Summer on Blossom Street

“A yarn store?” Casey made it sound like the last place on earth she wanted to be.

“I can teach you to knit if you’re interested.”

Casey ignored me.

I wrote out instructions about which bus to take and which stop to get off at and gave her the fare. Casey stuffed the coins in her jeans pocket and left soon afterward.

As soon as the door closed, Cody whirled around to face me. “She’s not staying, is she?”

“It’s just for a couple of days,” I promised him.

“I don’t like her.”

“We haven’t had a chance to get to know her,” I said. In every likelihood that wouldn’t happen, either.

No sooner had I spoken than the phone rang. A quick glance at the call display screen told me it was Evelyn Boyle.

“Morning,” I said as cheerfully as I could manage.

“How’d it go last night?”

Looking at the kitchen door, I wondered what to tell her. “Okay, I guess,” I finally said. “Casey went to bed almost right away.” I couldn’t prevent a sigh. “Unfortunately, things didn’t start off well this morning. I’m afraid Casey and Cody don’t have a lot in common.”

“Give them both time to adjust,” Evelyn advised.

“Time?” I echoed. “Casey’s leaving tomorrow, isn’t she?”

Evelyn paused, and that short silence told me everything I needed to know.

“The problem is,” Evelyn said with obvious reluctance, “the family that was going to foster Casey is on vacation. I can try to find another one, but that’ll take a day or two, and we’re always short of homes in the summer.” She paused. “I hate to ask this, but to be on the safe side could she stay with you for a week? I should be able to find a suitable family in that time.”

“A week,” I repeated, a little shocked. “I’ll need to check with Brad, of course.”

Cody walked up and stood directly in front of me, hands on hips, his thin arms jutting out as he glared up at me. His thoughts on the matter were perfectly clear.

“And of course Cody will have a say, as well.”

At this rate I’d need clearance from Chase, too.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d get back to me as soon as you can,” Evelyn said.

“Of course.” Slowly I replaced the receiver.

“Mom!” Cody wailed.

I looked down at him. “Can we be kind enough to let Casey stay with us an entire week?” I asked. “What do you think?”

My son shook his head. “No way!”

“Okay, then I’ll call Ms. Boyle back and tell her it’s impossible. Casey will have to pack her things and go.”

Cody studied his bare feet and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Just a week, right?”

“That’s what Evelyn said.” I didn’t mention that a few hours before, the social worker had promised that it would be two nights at the most.

Cody chewed his lip. “What do you think?”

I was of two minds, but compassion won out. It wouldn’t be an easy adjustment for any of us. Casey wasn’t going to make this pleasant. However, I’d seen that glimmer of a smile in the young girl’s eyes. When I’d said Cody wasn’t bad for a boy, Casey and I had connected for a few seconds.

“Mom?” Cody pressed.

“If your father agrees, I think it’d be fine for Casey to stay the week,” I told him.

“Okay,” Cody muttered. “But only one week and she can’t call me a baby ever again.” He nodded emphatically, as if that settled the point.

CHAPTER

7

Phoebe Rylander

At 5:20, forty minutes before her first knitting lesson, Phoebe left work. Clark didn’t know about the class; her mother didn’t, either. Phoebe couldn’t explain why she preferred it that way; she just knew she did.

It was hard not to answer the constant phone calls and messages, although she realized the sanest approach was simply to ignore them. She should have changed her home number, too, but that was more complicated, or so she told herself. She hated to admit that maybe, with one small part of her, she did want to hear from him. Still, she wasn’t even sure whether Clark was calling because he wanted her back or because he couldn’t tolerate what he saw as her rejection. Winning was everything to him. If their engagement was broken he wanted to be the one to call it off. He hadn’t let up since she’d returned his engagement ring.

Phoebe badly needed a reprieve. The knitting class offered that.

Although Leanne hadn’t admitted it, Phoebe was fairly certain her mother had joined forces with Clark’s parents and was doing everything in her power to repair the rift. What her mother, and more importantly, Clark, failed to understand was that Phoebe intended to keep the breakup permanent, no matter how much she wished it could be different.

Even now, knowing what he did, part of her yearned to believe that Clark didn’t comprehend what he’d done or why she was upset. But she’d told him the first time—she couldn’t have been any clearer—and this time she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t. Phoebe knew his weakness for paid sex would continue after they were married. It was an addiction; it had to be. Otherwise he wouldn’t go on taking these ridiculous risks. Twice he’d been arrested for solicitation, and heaven only knew how many other occasions there’d been, occasions when he’d been fortunate enough not to get caught. A woman off the streets, no less. If he was going to pay for sex, Phoebe would have assumed he’d want a higher-class prostitute. Unless it was the danger that thrilled him? She sighed. None of this made sense to her.

He’d promised it would never happen again and she’d reluctantly forgiven him that first time. She’d believed he was sincere—and yet he’d succumbed again. She needed a man who’d be completely committed to her and their relationship. Addiction, attraction to danger, whatever it was, Clark seemed either unwilling or unable to control it. She refused to put her emotional and physical health at risk because of his weakness.

So far she’d held out. Whenever she wavered, Clark seemed to sense that and bombarded her with notes and flowers and gifts, all of which she’d sent back. That didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he redoubled his efforts.

Rather than take her car out of the garage at work, Phoebe decided to walk the half mile or so to Blossom Street. She’d brought her brand-new knitting bag, filled with skeins of yarn in a restful sage-green color, her pattern and a pair of needles still in their clear plastic case. It was a lovely evening, but cool enough to require a sweater. Because she was early, she stopped at the French Café and purchased a half sandwich, pastrami on rye with mustard, and a cup of coffee.

Since the breakup, her appetite had suffered and she’d lost weight. This was the first hunger pang she’d experienced in two weeks, which was an encouraging sign. It felt like years since she’d been with Clark. That, too, was encouraging, and yet…

She struggled to hold back unexpected tears. The end of her engagement, the end of Clark’s presence in her life, necessary though it was, had brought her such grief. This was so much harder than anyone else imagined, than anyone would ever know. To her friends and her mother she came across as determined and unshakable, but Clark lingered constantly in her mind. It would get better soon; she’d told herself this so often that she’d actually started to believe it.

It had to.

Eventually this ache in her heart would lessen. However, right then, sitting by herself outside a café on a perfect summer evening, watching couples wander past holding hands, made her feel ten times worse. Ten times as lonely…

She crossed the street to A Good Yarn at precisely six. While eating her meal, she’d seen two other people walking into the yarn store and wondered if they were part of the Knit to Quit class, too. It didn’t seem likely. One was a man and the other apparently a street-savvy teenager.

The bell above the door jangled when she stepped inside, self-consciously clutching her supplies.