The Shop on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  “Welcome home,” Tammie Lee said with a wide smile. She bent down to turn off the water and dragged the hose back to the side of the house. “What time did you and Dad get in last night?”

  “Late.” Had it been a decent hour, Jacqueline would’ve raced over to kiss Amelia good-night, but Reese had convinced her everyone would be asleep.

  “I’m still adjusting to the time change,” she said, hugging her daughter-in-law. The love she felt for Tammie Lee was genuine now. Jacqueline had gradually grown close to her. Tammie Lee’s natural, unforced kindness, her generosity and willingness to assume the best, had transformed Jacqueline’s rigid view of life, and in the process brought the entire family together. Her practical wisdom had opened Jacqueline’s eyes to what she was doing to Reese and to herself. Without Tammie Lee, Jacqueline wondered how long her marriage could possibly have lasted.

  “We missed you both something fierce,” Tammie Lee said, taking Amelia from Jacqueline as she led the way into the house. The nine-month-old was on a mission to explore every cupboard and corner she could find.

  Tammie Lee headed into the kitchen, where she settled Amelia in her high chair and brought out a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses.

  Amelia banged her fists against the tray and gurgled in apparent approval. From the beginning she’d been a happy, cheerful child, just like her mother. Jacqueline walked over to the cookie jar for a graham cracker and broke it into manageable chunks. Amelia immediately grabbed one, gleefully shoving it into her mouth and gumming it with such an expression of delight, it might have been the world’s finest delicacy.

  “It’s so good to be home.” Jacqueline sighed as she accepted the glass of tea, complete with a sprig of mint.

  “Sit down, and tell me all about exploring the Greek Isles,” Tammie Lee insisted. “I declare, this is the most romantic trip I’ve ever heard of. I just hope Paul and I are as much in love thirty-three years down the road as you and Dad. It sounded just like a honeymoon.”

  Her daughter-in-law was closer to the truth than she’d ever know. Jacqueline’s marriage was vastly different since the night she’d confronted Reese about his Tuesday-night-mistress-who-wasn’t. From that moment on, everything had changed for the better. The very next day he’d moved back into the master bedroom with her. Together they explored the delights of married love and gradually, over the next few months, they’d worked on rebuilding what they’d been so ready to destroy.

  “I just hope Paul’s as romantic as his father,” Jacqueline murmured, playing with Amelia. “Oh, I swear she’s grown so much these last three weeks.”

  Accepting her right to be the center of attention, Amelia Jacqueline Donovan grinned a toothy radiant smile, her cheeks smeared with mushed-up graham cracker.

  “You’re such a cutie pie,” Jacqueline cooed. The love she felt for this child was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Amelia and her mother had changed Jacqueline’s life in ways she could never have predicted.

  Thirty minutes later, Jacqueline had emptied the back seat of her car. She hugged Tammie Lee goodbye and covered Amelia’s now-clean face with grandma kisses, then reluctantly drove off.

  She went to A Good Yarn next. Luck was with her, and she slid into a vacant parking spot directly in front of the store. The Blossom Street renovation project was completed now. The brick apartment building where Alix had once lived had been turned into swanky, updated condominiums; they sold for prices that shocked even Jacqueline. Alix, however, liked her new home better, as well she should, seeing that she was living in the guest house formerly occupied by Martha, who had retired. Who would’ve believed when they first met that Alix would become as close as family?

  “Jacqueline,” Lydia cried as the bell chimed above the door. “Welcome back! How was the cruise?”

  “Fabulous. Reese and I loved every minute of it.” She opened the shopping bag and pulled out a skein of the Greek yarn, a wool-cashmere blend in a soft shade of mauve with flecks of white. “Look what I found.”

  Lydia examined the yarn, weaving it between her fingers, then letting it run through her fingers. She handed it to Margaret. “Feel this,” she said. “It’s incredible.”

  “I bought enough to knit a sweater. I didn’t have a clue how much I’d need, so I bought everything they had. You can have whatever I’ve got left over.”

  After Margaret had exclaimed over the yarn, Lydia handled it again. “Where did you ever find this?”

  “On an island. I can’t remember the name right now. Reese went with me from store to store in my search for yarn. His memory’s better than mine—I’ll ask him.”

  “Reese helped you search for yarn?” Lydia shook her head laughingly. “Most husbands would consider that above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “We do everything together these days,” Jacqueline confessed and although she would’ve objected had anyone pointed it out, she blushed. This trip with Reese was the second honeymoon every couple should have at least once in their marriage.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you—”

  “Happier,” Jacqueline finished for her. She’d heard that over and over again from family and friends. She had no intention of denying it; she was happy.

  “Actually, I was going to say you’re looking tanned,” Lydia said with a mischievous smile.

  Jacqueline extended both her arms. “Oh, that. Reese had me out on every golf course in the Mediterranean.” She grinned. “I’ve got a wicked slice if I do say so myself, and I’m a formidable putter.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to scoot. I’m meeting Reese at the country club in an hour—we’re having drinks with some old friends. I need to run over to the house first.”

  “It’s so good to have you back,” Lydia said, hugging her. “Will you be here on Friday?”

  “Of course!” Jacqueline waved away her question as if the answer should be understood. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  With that she was off, eager to join her husband—the man she loved.

  CHAPTER 49

  CAROL GIRARD

  “Cameron Douglas Girard, what are you doing?”

  Cameron gazed up from the carpet where he sat sorting through his daddy’s sock drawer. The nine-month-old grinned up at her guilelessly as Carol stood with her hands on her hips, trying hard to look stern while struggling not to laugh. “Come here,” she said, lifting her baby boy into her arms. Raising him high, she pressed her mouth against his bare belly and made a loud smooching noise. Cameron let out a squeal of pleasure. When she lowered him, he buried his face in her shoulder, gripping her hair with both hands, gurgling and chattering.

  In this past year, Carol had learned about a whole new facet of love—about how much one person could love another and how much a mother could love her child. Cameron might not have come from her womb, but he was her son in every way that counted.

  “It’s time for our walk,” she told him.

  Cameron knew what that meant and squirmed, wanting her to put him down. She did, quickly returning Doug’s socks to the bottom drawer of their chest of drawers. Then she carried Cam to his room, where she dressed him in tiny jeans and a hand-knit sweater. The pants were a gift from her brother, who’d sent them, plus a matching jacket, shortly after the adoption was completed. Released again, Cameron crawled rapidly toward the stroller. Once he reached it, he pulled himself into a standing position, then looked over his shoulder to be sure she’d noticed his feat and appreciated his skill. Cameron loved their walks.

  “We’re visiting the yarn store this afternoon,” Carol told him as she buckled him in. “We’re going to see Miss Lydia.”

  Draping her purse over her shoulder, Carol left the condo and pushed the stroller into the hallway and then into the waiting elevator. They took the same route almost every afternoon, stopping at a park two blocks from their building to chat with other young mothers.

  Carol’s circle of friends had broadened dramatically since she’d left work and Camero
n had come into their lives. The other mothers she’d met at the park had formed a casual group, meeting once a week for coffee. They shared advice and experiences, traded parenting books and magazines, passed on toys and clothing their own children no longer needed. Carol was the oldest member of the group, but that had never bothered her.

  After their park visit, Carol steered Cameron into the yarn store. “Carol,” Lydia called out cheerfully. “Hello.” She squatted down so she was eye level with Cameron. “You, too, Cam.”

  The baby grabbed for a skein of bright purple yarn but Carol was too quick for him and automatically rolled the stroller backward and away from the tempting yarn.

  “I need another ball of that Paton worsted.”

  “The olive-green, right?” Lydia had an uncanny ability to remember who’d bought what yarn for which project. Carol had so many projects going now, it was hard to keep track of them all. Lydia, however, had no such difficulty.

  “Jacqueline was by earlier this afternoon,” Lydia said.

  “She’s back?”

  “With a gorgeous tan, too. She looks so happy,” Lydia said with a contented smile.

  “That’s great.”

  “She’ll be here Friday.”

  “What about Alix?” The fourth member of their knitting group wasn’t always available on Fridays. It had been hit-and-miss with her because of culinary school commitments.

  Lydia shook her head. “I don’t think she’ll be able to make it.”

  Carol sighed. “I miss her when she can’t be here.”

  “Me, too,” Lydia admitted. “Remember what we thought when she first signed up for the class?”

  “I was convinced Jacqueline and Alix would go for each other’s throats within the first five minutes.” Carol laughed. “They were impossible, always sniping at each other.”

  “It was like third grade all over again.”

  “You’re telling me.” Carol marveled anew at how the relationship between those two had turned out.

  “Jacqueline was ready to drop out more than once,” Lydia said, reminiscing.

  Carol nodded. “I understood why she wanted to, but I’m so grateful she didn’t.”

  “I am, too. And if Alix hadn’t stayed…”

  They could never have guessed how one defiant, angry young woman would influence all their lives.

  “Do you ever hear from Laurel?” Lydia asked.

  “Not a word. Not since the day Cameron was born. She went into court on her own, signed the paperwork and walked out the door without a word to either Doug or me.”

  “What about Alix? They used to be roommates.”

  “If she’s heard from Laurel, she’s never mentioned it to us.”

  “What about Jordan?”

  Carol sighed. “I understand he hooked her up with a counselor and got her housing when the apartment building was sold.” The urge to take Cameron in her arms and hold him protectively against her was nearly overwhelming, but Carol resisted. “She was a sad, confused young woman with a lot of problems.”

  “But she did one thing right in her life, and that was to give you and Doug her son.”

  “I wish her well,” Carol murmured, and she meant it.

  At some point, years from now, Cameron might be curious about his birth parents; he might even want to search for them. That decision would be his, but for now, during these formative years, this baby boy was hers and Doug’s. It was their love and their values that would shape him.

  Lydia brought the yarn to the counter and rang it up. After Carol had paid for it, she tucked the plastic bag in the basket behind the stroller and headed for the door. “I’ll see you Friday afternoon.”

  Lydia gave her a final wave and Carol wheeled the stroller down the sidewalk, past the florist and the café and toward the hill to the waterfront area and the condo.

  She’d only been home a few minutes when Doug arrived. He kissed Carol, then reached down for Cameron, lifting him up and hugging him close. Carol was always profoundly moved when she saw her husband with his son. Cameron’s face lit with joy at the sight of his daddy and he squealed and clapped his hands.

  The moment was poignant and real. They’d waited so long for this. They’d suffered and sacrificed but none of that seemed important now. They had their son. They had their family. Carol closed her eyes, holding on to this moment, experiencing it as fully as possible.

  Doug sat on the floor and played with Cameron and together father and son stacked blocks while Carol looked on, tears moistening her eyes. She knew that in the years to come, everything might not be as perfect as it was today. It didn’t matter. She felt content and happy, and the emptiness that had nearly destroyed her was gone.

  She was complete.

  CHAPTER 50

  ALIX TOWNSEND

  Alix put the finishing touches on her crème brûlée and stepped back to give her instructor a chance to grade her work. Mr. Diamont moved forward and studied it with a discerning eye, then tapped the burnt sugar crust. He tasted the creamy custard beneath and nodded approvingly. He turned in her direction. “Nice job, Alix. You may go.”

  Alix stared at her teacher, certain that she hadn’t heard him correctly. She didn’t wait long, however, but removed her hat and apron and hurried out of the class. Praise from Diamont was as rare as discretionary cash.

  Her budget was tight and would be for the next year of the two-year program. Alix had lived on far less. The lack of money didn’t bother her because she was doing something she loved. Cooking. For years she’d dreamed of attending cooking school, but the tuition costs were as high as a college education. It would’ve continued to be far beyond her means if not for her friends Jacqueline and Reese Donovan.

  Alix had met Reese shortly after Carol and Doug adopted Laurel’s baby. Reese had lots of prominent friends; through his connections he was able to steer her toward a scholarship program offered by a local service club. And if that wasn’t enough, Jacqueline had insisted Alix live in their guest house while she attended school. Their housekeeper had recently retired and now Alix had a house-cleaning job that supplied her with enough money to pay for her basic needs.

  All of this seemed too good to believe. Every now and then, Alix had to pinch herself to prove this was real. To make sure it was happening to her, Alix Townsend.

  Once she’d changed out of her uniform, Alix called Jordan’s cell from the pay phone in the locker room.

  “Hi,” she said when he answered.

  “Finished for the day?” He seemed to have been waiting for her call.

  “Mr. Diamont said I could go.”

  “Already? You must’ve done all right.”

  “I must have,” she said, biting her lip to keep from bragging. There’d be plenty of time for that when she was out of earshot of the other students.

  “I wonder what it would take to bribe you into making crème brûlée for me,” he said playfully. “It is my favorite dessert.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, but I’ll bet I could think of something.”

  “I’ll bet you could, too. Should I pick you up?”

  “If you want.” His days were busy, and it was a lot to ask of him. Normally she wouldn’t phone but she’d been worried about this test and he’d asked her to let him know how she’d done. “I can always take the bus,” she said now.

  “I’m on my way.”

  She waited outside the Seattle Cooking Academy for about ten minutes before Jordan’s car approached. They’d been dating nearly a year now, and she’d grown accustomed to having him in her life—accustomed to a lot of things. He’d even managed to talk her into attending church on a regular basis. For the first time she felt like a normal person who lived a normal life with people around her who cared and wanted her to succeed. She figured Jordan was right. God hadn’t given up on her.

  Jordan parked at the curb, and leaned across the seat to open the passenger door. Alix slid inside and they kissed briefly. Jordan checked his rearview mirror, then
merged with the traffic.

  “I don’t suppose you remember what today is?” he asked nonchalantly.

  Alix wracked her brain but could think of nothing. “Is May sixth supposed to have some significance?”

  “It doesn’t to you?” He tossed her a hurt-little-boy look.

  “Apparently not.”

  Jordan grinned and pretended to be absorbed by the flow of downtown Seattle traffic. “That was the first day you flashed your baby blues at me at the video store.”

  “My eyes are brown!”

  “Whatever,” he said in the same flippant voice she’d so often used with him. “You honestly don’t remember? It was May sixth when I saw you standing outside the video store, smoking. I was minding my own business, going in to rent a video, when you interrupted me with some weak excuse.”

  “I set aside a video for you.”

  “You were making eyes at me.”

  “Making eyes at you?” she snorted. “You’re dreaming.” She looked at him with mock scorn, but it pleased her beyond measure that he’d recalled such a minute detail of their relationship.

  “So I figure today is something of an anniversary for us.”

  “Us, is it?” she asked, loving every second of this banter between them.

  “You are my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

  “And your chef.”

  “That, too.”

  She shrugged as if it was of little consequence. “I guess.”

  “In that case, you might want to check out the little box in my glove compartment.”

  All at once it felt as if they were flying instead of driving. “A box in the glove compartment for me?”

  “Take a look.”

  Her hand trembled as she opened the compartment. Sure enough, a small black jeweler’s case with a bright red bow was nestled in among the owner’s manual and the car registration papers. She pulled it out and held it in the palm of her hand.

  “What’s inside?” she asked. She couldn’t help it; she sounded breathless.

  “Go ahead and see,” Jordan said.