood’s halfway there himself.”



“Oh.” Jacqueline wasn’t sure how to respond.



“The committee puts out a cookbook every two years and it’s always the same people and the same recipes. Just how many recipes for Cranberry Mold do we need?”



Jacqueline refrained from mentioning that she’d been the one to submit the gelatin recipe, which had long been a club favorite.



“Tammie Lee had some wonderful ideas, and frankly I’m thinking of asking her to chair the committee. Louise has done it for several years and she’s ready to try her hand at something else.”



“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Jacqueline could no longer remain silent. She respected Bev’s opinion, but in this case her friend was wrong. Tammie Lee would be an embarrassment to them all.



“I know, of course, that with a baby due in the next few months, I can’t ask her to take on any additional responsibility,” Bev said as she neared the parking lot. Her convertible BMW was parked next to Jacqueline’s Mercedes. “I don’t want to overwhelm her. Paul would never forgive me, although I think Tammie Lee’s a natural.”



“Yes, yes, she’s going to have her hands full,” Jacqueline agreed and stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to move while Bev climbed into her car and drove off. Had the entire world gone mad? Jacqueline wondered. Was she the only one who recognized Tammie Lee as the insincere little manipulator she was?



Her thoughts troubled, Jacqueline pulled into the garage at home and was astonished to realize she couldn’t remember driving there. One moment she was in the restaurant parking lot and the next she was in her own garage.



Another surprise awaited her when she found Reese in the kitchen. He was dressed in one of his best suits and either he was home early or ready to take his blonde out for the evening. Jacqueline didn’t ask. She’d rather not know than have to hear him lie.



She put away her purse and glanced at the mail, paying special attention to the sale flyers. When she’d finished, she walked over to the liquor cabinet and reached for a bottle of gin. “Want one?”



“I’m driving.”



Jacqueline shrugged. “I’m not.” The margaritas had long since worn off.



“What’s wrong?” he asked.



“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”



Reese frowned. “I’ve never known you to drink this early in the afternoon.”



“Some occasions call for it.” She turned around to study this man with whom she’d spent most of her life. She knew him so well—and yet she didn’t know him at all.



“Where were you?” he asked.



She couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested or making small talk. Jacqueline found it curious that he was questioning her whereabouts; he’d done that a few times recently but she had no idea why.



“Out with the girls. For our monthly birthday lunch.”



“You might invite Tammie Lee on one of your outings sometime.”



He had to be joking. “Why would I do that?”



“Because she’s your daughter-in-law and it would be one way of welcoming her into the family.”



“I refuse to be a hypocrite. She isn’t welcome. She’s tolerated and frankly even that’s becoming difficult.” If one more person sang her daughter-in-law’s praises, Jacqueline swore she was going to scream. “Why does everyone think Tammie Lee’s so terrific? I don’t get it.”



Reese stared at her for a long moment. “Have you ever asked yourself why Paul fell in love with her?” His voice was cool and controlled, which usually indicated that he was curbing his anger.



“Of course I understand why Paul married her. He was ruled by hormones instead of common sense.”



“No, he wasn’t,” Reese shouted, slapping his palm against the kitchen counter.



Jacqueline nearly leaped out of her skin at her husband’s uncharacteristic display of temper.



“Tammie Lee is loving and caring and generous. The only person who doesn’t see it is you and only because you’re so blinded by your own agenda for our son you refuse to open your eyes.”



Jacqueline stared at him. “Are you suggesting I’m a cold, selfish bitch, Reese?” How dare he speak that way to her!



It looked as if he meant to leave without any kind of response, but apparently he changed his mind. “Perhaps you should answer that question yourself,” he said.



Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.



CHAPTER 19



“Handknitting is a soothing and comforting means of creative expression that can result in a warm, useful and lovingly knitted garment…what a bonus.”



—Meg Swansen, Schoolhouse Press



LYDIA HOFFMAN



T he three women in my knitting class sat around the table, eager for the last scheduled lesson. Before I could start, however, Jacqueline spoke up.



“I’d like to let everyone know I’ve decided against returning for the new session.” She meant our knitting “support group,” for which I charged five dollars a week.



No one made any protest, so I felt I should say something. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jacqueline.” I was, and my feelings weren’t entirely mercenary, although I knew if she stayed, Jacqueline would be inclined to purchase the higher-end yarns.