The Shop on Blossom Street

My sister hesitated and when she spoke again, she seemed almost gleeful. It didn’t take me long to discover why.

“Since you can’t get away, the girls and I will see Mom on Saturday and you can have your own time with her on Sunday.” This meant Margaret wouldn’t have to share our mother with me. Mom’s attention would be on my sister, which was clearly why Margaret had arranged things this way. I didn’t understand why everything had to be a competition for her.

“Oh.” I’d hoped we’d all be together.

“You’re not working on Sunday, are you?”

My shoulders sagged. “No, but … well, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t have any choice, do I?” Margaret said in the surly, aggressive tone I have long detested. “You’re the one who can’t make lunch on Saturday. I suppose you want me to adjust my schedule to yours, but I won’t.”

“I didn’t ask you to change anything.”

“Not in so many words, but I could read between the lines. I do have a husband, you know, and he has a mother, too. For once we wanted to spend Mother’s Day with her.”

Rather than get into an argument, I kept my voice as unemotional as possible. “Perhaps we could compromise.”

“How do you mean?”

“I know Mom would love to have lunch on the waterfront. I could meet you there and close the shop for a couple of hours. That way we could all be together and then I’d join her on Sunday, as well.”

I could tell from the lengthy pause that Margaret wasn’t happy with that idea. “You expect me to pick up Mom and drive into Seattle on a Saturday afternoon—because it’s more convenient for you? We both know how dreadful the traffic is.”

“It’s only a suggestion.”

“I’d rather we celebrated Mother’s Day separately this year.”

“Fine. Perhaps we should.” I left it at that and made a mental note to call Mom to explain.

“Good. We’ve got that settled.” I noticed that Margaret didn’t ask about my first two weeks of business. Nor did she make any other inquiries or give me an opportunity to ask what was going on in her life.

“I have to go,” Margaret said. “Julia’s dancing class starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Give her my love,” I said. My two nieces were a joy to me. I loved them deeply and felt close to both Julia and Hailey. Sensing my feelings, Margaret did her best to keep the girls away from me. But now that they were preteens, they had minds of their own. We often chatted and I suspected they didn’t let their mother know.

My sister hung up without so much as a goodbye. That was typical behavior for Margaret.

I walked over to the front door and turned over the sign to read Closed. As I did, I saw Brad Goetz coming out of the apartment building where Alix lived. He was in a hurry, half-jogging to his truck. I couldn’t see where he’d parked, but I thought I knew the reason for his rush. He was handsome and eligible, and there was every likelihood he had a Friday-night date.

I could’ve been the one joining him for dinner—only I wasn’t. That had been my own choice, a choice I was beginning to regret….

10

CHAPTER

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

In an attempt to hide her nervousness, Jacqueline poured herself a second glass of chardonnay. After the first sip she stepped into the kitchen and brought out the hors d’oeuvre platter for their guests. Martha had put together crackers artfully swirled with herb-mixed cream cheese and decorated with tiny shrimp. Paul had phoned earlier in the week to ask if he and Tammie Lee could stop by the house on Wednesday evening.

They’d spent the Mother’s Day weekend in Louisiana with Tammie Lee’s mother, who apparently wasn’t feeling well. Jacqueline had made a conscious decision not to take offense.

This was the first time Paul had ever asked permission to visit the family home, and Jacqueline’s nerves had been badly frayed ever since his phone call.

“Relax,” Reese said, following her into the kitchen.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this,” Jacqueline murmured. She glanced at the clock on the microwave and realized it was a full ten minutes before her son and daughter-in-law were due to arrive. She cringed at the prospect of making small talk with Tammie Lee, and feared that Paul was about to announce he’d accepted a transfer to the New Orleans branch so Tammie Lee could be close to her family.

“Setting up an appointment to come over here isn’t like Paul.”

“He was just being thoughtful.” Reese walked around the counter and sat on a stool. “Isn’t knitting supposed to soothe your nerves?”

“That’s another thing,” Jacqueline snapped. “I’m dropping out of that ridiculous class.”

His head flew back at the vehemence of her declaration. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I have my reasons.” She didn’t like the look on Reese’s face—as if he was disappointed in her. But he wasn’t the one confronting that ill-mannered punk rocker or whatever those people called themselves these days. Alix, spelled A-L-I-X, resembled a gang member; the girl frightened her. “Why should you care what I do?” Jacqueline leaned against the counter across from her husband.

“You seemed excited about it last week,” he said blandly. It was obviously of no consequence to him. “I thought it was a conciliatory gesture on your part. I assumed you signed up for the classes to show Paul you’re planning to be a good grandmother.”

“I am determined to be a wonderful grandmother. For heaven’s sake, what chance does a child of Tammie Lee’s have? She’ll grow up learning how to pickle pigs’ feet.” She shivered at the very idea.

“Now, Jacqueline …”

“Actually, I blame you for this.”

“Me?” Reese straightened and for a moment he seemed about to laugh outright. “You blame me for what?”

“For the fact that I’m in this … this awful knitting class.”

He frowned. “You’d better tell me what’s going on.”

“There’s a young woman in the class. I can’t imagine why she’d ever want to learn to knit, but it’s not important. She’s vile, Reese. That’s the only word I can think of to describe her. Her hair is the most ludicrous shade of purple and she took an instant dislike to me when she learned that you’re responsible for what’s happening in the Blossom Street neighborhood.”

Reese reached for his wine. “Most people there welcome the renovation.”

“Alix lives in the apartment building at the end of the street.” As far as Jacqueline could see, it was a rat-infested dump. If it was slated for demolition, all the better. Alix and her kind would need to look elsewhere for low-rent housing. Girls like that weren’t wanted in an upscale neighborhood, which Blossom Street would soon become.

“Ah,” Reese murmured and sipped his wine. “Now I understand.”

“What’s planned for the building?” Jacqueline asked.

“That hasn’t been decided.” Reese gently swirled his wine against the sides of the goblet. “The city is talking to the owner. My idea was to completely remodel the place into condos, but it seems some advocates for low-income housing now have the mayor’s ear.”

“That’s unfortunate. Those low-rent people will ruin the neighborhood. You might as well kiss all your hard work goodbye.” She hated to sound like a pessimist, but if Alix was any indication of the quality of person living in that building, then the entire street was at risk.

“Maybe you should give the knitting class another try,” Reese suggested, ignoring her outburst.

The truth of it was that Jacqueline wanted to continue. She hadn’t found the class “awful” at all; that was an exaggeration for Reese’s benefit. Other than the confrontation with Alix, she’d enjoyed the lesson. At one point, Lydia had told them to walk around the shop and choose three balls of yarn in their favorite colors. At the time it’d seemed like a useless exercise. Jacqueline had chosen a silver gloss, a deep purple and a vibrant red. Lydia’s next instruction had been to choose wool in the color she disliked most. Jacqueline had gone immediately to a skein of bright yellow, which was the color that appealed to her least. Lydia had talked about contrasting colors and showed how they often complement each other. In fact, the yellow had looked completely different against the purple, and just as Lydia had said, the contrast was surprisingly effective.