Blossom Street Bundle

That wasn’t territory she particularly wanted to revisit. Her son’s only excuse was that he was in love, knew he wanted Tammie Lee with him for the rest of his life and couldn’t bear to be apart from her any longer than necessary. That was the reason he’d given them, but Jacqueline had her suspicions. Paul must’ve known she wouldn’t be pleased—and he must have realized that his in-laws would be an embarrassment. She could only imagine the kind of wedding Tammie Lee’s family would hold. The reception dinner would probably consist of collard greens and grits, with deep-fried Hostess Twinkies instead of wedding cake.

“Tammie Lee got pregnant within six months of the wedding.” She didn’t hide her contempt.

“Paul’s over thirty, Jacqueline.” Reese had that disapproving look in his eyes. She’d always hated it.

“And old enough to know about birth control,” she snapped. Paul had sprung the news on her the same way he had the marriage: over the phone without a moment’s warning.

“He told me he wanted a family,” Reese murmured.

“Not this soon, I’ll bet,” she burst out. Talking to Reese was impossible. He didn’t seem to care that Paul had married beneath him. Her daughter-in-law was nothing like the woman she’d envisioned for their son. Jacqueline had honestly tried to welcome Tammie Lee into the family, but she couldn’t bear to be around her for more than a few minutes. All that sweetness and insincere southern charm simply overwhelmed her.

“But Paul’s pleased about the baby, isn’t he?”

Jacqueline leaned against the table and nodded. “He’s thrilled,” she muttered. “Or so he says …”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He … he doesn’t seem to think I’m going to make much of a grandmother.”

Reese’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say to him?”

“Oh, Reese,” she said, feeling terrible now. “I couldn’t help it. I told him I thought he’d made a terrible mistake in marrying Tammie Lee and that this pregnancy complicates everything.” She’d assumed that a year or two down the road, Paul would recognize his lapse in judgment and gracefully bow out of the marriage. A child made that a whole lot less likely.

“You didn’t actually say that to Paul, did you?” Reese sounded furious and that only made Jacqueline more defensive.

“I realize I should’ve kept quiet, but really, can you blame me? I’m just getting used to the fact that our only son eloped with a stranger and then he hits me with this pregnancy.”

“It should be happy news.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“It is to our son and Tammie Lee.”

“That’s another thing,” she cried. “Why is it every girl from the south has two names? Why can’t we call her Tammie without the Lee?”

“It’s her name, Jacqueline.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

Reese studied her as if he was really noticing her for the first time. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because I’m afraid of losing my son.” Paul and her close relationship with him was the only consolation she had in a life that brought her little joy. Now she’d done something stupid and insulted her son.

“Call him back and apologize.”

“I intend to,” she said.

“You could order flowers for Tammie Lee.”

“I will.” But the gesture would be for Paul’s sake, not his wife’s.

“Why not go to the flower shop on Blossom Street.”

Jacqueline nodded. “I plan to do something else, too.” She prayed it would be enough. She hoped her son realized she was making an effort to accept his wife.

“What?”

“I saw a sign in the window of that new knitting shop. I’m going to register for a knitting class. The sign says the beginning project is a baby blanket.”

Reese so rarely approved of anything she did that the warmth of his smile moved all the way through her.

“I might not like Tammie Lee, but I will be the best grandmother I can.” Someone had to provide the appropriate influences for Paul’s child. Otherwise her grandchild might grow up eating deep-fried pickles. Or going through life as Bubba Donovan …

3

CHAPTER

CAROL GIRARD

Carol Girard had never imagined that getting pregnant could be this difficult. Her mother obviously hadn’t had any trouble; Carol and her brother, Rick, were born two years apart.

Before they were married, Doug and Carol had talked about having a family one day. Because of her high-powered job with a national brokerage firm, he wanted to be sure she was as interested in a family as he was. Doug had asked if she’d be willing to put aside her career for a few years in order to have children. The answer had been an unqualified yes. Babies were a given with her. She’d always pictured herself as a mother, always saw kids as an important part of her life. Doug would be a wonderful father and she was deeply, passionately, in love with her husband. She wanted to have his children.

Heating her lunch in the microwave, Carol glanced around the kitchen of her sixteenth-floor condo overlooking Puget Sound. She’d quit her job only a month ago and she already felt restless and impatient. She’d left the brokerage firm with the sole intention of allowing her body to relax, to unwind from the demands of her routine. Doug had convinced her that job-related stress was the reason she hadn’t conceived, and her obstetrician conceded that it was possible. A barrage of humiliating tests for both her and Doug had revealed that in addition to her age, thirty-seven, she had to contend with something called ASA or antisperm antibodies.

The phone rang and she leapt on it, grabbing the handset before it had a chance to ring twice.

“Hello,” she said cheerfully, eager to talk to anyone, even if it was a sales call.

“Hi, honey. I wondered if you were still at home.”

A momentary panic attacked her. “Am I supposed to be somewhere?”

Doug chuckled. “I thought you said you were going for a walk this afternoon.”

That was something recommended by one of the books they’d read. As a result, Carol had decided she should exercise more, and now that she was home during the day she had plenty of opportunity to spend time outside. This was all part of the program they’d discussed and agreed upon before she’d left her job.

“Right. I was just getting ready to head out.” She eyed the microwave and turned her back on her waiting lunch.

“Carol? Are you okay?”

Her husband recognized her mood, her depression and anxiety. Doug had been right to suggest she quit work. They were both frightened, since there was a very real possibility that she might never carry a pregnancy full-term. It didn’t help that they had one last shot with in vitro fertilization. The insurance company where Doug worked had its headquarters in Illinois, where state law mandated that company health coverage could pay for three attempts; their first two had failed. IVF was the very end of the technological line, the ultimate procedure the fertility clinic had to offer in the quest for a biological child. July would be their last attempt, and after that they were on their own financially. At the start they’d agreed to limit in vitro to the three attempts. If she wasn’t pregnant by then, they’d begin the adoption process. In retrospect, it had been a wise decision. The emotional devastation of the two failures proved she couldn’t endure this process indefinitely. Twice a fertilized egg had been implanted and twice she’d miscarried. No couple should repeatedly face this kind of heartache.

Carol and Doug never mentioned that this third IVF attempt was the end of their hopes, but the fact loomed in their minds. It was vitally important that she get pregnant—and stay pregnant—this time.

Carol was willing to give it everything she had. Willing to forsake the job she loved, willing to be poked and prodded and humiliated. She was willing to withstand all the doubts, confront the emotional highs and lows of their attempts at conception, all for the sake of a baby. Doug’s baby.

“I love you, sweetheart.”