Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)

Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6) Page 16

“I can’t do it, John.”

His father’s old friend sighed loudly. “I f igured you wouldn’t take it.”

“Do you seriously think I should?”

“I won’t say. The decision is yours, and you went with your instincts. It’s what your father would’ve done.”

Hutch replaced the receiver, pleased with the comparison—

until he remembered that his father had died at the age of f iftyeight.

Chapter 11

Phoebe Rylander

Phoebe hurried through the rain to the waterfront restaurant where she’d agreed to meet her mother for lunch. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe the invitation had been prompted by any desire for her company. In every likelihood, Clark would be the main topic of conversation.

Her f irst instinct had been to beg off. Several convenient excuses readily presented themselves. For one thing, Phoebe only had an hour’s lunch break and there was no guarantee she’d get back on time. Second, she’d seen her mother recently, although she’d cut their visit short because of Leanne’s insistence on discussing Clark. Yet, even though her mother would pressure her to forgive Clark and forget the entire unsavory mess, Phoebe had agreed to this lunch. She didn’t know why.

Then again, she did.

A part of her, the part that missed Clark so much, that missed his kisses and larger-than-life energy, hungered for any word of him. If she couldn’t have Clark—and she couldn’t—then, fool that she was, Phoebe wanted to hear about him. Her mother would be more than willing to give her the details she secretly longed for.

The outrage had faded now, replaced with a burning sadness. She loved Clark. He’d been a very important part of her life for nearly two years. It felt as if a giant hole had opened up in her everyday existence, a hole that seemed to grow deeper and wider every single day. Phoebe wavered between wishing Clark could be wiped from her memory and pathetically craving any scrap of information about him. Breaking off the relationship would’ve been so much easier if she could just turn off her feelings. Or ignore them. But despite everything, she still wanted Clark. Although she had a job that meant a lot to her, the days seemed empty. Her evenings were listless as she looked for ways to f ill the time she would otherwise have spent with Clark. The waterfront restaurant, close to Pike Place Market, was one of the places often frequented by tourists. The hostess was busy seating patrons when Phoebe arrived. She removed the scarf that had protected her hair from the drizzle and glanced over at the bank of windows with their view of the murky green waters of Puget Sound. To her surprise, her mother was already seated. Leanne waved; Phoebe waved back, then made her way through the maze of tables.

“You’re early.” That was a rarity. Phoebe took off her raincoat, hanging it on a hook outside the circular booth, and slid in next to her mother.

“I wanted to get us a good seat.” Leanne set aside the menu.

“I see you’re right on time, as usual.”

Phoebe didn’t comment. Her mother spoke as if being prompt was a character f law.

“The special of the day is a squash risotto and the soup is tomato basil.”

“They both sound nice,” Phoebe said, although she didn’t have much of an appetite.

“I’m ordering the barbecued shrimp,” her mother declared.

“It’s supposed to be excellent. Marlene Snowden recommended it the last time we ate here.” She paused, apparently wondering if she’d done the wrong thing in mentioning Clark’s mother.

Phoebe let the remark slide. “I’ll just have the soup.”

Leanne continued, a bit cautiously. “Speaking of Clark’s mother…”

“Must we?” Phoebe asked pointedly.

“Oh, Phoebe, I don’t think you realize how upset everyone is. Marlene phoned me in tears. She can’t believe you’d do something like this.”

“Me?” Phoebe cried, arousing curious looks from the people seated close by. “Why does all the blame fall on me?” she asked, lowering her voice. “Clark’s the one who can’t keep his pants zipped.”

Her mother blanched. “Phoebe, please…”

“I didn’t come here to discuss Clark, his family or anything to do with them,” she said, although that wasn’t strictly true. “If you feel you have to bring his name into the conversation, it might be best if I left now.”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t do that. I’m sorry. It’s just that this is painful for me, too. Marlene and I have become such good friends.”

“Even if Clark and I are no longer engaged, there’s no reason you can’t still be friends with his mother,” Phoebe whispered, although she already knew the relationship was doomed. Her mother and Marlene had little in common. Leanne had loved being included in the Snowdens’ social circle, but with the engagement over, it was unlikely that Marlene would continue to invite Phoebe’s mother to the exclusive events she’d enjoyed so much. The waiter came for their drink order and to Phoebe’s astonishment her mother ordered an expensive glass of white wine. Phoebe asked for coffee. The weather seemed to suggest a hot drink; besides, she had to work this afternoon. Minutes later, their server was back with their drinks and wrote down their lunch choices.

“My f irst knitting class went well,” Phoebe said, trying to steer the conversation away from the Snowdens.

Her mother’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were learning to knit.”

“Well, relearning…” Phoebe had forgotten that she’d decided to keep it a secret. “I needed something…” She left the rest unsaid. Her mother had to know how lost and lonely she must feel without Clark in her life.

Leanne sipped her wine. “Max recommended this Sauvignon Blanc. It’s from New Zealand and it has a nice, crisp citrus f lavor. You really must try it sometime.”

Phoebe sighed. She genuinely liked Clark’s father. He had a wonderful wit and charm. After Clark’s f irst “indiscretion,” Max was the one who’d come to talk to her, to plead his son’s case. Although he was as disgusted and shocked as Phoebe had been, he’d asked her to give Clark one last chance. To his credit, Max hadn’t contacted her since she’d returned Clark’s engagement ring. She suspected he wouldn’t.

“Is Clark’s family going to be part of every conversation?”

Phoebe asked, struggling to keep her voice even.

“Oh, my, I did it again, didn’t I?” Her mother at least looked regretful.

How sincere her apology was, Phoebe couldn’t tell. “Mom, you don’t need to tell me how hard this is on you. I know, because it’s even more diff icult for me.” Her mother seemed to conveniently forget that.

“Of course it is. Forgive me for being so thoughtless, sweetie.”

Phoebe stared out the window and tried to force her thoughts away from Clark. It was practically impossible with Leanne dragging his parents’ names into every topic imaginable. She’d known that, but she’d still come to lunch. As much as she despised her own weakness, Phoebe was eager for news. And yet she had to stop this, stop giving in to—

“Leanne, Phoebe, how delightful to see you here.”

As if the mere thought of her ex-f iancé was enough to conjure him up, Clark appeared out of nowhere. Before she could object, he slid into the booth beside Phoebe, trapping her there. Phoebe stiffened and refused to glance in his direction.

“Clark!” Her mother feigned surprise and frankly did a poor job of it. “What are you doing here?”

“I was meeting a client for lunch, but he cancelled at the last minute. I was about to leave when I saw the two of you sitting here. I hope you don’t mind if I join you?”

How smoothly he lied, how easily the words rolled off his tongue, but Phoebe wasn’t fooled. She knew this was a setup.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said f latly.

“Phoebe, please, what will it hurt to have lunch with me?” he asked. He sounded so calm and reasonable that for a moment she was tempted to agree.

“It’ll hurt a great deal, I’m afraid. Please go.”

“Where are your manners?” her mother chastised.

Phoebe turned to face Leanne and didn’t bother to disguise the betrayal she felt. “You arranged this. My own mother! I can’t believe it.”

“Don’t get upset with your mother. This is my fault,” Clark said softly. “I’m the one who put her up to it. I was desperate to talk to you and this seemed the only way.”

“All I ask,” her mother pleaded, “is that you hear Clark out. If you’d listen, you might understand that the whole thing was police entrapment.”

As far as Phoebe was concerned, how it happened was of no relevance. That it happened was everything. Still, she knew arguing would do no good. Clark was a master manipulator. He could turn the tables so quickly that it made her head spin. It was pointless to argue with him—a losing proposition. Clark reached for her hand and while she wanted to resist, she didn’t.

“I’ve missed you, baby,” he said, his voice low and seductive. Phoebe could almost feel her resolve melting. For her own peace of mind, she refused to look at him, refused to make eye contact. Once she did, she’d be lost….

The waiter scurried over with a menu, which he handed Clark, who gave it a perfunctory glance and quickly placed his order for a rare sirloin steak. Leave it to Clark to order steak in one of the f inest seafood restaurants on the west coast. He always seemed to take the contrary view, always stood apart. He waited until the server was gone before he returned his attention to Phoebe. His thumb gently rubbed the top of her hand in a manner that was almost sexual. Phoebe jerked it away, staring at the dark, swirling waters of Puget Sound.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Clark told her, with Leanne listening avidly. “You have every right to be angry. If our situations were reversed, I can imagine how I’d feel.”

“Really?” she couldn’t resist asking. “If I were to pay for sex, that would bother you?”

He blinked as if he found the thought completely discordant.

“But why should it?” she went on. “It doesn’t mean anything, does it? It’s just…something people do and it really doesn’t affect our relationship. Isn’t that what you said?”

“I did, but I was wrong.”

“You were wrong twice—that I know of.”

He exhaled slowly. “Some of us are slow learners. But it’ll never happen again. I swear by everything I hold dear.”

“What you had with these women wasn’t an emotional connection, remember? Only a physical one.” This was another rationale of his. Presumably it was supposed to appease her. Clark closed his eyes. “I was wrong,” he said again.

“What excuse do you have for the same thing happening a second time?”

At f irst she didn’t think he was going to answer; when he did his voice was strained. It seemed to vibrate with pain, whether real or fabricated, she wasn’t sure.