Summer on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  Before they cast on stitches, Lydia described the pattern and explained that reading it over first prevented mistakes later. She also offered to photocopy their patterns to use as “working copies.”

  “That way the copied sheet can be marked up and carried with the project. Then if it’s lost, the original is always available.”

  After that, Lydia demonstrated how to cast on stitches. The skill came back to Phoebe faster than she’d thought it would.

  Sitting beside Hutch, Lydia reviewed the technique with him repeatedly. He followed her instructions carefully and although he found it difficult to hold the needles and yarn and cast on at the same time, he never once lost patience. Phoebe couldn’t picture Clark not throwing the needles and yarn down in disgust.

  Clark.

  How easily he’d slipped into her mind, despite her resolve. Forcing herself to concentrate, she knit methodically to the end of the row. Then the next one…

  About an hour into the class, the phone rang. Lydia excused herself and moved to the front counter.

  From what Phoebe could hear, this call was of a personal nature.

  “Water balloons in the house?” Lydia gasped at one point, covering her eyes with her free hand.

  When she returned a few minutes later, she looked troubled.

  Alix was the one who broached the subject. “Is everything all right with Cody and Brad?”

  “I…I’m not sure. We have a houseguest, and it appears that she’s managed to ruffle a few feathers.”

  “How long is your guest staying?” Hutch asked.

  “A week.” She frowned but didn’t volunteer any further information.

  It was still light out when the class was officially over. As Phoebe gathered up her knitting bag and her purse, the shop door opened and a clean-cut young man walked in.

  “Jordan,” Alix said, her voice elevated. “Hi!”

  The man went over to Alix and slid his arm around her waist. “I thought I’d stop by and pick you up.”

  Alix smiled at Hutch and Phoebe. “This is my husband, Jordan Turner.”

  Jordan exchanged handshakes with both of them. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Seeing the love between Alix and her husband brought an unexpected twinge of pain.

  Phoebe averted her eyes. She remembered when Clark— She immediately halted her thoughts.

  No, she wasn’t going to think about him. While it had been an outright lie to say he was dead, it was, in a manner of speaking, the truth. He was dead to her. The sooner that message went from her head to her heart, the sooner she’d get over him. The sooner this agony would stop.

  Phoebe wished everyone a good evening and hurried out the door. Hutch was right behind her. A couple of times in the past two hours she’d tried to include him in the conversation. Hutch, however, had been so focused on learning the basic knit and purl stitches that he hadn’t looked up even once. Phoebe admired his persistence.

  “It was nice to meet you, Phoebe,” he said now, clutching the briefcase that held his yarn and needles.

  They stood on the sidewalk facing each other. “You, too,” she told him.

  “I’m sorry about your fiancé.”

  “I know… I am, too.” She glanced away, uncomfortable about perpetuating the lie.

  “Are you parked close by?” he asked.

  “Relatively close. I left my car at the parking garage where I work.”

  “Can I give you a ride there?”

  It was a kind offer, but Phoebe refused. “Thanks. I’ll enjoy the walk.”

  “Sure. See you next week.”

  “See you then.”

  Phoebe did enjoy the stroll. It’d been an interesting class and she’d look forward to spending time with Alix, Hutch and Lydia next week. This was the first night in a long while that she hadn’t been consumed by the loneliness that haunted her evenings. Her one regret was the lie. Still, it had saved her from difficult explanations that she preferred not to share.

  Phoebe entered the condo lobby and headed for the elevator, wondering about Lydia and her situation at home. She’d obviously been disturbed by that phone call and—

  “Where were you?”

  She whirled around to find Clark standing directly behind her. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. No way was she answering his questions.

  “What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve been waiting for you for the last two hours. Phoebe, this can’t go on. I’m miserable without you. I need you.”

  “Clark…”

  “Hear me out. Please.”

  She had to close her eyes for fear of being influenced by the expression on his face, the pleading in his voice. “Don’t do this.” To her great relief, the elevator arrived and she dashed inside. “Just go!”

  Clark stuck his arm between the doors, effectively keeping them open. “Answer me one thing and then I’ll leave.” His gaze beseeched hers. “Tell me that while I sat here for two hours, you weren’t out with another man. I couldn’t bear that, Phoebe. I could take anything but that.”

  What he couldn’t take was losing, she thought. After a moment’s hesitation, she decided it was best to tell him the truth. “I…I’m not seeing anyone else.”

  He nodded and whispered “Thank you.” Then he stepped back as the elevator doors slid closed.

  CHAPTER 8

  Anne Marie Roche

  They’d been home for a week, but Anne Marie was only now rediscovering the routine of her life. She sat in her small office at the store and paid the bills that had accumulated in her absence, although her mind drifted frequently from the task at hand. Memories of Paris were still with her. Sainte-Chapelle had taken her breath away. A visit to the magnificent Nôtre Dame had humbled her and the ride up the Eiffel Tower had thrilled her. Boat trips on the Seine, the Louvre, meals at charming little bistros… The trip had been everything Anne Marie had dreamed and more.

  Ellen had barely been able to absorb it all, and Anne Marie felt the same mixture of awe and wonder. Now that she’d had the experience, all she could think about was returning.

  Anne Marie was delighted by Ellen’s ability to learn French. She picked it up with ease, hearing words once or twice and remembering them. Anne Marie wanted her to retain as much as possible and Ellen practiced every chance she got, especially on Baxter. Because of their special communication, the dog seemed to understand her, no matter what language Ellen spoke. It was the modulation in the child’s voice that cued the dog, or so Anne Marie assumed. In any case, Baxter had quickly learned assis for “sit” and parle for “speak.”

  During the remainder of the summer Ellen would be going to the day camp associated with the Free Methodist church around the corner. The program was reasonably priced and Ellen seemed to like it. Cody Goetz attended, too. So did Casey, Lydia and Brad’s foster girl, although that was only supposed to be for just a few more days. The church camp sponsored frequent field trips, plus craft classes and sports activities. Jordan Turner, Alix’s husband, headed the program, with the assistance of several young staffers.

  Shortly after the adoption, Anne Marie and Ellen had started going to Sunday school and morning worship services. As a new mother, even if her baby was almost nine at the time, Anne Marie felt it was the right thing to do.

  She’d fallen out of the habit of church attendance after she’d separated from Robert. Later, when the husband she loved had died—as they were on the verge of reconciling—Anne Marie had been angry with God. So angry…

  However, she knew that a strong religious upbringing was something Ellen’s grandmother had wanted for her only grandchild. Dolores Falk had loved her granddaughter deeply, and Anne Marie felt a responsibility to do as Dolores had requested.

  Anne Marie understood that Dolores’s love had protected the girl. Fortunately Ellen’s birth mother, Dolores’s daughter, who’d fallen into a life of drugs and crime, had surrendered all parental rights. This had made it possible for Anne Marie to adopt the child.

/>   Teresa stuck her head in the office. “He’s back.”

  Lost in her thoughts, Anne Marie glanced up. “Who’s back?”

  “The man.”

  “What man?”

  “The one who came by when you and Ellen were in Paris,” Teresa said, sounding a little impatient.

  “Oh.” Anne Marie hadn’t actually forgotten but she’d relegated the matter to the bottom of her list. “Has he asked to speak to me?”

  “Not yet, but I guarantee that’s what he’s here to do.”

  “Okay.” Anne Marie pushed away from her desk and rose to her feet.

  Teresa remained standing in the doorway. She winked outrageously at Anne Marie, then lowered her voice. “He’s still hot.”

  “Teresa! You’re a married woman.”

  Her friend grinned from ear to ear. “True, but I’m not blind.”

  Anne Marie came around her desk and stepped quietly out of the office. Sure enough, a man stood at the counter, a man whose gaze went instantly to her face. Over the course of her life, men had often looked at her. She knew she was reasonably attractive and yet the look this man gave her expressed more than casual interest, more than mere appreciation. His gaze was intent, meaningful, even expectant. Anne Marie felt confused by it.

  She moved behind the counter by the cash register. “Can I help you?” she asked, keeping her voice cool and yet polite.

  “Are you Anne Marie Roche?” he asked.

  “I am.” She wondered again why this strikingly handsome man was seeking her out. Most likely he was here to sell her insurance or to show her a new gift line. She’d never seen him before, so it couldn’t be anything personal. Which was just as well; attractive though he was, Anne Marie could only respond to him in an abstract way. Since Robert’s death, she hadn’t been interested in dating. And once Ellen entered her life, her entire world had begun to revolve around her daughter.

  His demeanor changed. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I’m Tim Carlsen.”

  What was that about? If he was a salesman, he hadn’t bothered with a friendly approach. “Hello, Tim,” she said, refusing to allow him to intimidate her. “Can I help you with something?”

  He looked at Teresa, who’d busied herself organizing a display of new children’s books. She did her best to pretend she wasn’t listening in on the conversation, although she couldn’t avoid hearing it.

  “Can I ask what this is about?” Anne Marie asked, trying again.

  “Perhaps it would be better if we spoke privately,” Tim said.

  “About?”

  He stiffened his shoulders. “Ellen,” he said quietly. “This is in regard to the child you’ve recently adopted.”

  Anne Marie felt the oxygen rush from her lungs. But rather than reveal her surprise, she gestured calmly toward her office. She felt paralyzed as she tried to figure out what possible connection this man could have to her daughter. The birth certificate hadn’t named a father, and yet…

  Inside the office, she took her seat behind the desk. Tim pulled up a chair across from her, not waiting for an invitation.

  “You know my daughter?” she asked, wanting to make sure he understood that no one else had any legal right to the child.

  Her visitor shook his head. “I’m sorry to say that I do not.”

  For some reason, this information reassured Anne Marie. “How do you know about Ellen, then?”

  “I’ve only heard of her.” Tim stared at the floor. “I’m a recovering alcoholic with eight years’ sobriety.”

  Heard of her how? was the first thing she wanted to ask. But she had no idea how to respond to his confession, nor did she understand why he felt it was necessary to tell her such a personal fact.

  “Congratulations,” she said tentatively, “but what’s that got to do with Ellen or me?”

  “I met Candy Falk at probably the lowest point in my life,” he continued, ignoring her question.

  No one needed to remind Anne Marie that Candy Falk was Ellen’s birth mother and a known drug addict.

  “Back then Candy and I were both using.”

  “Drugs?”

  Tim nodded. “Drugs, all kinds of drugs, you name it. But also alcohol. It wasn’t a good time…. Like I said, it was a low point for me.”

  A tingling spread down Anne Marie’s neck. Her suspicion had been correct. She was starting to connect the dots and she didn’t like the picture that was taking shape in her mind.

  “You still haven’t told me what any of this has to do with my daughter,” she said curtly. Ellen was part of Anne Marie’s life now. A very precious part, and she wasn’t about to let some man—some stranger—step in and make a claim.

  Again Tim ignored her question. “Candy and I broke up, and my family arranged for me to enter rehab. I’ve been clean and sober ever since.”

  “And?”

  “I follow the twelve steps and traditions of AA. With my sponsor’s support, I’ve begun making amends wherever possible.”

  “That’s good of you, but I don’t see what any of this has to do with Ellen or me.” As far as Anne Marie was concerned, this conversation was over. She stood and motioned toward the door.

  “Please sit down, Ms. Roche.”

  Her resolve melted under the force of his gaze and Anne Marie slowly sank back into her chair.

  “As part of my attempt to make amends, I tried to locate Candy,” Tim said. “I couldn’t find her but I remembered where her mother used to live.” He looked away. “I needed her forgiveness, too.”

  “Dolores?”

  He spoke in a clear, even voice. “Candy and I stole money from her mother and I wanted to return it.”

  Anne Marie swallowed. This was only a fraction, a tiny fraction, of the pain Candy Falk had brought into her mother’s life.

  “I remembered the house where Candy had taken me, but it was empty.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  He didn’t seem to hear. “The neighbor was watering her rosebushes and we got to talking. She said Dolores had passed away some time ago and that her grandchild had been adopted.”

  Anne Marie didn’t comment.

  “I asked where Candy was, but the neighbor didn’t know.”

  This was information Anne Marie was willing to pass along. “I don’t know, either. Someplace in California, I think. I understand she’s still an addict.”

  “I suspected as much,” he said with a grimace.

  “It’s sad….” In case Tim hadn’t heard, she added, “Ellen’s aunt, Clarisse, is in prison.”

  He shook his head, and there was a brief silence. “I asked the neighbor a few more questions,” he said a moment later, “and found out that Dolores had custody of a little girl—Candy’s daughter. When I inquired about the child, the neighbor told me Ellen was eight when her grandmother died.”

  “She’s nine now.”

  Tim looked directly into her eyes. “It was almost ten years ago that Candy and I lived together. We…didn’t use any form of birth control. It hit me that there’s a possibility Ellen might be my daughter.”

  This was what Anne Marie had feared he was about to say. She was ending his visit right now.

  “You’re mistaken, Mr. Carlsen. Ellen couldn’t possibly be your daughter,” Anne Marie insisted. “Ellen is my child, and I have the paperwork to prove it.” Bolting to her feet once again, she planted her hands on the edge of her desk. “I think you should leave.”

  “No.” Tim didn’t move and his dark eyes burned into hers. “I understand this comes as a shock and I apologize for that. All I’m asking for is the truth. I want to know if I’m Ellen’s father. I don’t feel that’s an unreasonable request.”

  “Unfortunately, it is unreasonable. Ellen has been adopted by me. As I just explained, Ellen is my child.”

  “When you adopted her did you receive parental consent?”

  Anne Marie felt she owed him nothing more than the bare facts. “Your name isn’t on the birth certificate and the state h
ad no way of contacting you, even if it does turn out that you’re Ellen’s biological father.”

  Tim’s features tightened. “I haven’t stopped thinking about her from the moment I heard Candy had a baby.” He ran his hand through his hair. “What you don’t know is that after we split and I was in rehab, Candy twice attempted to contact me.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I never read her letter or returned her phone call,” he said, interrupting her. “As far as I was concerned, she was bad news and involved in a life I no longer wanted to live. It’s stupid of me, I guess, but it never occurred to me that she might be pregnant.”

  Anne Marie spoke slowly, trying to ensure that everything was clear. “Candy Falk rescinded all parental rights. Nothing can be done to change this. It’s over and done with.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Good. Then you also realize that you have no rights whatsoever with regard to Ellen.”

  “I do have rights.” He obviously wasn’t willing to back down and glared at her unflinchingly. “If Ellen’s my child, and I have every reason to believe she is, then I want to know her. She has a right to know me, too.”

  Anne Marie shook her head. “Whether Ellen is your biological daughter or not isn’t the issue. Ellen has another family now.”

  “Another father?”

  Anne Marie hesitated.

  “Are you married?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I disagree. It’s very much my business. Perhaps I should speak with your husband,” Tim said. He seemed to think he was calling her bluff or, worse, that he’d be able to reason with another man. Either way, his suggestion infuriated her.

  Anne Marie paused, unwilling to admit that she was widowed. She saw that he’d noticed her silence and hurriedly added, “I’m sorry, that’s impossible just now.”

  “I have no intention of taking Ellen away from you.”

  She nearly laughed out loud. “I’d like to see you try. As I keep telling you, Ellen is my child now, my daughter. Whether or not she’s related to you is beside the point.”