Summer on Blossom Street

“Oh, Anne Marie, hi. I didn’t expect to see you for the rest of the day.”

“How are things?” she asked, looking around. She saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Great. The summer releases are so good this year, I can hardly keep the new hardcovers on the shelves.”

This was welcome news.

“Anything…unusual happen while I was away?” Anne Marie wasn’t sure how to phrase the question.

Teresa bit her lip as if considering how to respond. “Not really… What makes you ask?”

“There were a number of hang-ups on my personal phone. I’ve never had that before. I just wondered if it was something to do with the bookstore.”

Teresa shrugged. “I’m sorry. I have no idea.”

“Okay, I was just curious. It’s a bit odd, that’s all.” Anne Marie collected her mail and turned away.

“Wait a minute,” Teresa said, stopping her.

Anne Marie turned back. “Yes?”

“There was someone here earlier in the week. A man. He asked to speak to you regarding a private matter.”

A private matter? “Did he leave his name or number?”

“No. I asked, and he said he’d contact you later.”

Again, this was all rather odd. “Did he say anything else?”

Teresa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No, not that I can recall.”

“What did he look like?”

A smile wavered on her lips. “Actually, he was pretty hot.”

Anne Marie grinned. “Define hot.”

“Tall—about six-one, maybe six-two. In good shape. He’s nice-looking. Very nice-looking.”

“Dark hair? Or blond?”

“Dark. And brown eyes. He seemed anxious to talk to you. Do you know who it might be?”

Anne Marie shook her head.

“What about your hang-ups? That might’ve been him. Is there a number on caller ID?”

Anne Marie exhaled loudly. “It came up No Data.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to wait and see if he comes by again.”

That was her thought, too. Well, a tall, dark and handsome stranger apparently wanted to meet her. Things could be worse.

CHAPTER

6

Honey, knitting is so much more than just plain obsessive compulsive behavior…it’s the healthiest addiction I know!

—Antje Gillingham,

owner of The Knitting Nest in Maryville, TN

Lydia Goetz

It’s my habit to check each room before retiring for the night. Brad was already in bed, reading Michael Connelly’s latest suspense novel. As I walked through the house, I checked the locks and turned off the lights in the kitchen. Then I looked in on Cody, who was fast asleep.

Chase, my stepson’s golden retriever, slept on the braided rug next to Cody’s bed. When I opened the bedroom door a crack, Chase—ever vigilant—raised his head. Seeing me, he lowered his head again.

All was well in the house and in my world. I had a new feeling of anticipation, a sense of excitement that stayed with me. It had begun the day I received a call from Evelyn Boyle regarding our approval as adoption candidates.

Just as I entered our bedroom, the phone rang.

“Good grief, who’d be calling after ten o’clock?” Brad asked as he set his book aside.

“I’ll get it.” I reached for the telephone on my bedstand, half expecting this had to do with my mother. “Hello,” I said tentatively.

“Oh, Lydia, it’s Evelyn Boyle. I apologize for contacting you this late.”

“Evelyn?” My gaze automatically sought out Brad’s. It didn’t seem possible that they’d have an infant for us so soon. Nevertheless my heart raced. “What can I do for you?”

“Listen, I wouldn’t ask if I had any alternative.”

“Ask what?”

“I have a foster child—a girl. It’s an emergency case and I need a home for Casey for two nights.”

This was the very thing Margaret had said would happen, the very thing she’d warned me about. “Two nights,” I repeated, the hesitation in my voice impossible to disguise.

“Casey is attending summer school and unless she finishes, she won’t be able to go on to the eighth grade in September. Sending her back to seventh grade would be a disaster. She’s only twelve and this is a difficult year for her.”

“I thought summer school just started.” A friend of Cody’s had gotten behind in math and was now attending a summer program that had recently begun and would go through the month of July.

“Well, yes, but if Casey can spend tonight and possibly tomorrow night with you, that’ll give me the necessary time to find her another long-term foster home.”

“I see.” I bit my lip, uncertain what to say.

“Two nights, Lydia. Just two nights. It would make a world of difference to Casey. She really can’t miss a single class.”

I looked at Brad. “I’ll need to discuss this with my husband.”

“Of course.”

“Can I call you right back?”

“Ah…I could stay on the line.”

“You’re sure this is only for a couple of nights?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, I’ll ask.” I held the receiver against my shoulder. “It’s Evelyn Boyle…. She has a twelve-year-old girl who needs a bed for the next two nights.”

“I take it she wants to bring the girl here?”

I nodded, ready to accept whatever Brad decided.

He seemed as hesitant as I felt. “I can’t imagine Evelyn would ask if she had any other option,” he said in a low voice.

“She told me Casey, that’s the girl’s name, is attending math classes at summer school and can’t afford to miss any or she won’t be able to advance to the eighth grade.”

Brad made the connection right away. “In other words, she needs to keep Casey in the same school district.”

“Exactly.”

Brad met my eyes. “What do you think?”

I shrugged, torn between generosity and fear. I wanted to help Evelyn, but I wasn’t the least bit prepared to deal with a twelve-year-old. Still, it would only be for a couple of nights. “I don’t suppose it would hurt.”

Brad nodded. “Tell her to bring Casey over.” He squeezed my hand. “I hope we know what we’re getting ourselves into,” he muttered.

“So do I.” I lifted the receiver to my ear. “Brad says we can take Casey for the next two nights.” I made sure Evelyn understood that we were willing to fill in, but just for the limited time she’d requested.

The social worker’s sigh of relief sounded over the phone. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be dropping Casey off in the next half hour.”

“I’ll wait up for her,” I promised. Thirty minutes would give me a chance to straighten the spare room and remake the bed. I’d need to put a few things away, too. The sewing machine was out because I’d repaired Cody’s jeans earlier that evening. In addition, there were plastic tubs of yarn and knitting projects I’d lost interest in for one reason or another. The closet was filled with clothes I planned to donate to charity and some items from before my marriage that I hadn’t figured out what to do with. The room had become a catch-all, a storage area for anything that didn’t have a firm place in our lives.

“Do you need any help?” Brad asked as I started toward the bedroom.

“I’m just going to put some stuff in the closet and move the sewing machine,” I explained. “It’s only for a couple of days,” I said again.

“Right.”

I could already hear Margaret’s loud “I told you so” the moment she heard about this. Well, nothing I could do about that. I refused to allow my sister’s ominous predictions to rule my life. I’d been asked to help out and I’d agreed. Nearly anyone would. It was part of the way we’d been raised, and I suspected that if Evelyn had called Margaret, my sister would’ve done exactly the same thing.

When I’d finished with the bed, I threw a robe over my nightgown, then joined Brad in the living room. The doorbell rang and he unlocked the front door with me right behind him. Chase immediately started scratching at Cody’s bedroom door, ready to protect us against an intruder. Brad left to deal with the dog as I let Evelyn and Casey into the house. The first thing I noticed was how small Casey was for her age. Her backpack, hooked over one arm, was almost bigger than she was.

Brad returned, clutching the dog’s collar as Chase whined eagerly, his nails scrabbling on the hardwood. “Chase, sit,” he said calmly, and Chase did.

“Lydia and Brad, this is Casey Marshall.”

The twelve-year-old refused to look at us. Instead she stared down at the floor.

“Hello, Casey,” Brad said. “Welcome to our home.”

“Welcome,” I echoed. “I’ll bet you’re exhausted. I’ve got the bed made up for you.”

Casey continued to stare at the floor.

“Casey,” Evelyn murmured, her arm loosely around the girl’s thin shoulders.

Reluctantly Casey looked up. Defiance flashed in her cool dark eyes. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Gratitude? Appreciation? Relief? If so, all three were sadly lacking in Casey’s expression and demeanor.

“Casey will walk to class in the morning,” Evelyn said. “She’s at Carver Middle School.”

“I’ll drive her,” I volunteered. “It’s on my way.”

Casey’s eyes darted toward Chase and softened perceptibly until she saw me watching her. Quickly she diverted her attention, glancing around the foyer and into the living room.

“I don’t need a ride, I’ll walk,” Casey insisted.

“Whatever you want,” I said. This wasn’t going well. It was almost as if Brad and I were intruding on the girl’s life, although we were making every effort to accommodate her.

“I’ll leave you now,” Evelyn said. She handed Brad her business card. “This has my office number and my cell. If you have any questions or problems, don’t hesitate to phone anytime.”

Brad accepted the card and studied it, although we already had Evelyn’s contact information.

As Evelyn said her goodbyes, I stepped forward. She paused, a question in her eyes. I felt out of my depth here—what did I know about dealing with a troubled young girl? I was afraid this wasn’t going to work, but Evelyn offered me a reassuring smile, then turned to leave.

Well, we’d agreed to do this, I reminded myself, and it was only for two days. We’d muddle through and so would Casey.

“I’ll show you to your room,” I said as soon as Evelyn left. I tried not to reveal how nervous I was.

Casey raised one shoulder, implying that she really didn’t care. She was slender for her age, with straight, badly cut hair that fell below her ears. Her jeans were tattered but not fashionably and the wording on her T-shirt was long since washed out. It had once been bright pink, I thought, but was now an off-white with reddish splotches here and there.

I led the way down the hall. “This will be your room,” I said. I turned the light on. The bed was made and everything had been put in the closet or stacked on the dresser. I’d brought in some fresh towels and extra hangers, which I’d laid on the quilt.

Casey looked around, then stepped into the room.

“Our son, Cody, is asleep next door. Chase is his dog. Cody named him that because he was always having to chase after him.” She didn’t smile. “Do you like dogs?”

Casey gave another one-sided shrug. “They’re all right.”

“Can we get you anything?” Brad asked, coming to stand behind me. He placed his hands on my shoulders.

Casey considered his question and shook her head.

“The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”

She nodded.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” I said. I didn’t want to leave the girl, but I didn’t know what else to say or do. Casey obviously had no interest in conversation. She acted as though she couldn’t be rid of us fast enough.

“Night,” Brad said.

“Yes, good night,” I added with what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

Casey nodded and closed the bedroom door. Brad and I were left standing out in the hallway.

“I hope we did the right thing,” Brad whispered.

“Me, too.”

I woke during the night and knew instantly that something was different. It took me a couple of minutes to realize what it was. Then I remembered—a girl was sleeping down the hall. A girl we didn’t know. Casey clearly didn’t want to be in our home and revealed no appreciation for our hospitality.

About seven, just before the alarm rang, Cody’s voice boomed, “Mom, there’s a girl in the house!”

Tossing aside the covers, I jumped out of bed. I grabbed my housecoat and hurried into the kitchen, where Casey sat at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. Cody stood in his pajamas with Chase at his side, tail wagging slowly. My son seemed to be in a state of shock.

“This is Casey,” I said.

Cody’s eyes narrowed. “Does she talk?”

“Casey, this is our son, Cody.”

The girl went on eating her breakfast. “Uh-huh.”

“He’s not bad for a boy,” I told her and was rewarded with the glimmer of a smile.

“Mom,” Cody protested. “She’s not staying, is she?”

Whatever slight enjoyment had shown in Casey’s eyes immediately disappeared. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gone soon.”

I swallowed the words to tell Casey she was welcome to stay as long as she needed. To be honest, I didn’t know if that was true. We’d merely agreed to a short-term visit; I suspected that was all we could handle. This girl made me feel uncomfortable in my own home.

“I’ll be late tonight—” I said, reaching for the coffeepot. Brad worked for UPS and had left an hour before my alarm went off. He’d made coffee, as usual—for which I was profoundly grateful.

“Can we go to the park?” Cody asked as I filled a mug and stirred in cream and sugar. “You said we could.”

“I’ll take you and Chase there this morning,” I told him after my first restorative sip. With the shop open until eight that night, I wasn’t due at work until twelve. Margaret would open and Elise would arrive later in the afternoon.

Casey mumbled something I couldn’t decipher.

Cody bristled. “I’m not a baby.”

“Babies go to the park with their mommies.”

“Casey, that was uncalled for,” I said disapprovingly. “You’re a guest in our home, but I can’t and won’t put up with any form of disrespect. Is that understood?”

Casey didn’t respond. Instead she stood and carried her bowl to the sink. “I need to leave for school now.”

“It’s too early, isn’t it?”

“No,” she said with such defiance that I was hard-pressed to question her.

Casey disappeared into her room and returned a minute later with a book in her hand.

“What time does school get out?” I asked.

“Noon.”

“Oh.” We hadn’t discussed this aspect of Casey’s stay. “Brad won’t be home until after three.”

Casey didn’t seem concerned. “I’ll hang out with my friends,” she said.

Frankly I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. “Would you like to catch the bus and come on down to my yarn store? I’ll talk to Ms. Boyle and see about getting you signed up for day camp if you like. Maybe you could start tomorrow.”

“A yarn store?” Casey made it sound like the last place on earth she wanted to be.

“I can teach you to knit if you’re interested.”

Casey ignored me.

I wrote out instructions about which bus to take and which stop to get off at and gave her the fare. Casey stuffed the coins in her jeans pocket and left soon afterward.

As soon as the door closed, Cody whirled around to face me. “She’s not staying, is she?”

“It’s just for a couple of days,” I promised him.

“I don’t like her.”

“We haven’t had a chance to get to know her,” I said. In every likelihood that wouldn’t happen, either.

No sooner had I spoken than the phone rang. A quick glance at the call display screen told me it was Evelyn Boyle.

“Morning,” I said as cheerfully as I could manage.

“How’d it go last night?”

Looking at the kitchen door, I wondered what to tell her. “Okay, I guess,” I finally said. “Casey went to bed almost right away.” I couldn’t prevent a sigh. “Unfortunately, things didn’t start off well this morning. I’m afraid Casey and Cody don’t have a lot in common.”

“Give them both time to adjust,” Evelyn advised.

“Time?” I echoed. “Casey’s leaving tomorrow, isn’t she?”

Evelyn paused, and that short silence told me everything I needed to know.

“The problem is,” Evelyn said with obvious reluctance, “the family that was going to foster Casey is on vacation. I can try to find another one, but that’ll take a day or two, and we’re always short of homes in the summer.” She paused. “I hate to ask this, but to be on the safe side could she stay with you for a week? I should be able to find a suitable family in that time.”

“A week,” I repeated, a little shocked. “I’ll need to check with Brad, of course.”

Cody walked up and stood directly in front of me, hands on hips, his thin arms jutting out as he glared up at me. His thoughts on the matter were perfectly clear.

“And of course Cody will have a say, as well.”

At this rate I’d need clearance from Chase, too.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d get back to me as soon as you can,” Evelyn said.

“Of course.” Slowly I replaced the receiver.

“Mom!” Cody wailed.

I looked down at him. “Can we be kind enough to let Casey stay with us an entire week?” I asked. “What do you think?”

My son shook his head. “No way!”

“Okay, then I’ll call Ms. Boyle back and tell her it’s impossible. Casey will have to pack her things and go.”

Cody studied his bare feet and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “Just a week, right?”

“That’s what Evelyn said.” I didn’t mention that a few hours before, the social worker had promised that it would be two nights at the most.

Cody chewed his lip. “What do you think?”

I was of two minds, but compassion won out. It wouldn’t be an easy adjustment for any of us. Casey wasn’t going to make this pleasant. However, I’d seen that glimmer of a smile in the young girl’s eyes. When I’d said Cody wasn’t bad for a boy, Casey and I had connected for a few seconds.

“Mom?” Cody pressed.

“If your father agrees, I think it’d be fine for Casey to stay the week,” I told him.

“Okay,” Cody muttered. “But only one week and she can’t call me a baby ever again.” He nodded emphatically, as if that settled the point.

CHAPTER

7

Phoebe Rylander

At 5:20, forty minutes before her first knitting lesson, Phoebe left work. Clark didn’t know about the class; her mother didn’t, either. Phoebe couldn’t explain why she preferred it that way; she just knew she did.

It was hard not to answer the constant phone calls and messages, although she realized the sanest approach was simply to ignore them. She should have changed her home number, too, but that was more complicated, or so she told herself. She hated to admit that maybe, with one small part of her, she did want to hear from him. Still, she wasn’t even sure whether Clark was calling because he wanted her back or because he couldn’t tolerate what he saw as her rejection. Winning was everything to him. If their engagement was broken he wanted to be the one to call it off. He hadn’t let up since she’d returned his engagement ring.

Phoebe badly needed a reprieve. The knitting class offered that.

Although Leanne hadn’t admitted it, Phoebe was fairly certain her mother had joined forces with Clark’s parents and was doing everything in her power to repair the rift. What her mother, and more importantly, Clark, failed to understand was that Phoebe intended to keep the breakup permanent, no matter how much she wished it could be different.

Even now, knowing what he did, part of her yearned to believe that Clark didn’t comprehend what he’d done or why she was upset. But she’d told him the first time—she couldn’t have been any clearer—and this time she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t. Phoebe knew his weakness for paid sex would continue after they were married. It was an addiction; it had to be. Otherwise he wouldn’t go on taking these ridiculous risks. Twice he’d been arrested for solicitation, and heaven only knew how many other occasions there’d been, occasions when he’d been fortunate enough not to get caught. A woman off the streets, no less. If he was going to pay for sex, Phoebe would have assumed he’d want a higher-class prostitute. Unless it was the danger that thrilled him? She sighed. None of this made sense to her.

He’d promised it would never happen again and she’d reluctantly forgiven him that first time. She’d believed he was sincere—and yet he’d succumbed again. She needed a man who’d be completely committed to her and their relationship. Addiction, attraction to danger, whatever it was, Clark seemed either unwilling or unable to control it. She refused to put her emotional and physical health at risk because of his weakness.

So far she’d held out. Whenever she wavered, Clark seemed to sense that and bombarded her with notes and flowers and gifts, all of which she’d sent back. That didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he redoubled his efforts.

Rather than take her car out of the garage at work, Phoebe decided to walk the half mile or so to Blossom Street. She’d brought her brand-new knitting bag, filled with skeins of yarn in a restful sage-green color, her pattern and a pair of needles still in their clear plastic case. It was a lovely evening, but cool enough to require a sweater. Because she was early, she stopped at the French Café and purchased a half sandwich, pastrami on rye with mustard, and a cup of coffee.

Since the breakup, her appetite had suffered and she’d lost weight. This was the first hunger pang she’d experienced in two weeks, which was an encouraging sign. It felt like years since she’d been with Clark. That, too, was encouraging, and yet…

She struggled to hold back unexpected tears. The end of her engagement, the end of Clark’s presence in her life, necessary though it was, had brought her such grief. This was so much harder than anyone else imagined, than anyone would ever know. To her friends and her mother she came across as determined and unshakable, but Clark lingered constantly in her mind. It would get better soon; she’d told herself this so often that she’d actually started to believe it.

It had to.

Eventually this ache in her heart would lessen. However, right then, sitting by herself outside a café on a perfect summer evening, watching couples wander past holding hands, made her feel ten times worse. Ten times as lonely…

She crossed the street to A Good Yarn at precisely six. While eating her meal, she’d seen two other people walking into the yarn store and wondered if they were part of the Knit to Quit class, too. It didn’t seem likely. One was a man and the other apparently a street-savvy teenager.

The bell above the door jangled when she stepped inside, self-consciously clutching her supplies.

“Hi, Phoebe,” Lydia said, hurrying forward to greet her. “Everyone else is already here. Come on back and join us.”

Phoebe followed her to the rear of the store. The teenager and the man had both taken places at a large table and looked up as she approached. So she was wrong—these two were indeed part of the class. Well, it made for an interesting mix.