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It wasn’t Lori who should be grateful, but Alix. The girl’s danger had brought her back.
“Apology accepted.” Jordan grinned at her.
Alix felt as if her heart was melting. She smiled back.
“Friends?”
“Friends,” she agreed, happy and a bit melancholy at the same time. Did this mean she couldn’t be more than his friend?
Jordan reached across the table and squeezed her fingers. “I’ve missed you.”
For a few seconds, she could hardly catch her breath. He’d missed her! “I’m knitting you a sweater,” she whispered.
“You are?”
Alix cursed the day she’d inherited this pattern from Carol. It’d been causing her problems from the moment she’d started. For a while she’d stopped working on it, but she’d begun again, hoping to feel close to Jordan. She’d also supposed it might give her an excuse to contact him. She’d finished the baby blanket and showed it to her social worker; now all she had to do was deliver it to the appropriate agency.
“You shouldn’t be jealous, you know.”
Alix slid her gaze to his.
“There’s no one else.”
She swallowed tightly. “Oh.”
His fingers tightened around hers. “Do you remember the day you brought cupcakes to class for your birthday?”
Alix wasn’t likely to forget. Her mother wasn’t much of a homemaker so Alix had made them herself. From scratch, too, not from a mix.
“I baked those.” She was surprised that he’d remembered.
“You gave me two.”
She dropped her eyes. “Yeah, I know. If I had a decent oven I’d bake you a whole batch right now.”
“Do you like to bake?”
Alix nodded. It was her dream to attend a cooking school and be the kind of chef who prepared fancy dinners at places like the ones Jacqueline and her husband frequented. Or maybe one day she’d have her own catering business. She didn’t talk about this often. Over the years she’d worked in a few restaurants and she loved the craziness in the kitchen. She’d tried to get on at Annie’s but the video store had offered her a job first.
“Do you have plans for Saturday night?” Jordan’s thumb stroked the back of her hand.
“Not really.”
“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”
“Annie’s Café?” A meal there was as close to restaurant dining as she got.
“Not this time. How about a real three-course dinner at a fish and steak house?”
That sounded like a dress-and-panty-hose place. But the thought of turning him down didn’t so much as enter her mind. Maybe, just maybe, Jacqueline would be willing to give her a second chance at a fashion makeover.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask.
37
CHAPTER
“In knitting, as in everything else, you learn as much from your mistakes as you do from your successes.”
—Pam Allen, Editor, Interweave Press
LYDIA HOFFMAN
I suppose it sounds melodramatic to say I felt my life was over. Still, that’s exactly what I believed as I lay in the hospital bed with the sterile scents of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic wafting around me. I’ve always detested the smell of hospitals. For someone who’s spent as much time in them as I have, you might think I would’ve grown accustomed to it by now. I haven’t, though. The X-rays revealed what I’d feared most. Another tumor had formed. If there was anything to be grateful for, it was that this one was accessible through my sinus cavity, without the necessity of drilling into my skull.
The tumor was gone now and the biopsy had been completed. Unfortunately the results were inconclusive, and a tissue sample had been sent out for a second opinion. With my medical history no one was willing to take chances.
Margaret’s bouquet of carnations sat on the table at my bedside and cheered me. It was the first time my sister had ever sent me flowers. Our relationship was changing, but even her gesture of support wasn’t enough to get me through this.
In my heart I knew what was coming and I couldn’t bear it. Not again. Everything within me wanted to scream how unfair this was. Like a little girl, I wanted to jump up and down and throw a temper tantrum.
Dad’s not here to help me anymore, and the sense of abandonment I experienced was overwhelming. Irrational as it might seem, I was furious with my father for dying. I’m so angry. Angry with Dad. Angry with God. Angry at the world.
Having spent most of two days drugged for the surgery, I now found the escape of sleep unavailable. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Brad’s face. All I heard was his voice. What kept coming to mind was the last confrontation we had, that day on the phone, when I told him I didn’t want to see him again. I made it as plain as I could that I was not interested in continuing our relationship.
He didn’t understand, of course, that I was doing him a favor and seemed bent on arguing, trying to change my mind. I regret the things I said, but I couldn’t tell him the truth, so I’d led him to believe my interests lay elsewhere.
I knew Margaret strongly disapproved of my breaking up with Brad. However, I told her this is my life and I make my own decisions. That shut her up, but I could tell she was furious. I can deal with her displeasure, though. I have dealt with it nearly all of our lives.
I don’t think she’s blamed me for the return of the cancer. I’ve tried to be grateful for that one small bit of compassion on my sister’s part. When I told her the news, she grew very solemn and told me how sorry she was.
As if my thoughts had conjured her up, Margaret stood in the doorway to my room. “I see the flowers arrived,” she said, looking ill-at-ease. She glanced around warily, as if she half expected an orderly to grab her, throw her on a gurney and wheel her off for experimental surgery.
“The flowers are very nice,” I told her. “It was a thoughtful thing to do.”
“So,” she said, tentatively stepping closer to the bed. “How did the tests go?”
I shrugged because there wasn’t anything to say. “About the same as last time.”
Margaret’s eyebrows rose in sympathy. “That bad?”
I made a genuine effort to smile, but the best I could manage was a grimace.
“Mom wanted to come….”
I nodded. My mother didn’t know the reason I’d been admitted, and I wanted to keep it that way. On reflection, if there’s anything positive about my father’s death, it’s that he went quickly. Mom wouldn’t have been able to cope with a long illness.
I suspect Margaret’s a lot like our mother, and her willingness to visit me now revealed how much our relationship had evolved over the past few months.
Once she figured it was safe to relax, Margaret pulled the visitor’s chair to the side of my bed.
“I’m glad you came,” I told her, “because there are a few things I want to discuss.”
It was as if she hadn’t heard me. “I don’t think now is a good time….”
“Please.” The tone of my voice seemed to reach her, even if my words didn’t.
Resigned, Margaret sighed heavily. “All right, what is it?”
“I’ve been thinking about what will happen to A Good Yarn.”
Margaret’s expression was painful. “I’ve given that some thought myself. You know I don’t knit, but I’d be willing to step in and—”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” Asking my sister to take over my business hadn’t occurred to me.
“It’s a possibility. Mom and I could trade days.”
Her generosity touched me deeply, and for the first time since I’d entered the hospital, I felt tears clogging my throat and filling my eyes. “I can’t believe you’d be willing to do that.”
Margaret stared at me in surprise. “You’re my sister. I’d do anything I could to help you, including …” She hesitated, drew in a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. “We can talk about this later, all right? Nothing’s for sure, so why don’t we cross that bridge once we get to it.”
“But—”
“You have another visitor.”
I imagined one of my nieces had come with her and looked expectantly toward the door. I’d wanted to settle the future of my yarn shop immediately, but it made sense to wait until Dr. Wilson delivered his verdict. I hadn’t believed I’d survive the second bout of cancer, and I had no illusions about the third. The fight had gone out of me and I was willing to accept my fate.
The awful truth, what I could never say aloud to Margaret or my mother, is that I preferred death over treatment. I felt I couldn’t do this again, couldn’t endure the agony of chemotherapy. I was an adult and capable of making my own decision. Well, I’d made it. I’d decided to refuse treatment and let the cancer take its course. The only person I could discuss this with was Dr. Wilson, and I wouldn’t see him until he’d had a chance to analyze the test results.
“Give me a moment,” Margaret said. She rose from the chair and disappeared into the hallway outside my room.
I was in for a shock when she returned. The visitor she brought in with her wasn’t Julie or Hailey, but Brad. Everything inside me wanted to scream at him to leave and for Margaret to go with him. I couldn’t stand it. One look at the tender concern on Brad’s face, and I reacted like a juvenile, covering my face with both hands. Then, to my horror, I unceremoniously burst into tears.
I felt Brad’s arms come around my shoulders. “You could have told me, you know.”
I dropped my hands and refused to look at him or speak. My fury was focused on my meddling sister. “How could you?” I shouted at her. “How could you?”
“How could you?” she shouted right back. It was as though the room had developed an echo.
Brad interrupted our shouting match. He spoke in a strong, determined voice. “If you’d told me what was wrong we could have talked it out, Lydia.”
“Go away.” I turned to look him straight in the face, although my heart was breaking.
He shook his head. “Sorry, that isn’t going to happen.”
“You don’t have any choice.”
“I’m not letting you drive me away.”
“Don’t you get it?” I cried, and nearly choked on the words. “There’s no future with me.”
Eyes soft, he reached for my hand. “But there’s today and tomorrow and the next day.”
I tilted my chin toward the ceiling. I didn’t understand why everyone had to make this so difficult.
“Lydia,” Margaret said. “Would you stop feeling so damned sorry for yourself and get a grip?”
I didn’t expect anything different from my sister. She wasn’t the one who’d gone through this nightmare. She wasn’t the one who’d suffered weeks of chemotherapy and radiation treatments. My sister acted as though my cancer was a minor inconvenience. As though I should just get over it and deal with life.
“I can’t tell you what the future holds,” Brad said, his gaze earnest, “but I can tell you that whatever happens, I intend to be here, for you and with you.”
I’d heard that before, too. Same words, different year. But after two days of being poked and prodded, I was in no state of mind for an argument. “Please, just leave … I can’t deal with this now.”
Margaret and Brad exchanged glances. They didn’t seem to believe me. Nor did they care what I wanted or needed, because they utterly ignored my request. They gave me no option, so I slammed my hand on the bell to call the nurse.
“What do you need?” A tinny voice rang through the intercom.
“Peace,” I cried. “I need peace and quiet and these people refuse to leave.”
Margaret pinched her lips together and slowly shook her head. And from the grim frown on Brad’s face, it would take the Seventh Cavalry—or one annoyed nurse—to make him vacate my room. I slid down in the bed and rolled over, offering him my back.
“We haven’t finished our discussion,” he said.
I didn’t answer him. As far as I was concerned, I’d already told him everything I intended to. Nothing he said was going to change my mind.
I heard footsteps enter the room.
“We were just leaving,” Margaret told the nurse.
I forced myself not to roll over and watch my sister and Brad walk out.
Perhaps I had a bigger problem than cancer. I’d just thrown out the only two people in the world who’d come to offer me their love and support.
38
CHAPTER
CAROL GIRARD
Carol and Doug arrived at the fondue restaurant in the Seattle University district before Rick. They were already seated and had each ordered a glass of chardonnay while they waited for her brother and possibly Lisa.
It had taken Carol several days to reach him. Their conversation had been short. She’d invited Rick to dinner and asked him to bring Lisa, too, if she was available. After setting the date and time, he’d promised to see if Lisa could come.
“Do you think she’ll be with him?” Carol asked, clutching her husband’s arm. This night could be one of the most important in their married life.
Before Doug had an opportunity to answer, Carol saw the hostess leading her brother to the table. He was alone, but perhaps that was for the best. After talking the matter over, she and Doug had decided her brother could present their idea to Lisa. She might have found it awkward to discuss such a private matter with complete strangers.
Carol had intended to spend the evening socializing with Rick—or the couple if Lisa showed up—and then afterward invite them to the apartment, where they’d make their suggestion. Doug would do the talking, they’d agreed, and that would give Carol a chance to gauge Rick’s feelings.
