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It was hard to figure out precisely when it’d happened to them or why. His Tuesday-night mistress was a symptom of their alienation, not a cause. They were already drifting apart when she’d entered the scene. Slowly, through the years, Jacqueline and Reese had lost that closeness. They were both at fault; Reese was stubborn—but so was she.
Their marriage had eroded to the point that they were roommates more than partners, friends more than lovers. It happened to many couples—she’d heard enough veiled hints and outright confessions from other women to be aware of that. Still, it didn’t lessen her feelings of acute loss. Putting aside her thoughts, she reached for the briefcase and hurried to the garage.
Jacqueline phoned the nail salon from her car as she headed directly to Blossom Street. The renovations were going well, although parking was still impossible. Jacqueline suddenly realized Reese hadn’t told her where she should leave her car.
She tried calling him, but apparently he’d turned off his cell. Twice around the block turned up nothing. The street wasn’t wide enough for her to double park, either. After wasting a precious ten minutes in a fruitless effort to secure a parking space, she pulled into the alley behind A Good Yarn. It wasn’t the best area of town in which to leave an expensive car, and Lydia had warned them against using it, but Jacqueline didn’t have any choice. The alley was narrow and dark and she shuddered involuntarily as she quickly locked the car.
When she got to the construction site, Reese was nowhere to be seen. However, as soon as she arrived at the trailer, his project manager greeted her. Jacqueline couldn’t recall his name, although she was fairly certain Reese had mentioned the young man. It’d been a long time since she’d kept track of his employees’ names.
“Thanks,” the youthful-looking man told her. “I know Reese was pretty upset about forgetting this.”
“It wasn’t any problem,” she murmured, stepping over a pile of rebar on her way out.
Grumbling under her breath, she walked across the street and down the block to the alley entrance. Unfortunately the yarn store wouldn’t be open for another twenty minutes, or she could’ve walked through there. As she entered the darkened alley, Jacqueline’s anger increased steadily. No wonder her marriage was in trouble. Instead of greeting her personally, Reese had sent his assistant—as if he took for granted that she’d interrupt her entire day on his behalf. Next time he could damn well retrieve his own briefcase.
Disgruntled, Jacqueline was halfway into the alley before an eerie warning sensation crawled up her spine. She stopped and looked suspiciously around. Nothing. She relaxed and mentally chastised herself for being foolish. The sun had yet to clear the tops of the buildings and the area remained cool and shady. She moved forward two more steps and stopped again as the sensation grew stronger, more compelling.
Her imagination was running away with her, Jacqueline decided. She’d watched one too many episodes of CSI. Still, her fear persisted, growing more intense by the moment. But she had to get to her car. What alternative did she have? It was either that or stand here all morning.
She was no more than twenty feet from her Mercedes when two men stepped out from the shadows. They loomed in front of her, half-obscured by the darkness. Menacing. She couldn’t see their faces clearly but she saw their sneers. They were street people, she thought, unkempt and filthy.
“What do we have here?” one called to the other, who moved quickly to block her exit.
Jacqueline broke into a cold sweat. Instinct told her to run, but she feared her legs were about to collapse. And in her heels, she had little chance of escaping if they decided to chase her.
“Kindly get out of my way,” she demanded and was rather pleased with her bravado.
“Kindly,” the second man, the taller of the two, echoed in a falsetto voice, raising his right arm and dangling his wrist. “We got ourselves a genuine lady here.”
“High society.”
“Lots of money.”
“Now give it up, bitch.”
Jacqueline clutched her purse tighter against her side. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Never could refuse a dare, could we, Larry?”
“Shut up,” the other man shouted, obviously angry that his friend had said his name. He pulled out a switchblade and brandished it in front of Jacqueline.
Despite her determination to remain calm, she gasped. The blade gleamed in what little light had broken through the alley.
He held out his arm as if he expected her to meekly hand over her purse, and Jacqueline realized this wasn’t a request but a command. Any resistance would surely be met with violence.
Although she wasn’t aware she’d released it, her designer bag fell to the asphalt.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” a brusque female voice shouted from behind Jacqueline. “Aren’t you on probation, Ralph? Be a real shame to see your sorry ass back in jail so soon.”
It took Jacqueline a moment to recognize Alix Townsend’s voice. Alix, the girl she considered a felon and a crude punk rocker, had risked her own life and come to her rescue.
“Stay out of this,” Larry growled, baring his teeth at the two women.
“Sorry, guys,” Alix said, waltzing forward, “but this lady happens to be a good friend of mine.”
Jacqueline stayed where she was, incapable of moving. Even her breathing had gone shallow.
Larry looked at the purse. “You want her for yourself,” he muttered. He clenched the knife tighter and raised it.
A clicking sound followed but the noise didn’t immediately register in Jacqueline’s mind. Then she understood. Alix carried a switchblade of her own.
“They can have the money.” Jacqueline didn’t care; she just wanted both of them out of this mess without getting hurt.
“No, they can’t,” Alix yelled as the two men started toward them. “Get over to the yarn store.”
“No.” Jacqueline didn’t know where she found the courage, but she scooped up her purse and swung it wildly at the two men. She’d paid seven hundred dollars for the Gucci bag and it served her well, connecting with a solid crunch against the shorter man’s head. Ralph howled with pain.
“What’s going on back here?” Lydia shouted from the rear door of her shop.
“Call 9-1-1,” Jacqueline screamed, panic raising her voice.
Alix crouched forward, her arms outstretched with a switchblade firmly gripped in her left hand. The men looked at the two women and at the empty door frame where Lydia had stood only seconds earlier. They glanced at each other and then ran for it, racing past Jacqueline and Alix.
As soon as they were out of sight, Jacqueline started to shake. The trembling began in her hands, and quickly moved down her arms and legs until it seemed that her knees had taken on a life of their own.
“Are you okay?” Alix asked.
Jacqueline shook her head.
“The police are on their way,” Lydia called.
“Larry and Ralph are gone now.” Alix wrapped her arm around Jacqueline’s waist and guided her through the back door of Lydia’s shop.
The table where they sat for their classes seemed a mile away before Jacqueline reached it and literally fell into a chair.
“I … I could’ve been murdered.” She’d seen the look in those men’s eyes. God only knew what they would’ve done to her if Alix hadn’t come into the alley when she had.
“Alix,” she gasped. “You saved my life.” In that moment, Jacqueline wanted to call back every ugly thought she’d ever had regarding the young woman. She didn’t care what color Alix dyed her hair. The girl had saved her from a fate she could hardly imagine.
Alix sat down next to her, and Jacqueline soon noticed that she was badly shaken, too. She’d put on a brave front when she confronted the two men, but she’d been terrified.
A siren blared outside and Lydia dashed to the front of the store to wait for the patrolmen. A few minutes later, two police officers entered the shop.
All three women started talking at once. Jacqueline felt she should be the one to explain; she was the one who’d been accosted, after all. She continued speaking, raising her voice in order to be heard above the other two.
“One at a time, ladies,” the first officer said, holding up his hand. He was young and clean-cut and reminded her of her son. Paul would be outraged when he learned she’d nearly been mugged.
The officer started with Jacqueline and when he’d finished, he asked Alix a few questions and finally Lydia. Each woman described the men in slightly different ways, although Alix seemed reluctant to discuss the matter. At first she didn’t reveal their names, but if Alix had forgotten, Jacqueline hadn’t.
With their descriptions known, plus their first names, it made sense that the two hoodlums would be apprehended shortly. Jacqueline had already decided to press charges. All the while she was speaking, she clutched her Gucci bag with both hands.
“You two know each other?” the patrolman asked, glancing from Jacqueline to Alix.
“Of course,” Jacqueline said. “We’re taking knitting classes together.”
“Yeah,” Alix muttered, and defiantly tilted her chin in their direction as if daring him to challenge her. “Jacqueline and I are friends.”
“She saved me from God knows what,” Jacqueline murmured.
The officer shook his head. “It would’ve been smarter just to give them your purse.”
Jacqueline knew he was right. All the survival manuals stated that in such a situation, the best course of action was to drop the purse and run.
Once the policemen had left, Jacqueline looked over at Alix who remained seated at the table across from her. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You owe me.”
Jacqueline nodded in full agreement. She still wasn’t sure what had led Alix into the alley. When questioned by the police she explained that she’d seen Jacqueline go in there and didn’t think it was a safe place for her friend to be. So she’d followed her. And Jacqueline would be forever grateful that she had.
Her one concern was that she owed Alix now. She could only speculate what the girl would want as payment.
24
CHAPTER
CAROL GIRARD
The two days following the IVF procedure had been the worst. The specialist had instructed Carol to stay perfectly still for forty-eight hours. The enforced rest got on her nerves after only a few hours, but with every breath she drew, with every solid beat of her heart, she made herself think positive, nurturing thoughts.
She was all too aware that she was at the very end of the road, technologically speaking, for a biological child. She and Doug had decided this was it. They got their three chances through the insurance company and two of them were gone. IVF was expensive, time-consuming, unpredictable and uncertain. Correction, some aspects of the procedure were a certainty. Injections, frequent bloodwork and ultrasounds. She’d been poked and prodded so often she barely noticed it anymore.
Carol refused to allow herself to dwell on any of the negatives. This time she’d have her baby. This time at least one of the fertilized eggs implanted in her womb would take hold—and she’d keep the pregnancy. Nine months from now, she’d hold a baby in her arms and experience the joy that had been denied her all these years.
Doug had been wonderful. He’d done everything possible to make her comfortable. Still, Carol recognized the look in his eyes, the longing that went unspoken, and the fear that despite everything, they couldn’t, wouldn’t, have a child. This wasn’t easy for Doug and while he tried to hide it, Carol knew he was worried. So was she.
Thinking positive had grown more difficult by the second day, especially with Doug tiptoeing around her. The argument that flared between them that dreadful evening was neither her fault nor his; it was an explosion of emotion and frustration. Doug had stormed out of the house and didn’t return until after midnight. Carol was relieved he hadn’t been driving, because she smelled alcohol on his breath when he returned.
They made up the next morning, just as she’d known they would, and Doug had left for work after downing two cups of coffee and refusing breakfast. Now they had to wait, three weeks to be sure of the pregnancy and three months to be confident about it. By then their patience would be even more frayed.
Ten days after the procedure, Lydia phoned. This was the first time she’d called Carol at home and it was good to hear a friendly voice.
“I haven’t heard from you and was wondering how you’re doing,” Lydia said.
“Great.” The high-pitched burst of enthusiasm betrayed her.
“I mean, how are you really feeling?” Lydia murmured.
“Not so great,” Carol admitted. “Oh, Lydia, this is hard. Right now, it’s a waiting game, and both Doug and I are so tense.”
“Let me take you to lunch, and we’ll talk.”
Lunch out sounded divine, but she knew Lydia had responsibilities. “What about the shop?”
“I’ve already talked to Mom, and she’s going to come here for a couple of hours. Would you like to meet on the waterfront? It’s such a perfect day for it.”
Carol agreed. The sun was out and Puget Sound was an intense sapphire blue. Nothing would please her more than to get away from the condo for a few hours.
They chose a restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall place that specialized in fish and chips, scallops and shrimp dishes. By the time Carol arrived, Lydia had already obtained a table on the patio. The breeze off the water had the briny scent of sea air. Seagulls shrieked in their usual exuberant way. The white-topped peaks of the Olympics glowed in the distance and a Washington State ferry was docked at the pier close by. It was everything Carol loved about living in the Pacific Northwest.
“This is an unexpected surprise,” Carol told her as she took the chair across from Lydia.
“It’s just so beautiful I couldn’t bear to stay inside a minute longer. My mother’s been after me to take some time for myself, and today I decided she was right.”
“Does she knit?”
“Only a little—enough to get by. She loves the idea of standing in for me. It gives her an emotional boost to think she’s helping, and she is.”
“Thank her for me.”
Lydia smiled. “Actually, I’m grateful for the break, too. I needed it. I’m glad you could join me at the last minute.”
Carol had only known Lydia a short while, but she considered the other woman her friend. Not since her college days had she had time to invest in friendships. Lydia had mentioned her eagerness to make new friends, too; they’d arrived at a similar point in their lives but for entirely different reasons. They’d talked frequently and Lydia encouraged Carol’s growing love for knitting. It was easy to like Lydia; she was so gentle, so quiet and unassuming. Carol had never once heard Lydia raise her voice or lose her patience. Only when she talked about knitting and yarn did she become animated or excited. Carol was impressed by Lydia’s calm manner when she dealt with the outbursts between Alix and Jacqueline. It couldn’t be easy having them both in the same class. More than once Carol had to bite her tongue to keep from asking if their behavior wasn’t a little juvenile.
Seated under the shade of the overhead umbrella, Carol glanced at the menu. She decided on seafood fettuccini, a longtime favorite. She almost never ordered it in a restaurant because no recipe had ever matched the one her mother had given her. While she hadn’t done much cooking until recently, she made a delectable olive-oil-based seafood spaghetti that Doug always raved about.
They discussed knitting and friendship, shared stories of growing up and talked about books they’d both read. The highlight of their lunch was the story of Alix rescuing Jacqueline from muggers in the back alley.
Carol decided to stop at the market on her way home to pick up something for dinner. Her appetite had been nonexistent lately, ever since the procedure, and dinners had been thrown together at the last minute with little forethought or effort. If not for Doug, she would have foregone the meal entirely.
When Carol left the waterfront, she felt a great deal better. Amazing what a little girl-time could do. She bought a small sirloin tip roast at the market and walked back to the condo, feeling refreshed, glorying in the sunshine.
The moment he arrived home, Doug noticed the difference in her mood. He smiled and kissed her, then went into the bedroom to change clothes. When he reappeared, he had on his Mariners baseball jacket and hat.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” he said when he saw the look on her face. “Bill and I have tickets for the game.”
“Of course.” She shrugged off her disappointment. Her afternoon with Lydia had done her a world of good and she wouldn’t begrudge her husband a night with his longtime college friend.
Minutes later, he was out the door. It was the first time all week she’d cooked a decent meal, and Doug wouldn’t be home to enjoy it. Life seemed to be full of such little ironies.
She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, not really, but her elated mood had definitely sagged by the time her brother phoned. They hadn’t talked since his visit the month before.
“Can I come over?” he asked, sounding depressed.
“Of course, but it’s just me. Doug’s at the Mariners’ game with Bill.”
Rick’s sigh was audible. “Actually, that’s probably better.”
This was a surprising comment. “What’s up?”
