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“Did you have a good day?” she asked, returning her attention to the teapot.
“Sure. It was fine.”
Doug immediately zeroed in on the mail. He walked over to the table and discovered Christine and Bill’s birth announcement. She watched his face as he read it, and wanted to cry out in pain at the longing she saw in his eyes. After a moment he set it aside as if it were a matter of only the slightest interest. She knew otherwise.
“They had a boy,” she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice.
“So I see.”
It should’ve been them, she wanted to scream. They should be the couple mailing out birth announcements. They were good people. They had a strong marriage and they’d be wonderful parents….
The infertility was a constant stress on their marriage. Doug had dealt with as much of the indignity as she had. The semen collection in a bathroom off Dr. Ford’s waiting room, the post-coital examinations—all of this was dreadful for him.
People assured her that one day they’d laugh about it. Carol didn’t think that was possible.
“I’m almost half done with the second baby blanket. I have another class tomorrow afternoon.”
Her husband nodded and grabbed the newspaper, heading for his favorite chair in the living room.
Carol wanted to shout at him to talk to her. Instead she bit her tongue and began preparing dinner, a meal she had no appetite for.
16
CHAPTER
ALIX TOWNSEND
Sitting at a window table in Starbucks, Alix concentrated on moving the stitches from one needle to the other and completing the row. No one else in class seemed to have a problem with this basic knitting concept. Carol was already working on her second blanket. Jacqueline was having a few difficulties, but not nearly as many as Alix. No matter how hard she concentrated, Alix would start out with a hundred and seventy-one stitches and by the time she finished the row, there’d be a hundred and eighty or more. Or less, depending on what she’d done wrong.
Lydia reassured her on a regular basis that this was a common problem and explained with limitless patience that Alix wasn’t completing the stitch properly. Well, duh! Then she’d show her again. And Alix would make the same stupid mistake. She didn’t care; she wasn’t giving up until she learned to knit, even if it killed her. She already had thirty bucks invested in this project!
At the end of the row Alix paused, sipped her frappuccino, a rare treat, and counted the stitches. Damn! A hundred and eighty-three! She’d done it again and added stitches where she shouldn’t. “Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered, which was a tame version of what she was thinking. Apparently being around Jacqueline was rubbing off on her. She barely used the F-word anymore.
Shoving the knitting onto her lap, Alix closed her eyes, trying to ignore the frustration. This class was supposed to help her with anger management? That was a joke if she’d ever heard one.
Even more irritating, Laurel was at the apartment with John and had asked Alix to stay away for a couple of hours. She didn’t know what was going on with those two, but Alix didn’t think it could possibly be good. Things had gotten pretty intense between them recently. John had been making regular appearances at the video store, and Alix hated the way Laurel gushed all over the sleaze. As far as she was concerned, John was bad news.
Once her nerves were calm, Alix carefully unraveled the row, taking out one stitch at a time, which took more effort than it did to complete the frigging row in the first place. Two stitches from the end of the row, she lost her grip on the needle and dropped a stitch. A muttered curse escaped before she could stop herself.
Good thing Jacqueline wasn’t there to hear it. She was offended each and every time the knitting got the better of Alix, which unfortunately was often. Still, she was improving.
Thus far, Alix had avoided a confrontation with the other woman, but she could feel one brewing. At best Jacqueline tolerated Alix, and Alix felt the same way about her.
Jacqueline had a twisted view of the world, in Alix’s opinion. The only things that seemed important to her were pretense and prestige. At each class, she sat and chatted away, putting on airs as if anyone really cared who she saw at social events and club meetings. Most of the time, Alix didn’t know who she was talking about, anyway. Jacqueline spent most of the lesson name-dropping or discussing some ritzy party she’d attended. Well, la-di-da!
Biting down on her lower lip, Alix managed to pick up the dropped stitch and then just before she could slip it onto the needle, she lost it and the whole thing unraveled another two rows.
She muttered an even more furious curse under her breath and was tempted to ditch the entire project. If she had any sense she’d throw it in the garbage, needles and all, and slam out the door.
Alix felt someone’s presence and glanced up to find Jordan Turner standing next to her table. Her mouth went dry and her mind went blank. He was the last person she’d expected to see.
“Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble.” He pulled out the chair beside her, turned it around and sat down facing her.
All Alix could do was stare at him with her mouth hanging open. She hadn’t seen him in a couple of weeks. After suggesting they have coffee sometime, he’d vanished. Alix had been bummed out ever since. It was the story of her life; the minute she showed interest in a guy he either ended up in jail or skipped town.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, making sure he knew she wasn’t pleased to see him.
“Actually, I came in looking for you.” He folded his arms over the top of the chair and leaned toward her.
“Sure you did.” That was the type of line John fed Laurel. Alix wasn’t going to fall for it.
“It’s the truth. You can talk to Danny. I went into the store and asked him if he knew where I could find you.” Danny worked part-time during the day shift and was reliable. If she asked him about it, he’d be square with her.
Ignoring Jordan, she caught the dropped stitch and finished the row before she raised her eyes. “Why were you looking for me?”
“I thought I’d buy you a cup of coffee. Are you always this difficult?”
She fixed her gaze on him and refused to blink. “Not really.”
“So this I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude is for my benefit?”
She smiled despite her mood. “You could say that.”
Her lack of welcome apparently didn’t bother him. “Any particular reason?”
Alix picked up her knitting again. It sounded childish and petty to say she was disappointed because he’d led her to believe he’d be by to take her to coffee. Then … nothing. Rather than tell him all that, she started knitting again, paying close attention to her stitches, concentrating as she completed the action of slipping it onto the next needle. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” she said casually.
“Are you implying you missed me? I thought a lot about you while I was away, you know.”
She shrugged, looked up and felt a smile lift one side of her mouth. “I might have.”
He liked hearing that; Alix could tell by the way he shifted in his chair and leaned closer. He watched her for a moment and then asked, “What are you knitting?”
“A baby blanket for the Linus Project.”
Jordan nodded. “I’ve heard of that. There was a notice in the church bulletin about it a couple of months ago.”
Damn, he went to church, too? She really knew how to pick ‘em. “Don’t think I’m doing this wonderful deed out of the kindness of my heart,” she said gruffly. “I’m not putting this much effort into a baby blanket out of civic duty.”
“Then why knit it for the Linus Project?”
She might as well admit the truth, and looked up, wanting to gauge his reaction. “It’s a way to serve the community hours the court assigned me.” If that didn’t scare him off, then nothing would. She believed in being honest, and if this clean-cut guy was still interested in her, great. If not, she was better off knowing that now.
“Court-ordered community service? Why?”
“I crossed the law and the law won,” she said, finishing the row and paying less attention to the stitches than she should. “But it was a bogus rap and the judge knew it. I got community service instead of jail time. Does that shock a good boy like you?”
“No.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him but let it slide.
“My mother knits.”
Alix stopped herself just in time from telling him that her mother was in prison. Enough honesty for today, she decided; no need to overload him with the truth. His interest flattered her, and she rather liked the fact that he’d sought her out. Glancing up, she was tempted to ask what grade school he’d attended, still wondering if he was the Jordan Turner she’d once known. She only half remembered what that boy had looked like, although she recalled he’d worn glasses. Unlike this Jordan. She might have asked, except that he posed a question instead.
“Are you hungry?” He looked over his shoulder at the display counter in the front. “They’ve got great scones if there are any left. Want one?”
“I could eat,” she said which wasn’t the most gracious statement she’d ever made.
He got up and walked to the counter. Alix watched him for a moment and tried to calm her pounding heart. She turned back to her knitting and finished the row, then triumphantly counted exactly one hundred and seventy-one stitches. Jordan returned to her table, a coffee cup in one hand, with a plate and scone balanced on top of it. In the other hand he carried a second plate with a scone.
“We’re in luck,” he said as he set everything down on the small round table. “They only had two left.”
She nodded, accepting the scone. “Thanks.”
Jordan took a sip of his drink. “Danny didn’t actually know where you’d be and I just happened to see you in the window as I walked by.”
She broke the scone in half and was grateful this had been the only table available when she’d arrived an hour earlier. Normally she wouldn’t have sat in view of the entire street. It depressed her to see what was happening to the neighborhood, mainly because she sensed it was only a matter of time before she and Laurel lost the apartment. If that happened, it wouldn’t be long before she’d be back to sleeping in cheap, rat-infested hotel rooms every night. Getting another apartment would mean taking on a second job and waiting tables for tips in places decent guys like Jordan didn’t frequent.
“Where’ve you been?” Alix asked, since he hadn’t volunteered the information. He’d said he was away.
He sipped his coffee, then put it down. “I was running a youth retreat at Warm Beach.”
Alix didn’t have a clue what that was. “This whole time?”
“Not entirely, but the church needed help with the organization, so I worked in the Stanwood office for a few weeks.”
“Oh.” This was the second time he’d mentioned church, and she’d begun to feel a niggling suspicion.
“It’s nice to know you missed me,” he murmured.
“I didn’t say that,” she said a bit more defensively than she’d intended.
He chuckled.
Alix was relieved to see she hadn’t offended him. “Well, maybe I missed you a little.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You got any more youth retreats you need to organize?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Frankly, I hope not. When I accepted the job as youth minister, I expected to spend my time with the teenagers here in the Blossom Street neighborhood.”
Alix felt as if her world had caved in. “You’re … a preacher?”
“Youth minister,” Jordan corrected. “I’m currently working at the Free Methodist church in the neighborhood, the one right off Blossom.” His mouth twitched; he seemed to be suppressing laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she muttered irritably.
“Nothing. It’s just that you made it sound as if being a minister was like being a drug lord. Or worse.”
“It’s just that …” Alix was aghast and words failed her—as they always did when she was flustered.
“I’m a youth minister, Alix,” he said and reached for her hand. He smiled then. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“It is you!” Damn, she’d thought so and wished like crazy that she’d said something first.
“Remember sixth grade at Jackson Elementary? It took me a while to make the connection myself.”
“I thought it might be you…. I can’t believe it.” Her mind flashed back to grade school and she narrowed her eyes as she studied him. “We were in the same class, remember?”
“What I remember,” Jordan said, grinning, “was that you sat next to Jimmy Burkhart.”
Alix remembered Jimmy as though it was yesterday. She’d given him a bloody nose and ended up in the principal’s office, and all because Jimmy had been teasing her about wanting to marry Jordan Turner. She and half the other girls in the sixth grade had been agog over the preacher’s son—and now, apparently, Jordan had followed in his father’s footsteps. He was a minister. Damn, wouldn’t you know it?
“I had a valentine for you.”
She stared up at him, overwhelmed by the memory of that fateful year—the year her mother had tried to kill her father.
“I brought it to school and you weren’t there and you never came back.”
Alix didn’t answer. The night before the sixth-grade Valentine party, her mother shot her father. Both had been drinking heavily and then, inevitably, a fight had broken out. Soon the police had arrived, followed by paramedics. Her mother was led away in handcuffs and because there were no relatives to take them, Alix and her brother had been shuffled off to foster homes. That night was the beginning of the end of Alix’s family life, sad as it’d been. Her mother had been sent to prison, and her father, once he was released from the hospital, drifted away, losing contact with his children. Soon she and Tom were wards of the state. With all the turmoil, Alix had never returned to Jackson Elementary … and the valentine Jordan claimed to have for her.
“So,” Jordan said, leaning closer. “I was wondering what you would’ve said if I’d asked you to be my sixth-grade valentine?”
She nearly laughed aloud. Yeah, sure. The daughter of drunks and the son of a preacher. Somehow, she didn’t think this relationship was going to last.
17
CHAPTER
“With a little practice and patience, our hands learn to knit, then our minds are free to enjoy the process.”
—Bev Galeskas, Fiber Trends
LYDIA HOFFMAN
Business was beginning to pick up and I was pleased. I’d sold out of most of my inventory in nearly every yarn weight. I already had my second order into my main supplier. My first beginners’ class was about to officially end. I couldn’t believe six weeks had gone by so quickly. I was thrilled that after five weeks, my three students claimed they wanted to continue, so I agreed to extend the course. Because each class member was working on a different project now, except Alix, I suggested we turn Friday afternoons into a knitting support group. That way, they could all bring in whatever they wanted to work on, and I’d be there to help them at each stage of development. Despite their differences, these three dissimilar women were becoming friends. I could see it happening. Friends with each other and my friends, too.
As for their skills as knitters, Carol’s the most adept and has started a felted hat project.
Alix and Jacqueline still struggle with the basic stitches, but Alix has limited time to knit and Jacqueline—well, Jacqueline’s attitude bothers me. She’s obviously not fond of her daughter-in-law, although she’s never spoken openly about her. Jacqueline has started eyeing other projects now and is leaning toward the pricier yarns. Alix paid for her yarn a little each week, which made it abundantly clear that this is an extravagance. Still, the group simply wouldn’t be the same without her.
Just when I was ready to close on Tuesday afternoon, I saw my sister walking across the street toward the shop. She’d only come here once before, on my first day of business. She’d taken such pride in forecasting financial disaster, but I refuse to allow her to get me down and I braced for a confrontation.
When Margaret entered the store, I knew instantly that something was wrong. She hadn’t come to spread doom and gloom or chastise me. Her face was pale and she seemed close to tears.
“Margaret, what is it?” I hurried toward her.
