Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)

Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6) Page 21

After Robert’s death, Anne Marie had diff iculty sleeping. For a while she’d taken coated aspirins that were supposed to aid sleep without upsetting her stomach. They almost always worked. Retrieving a tablet from the bathroom, she swallowed it, then sat in the living room for another thirty minutes, knitting while she waited to feel sleepy. But even knitting didn’t quiet her thoughts. Anne Marie sighed, feeling confusion, guilt, frustration. If Ellen hadn’t mentioned her father, she would’ve dropped the whole matter and the two of them would’ve gone peacefully about their lives.

What was it with kids? Ellen seemed to have built-in radar, zeroing in on the very topic Anne Marie wanted to avoid. Finally Anne Marie yawned and went back to bed. She crawled under the covers and closed her eyes with renewed determination to cast out all thoughts of Tim Carlsen and his unreasonable request.

She still couldn’t sleep.

Her mind whirled with a thousand different subjects. She’d talked to two real estate agents that day and had an appointment to look at a house after the holiday weekend. But regardless of what entered her mind, her thoughts always came back to one subject. Tim Carlsen.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. Throwing on her bathrobe, Anne Marie marched down the stairs to the bookstore. She switched off the alarm and turned on the lights as she went into her off ice, where she’d left the phone numbers Tim had given her. She punched out his home number, her jaw tight and her teeth clenched.

His phone rang four times. She half expected a greeting to come on, inviting her to leave a message.

It didn’t.

Instead, a groggy Tim answered. “This better be good,” he said hoarsely.

“Tim?”

A short pause followed. “Anne Marie?”

“Yes,” she snapped.

“What time is it?”

Anne Marie hadn’t even checked. “Midnight,” she said, glancing at the store clock. She wasn’t about to apologize for phoning so late. He was the one who’d kept her up.

“Is Ellen all right?”

“Yes.”

“And you phoned because…”

“Because I’ve decided you can have Ellen’s DNA tested, but only under one condition.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Name it.”

“She can’t know.” That was Anne Marie’s stipulation and if Tim balked at that, it was over right then and there.

“Okay.”

She hadn’t expected him to agree so fast.

“When?” he asked.

“I…” Anne Marie hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Could we meet this weekend?”

“That’s the Fourth of July. We have plans.” It was the truth; she and Ellen would be with Melissa and her family for a barbecue.

“Okay,” he said. “Listen, anytime is f ine. You say when and where, and I’ll be there.”

Without any deliberation, Anne Marie mentioned a nearby park and suggested they meet late Wednesday afternoon.

“I’ll be there,” he said again.

“What should I tell Ellen?” she asked, wondering how she’d introduce him.

“Tell her I’m your date,” he said after a moment.

“My date?” So he knew she was a widow. He’d implied as much when he’d asked about Ellen’s adoptive father and she’d refused to answer him.

“Have you got a better idea?”

“No…I guess not.”

“It’s settled, then?”

“Yes.” She wished she felt more comfortable with this, but she was committed now, whatever the outcome. “Not a word about the two of you possibly being related,” she warned.

“Not a word. You have my promise.”

Whether he kept his promises remained to be seen.

Chapter 15

When I was nine years old my mother gave me a pair of shiny silver aluminum knitting needles and a ball of bright purple yarn and showed me how to cast on for a pair of mittens. I can still remember my excitement as the yarn came alive in my f ingers and turned itself magically from string into a lumpy mitten. I never dreamed then that knitting would become my friend, my refuge, my psychiatrist, sometimes my enemy, and ultimately lead to my career.

—Jean Leinhauser, Author, Designer, Publisher, Teacher Lydia Goetz

My yarn store is closed on Mondays, which I reserve for appointments, meetings and housework. Margaret usually visits Mom on Mondays and I try to stop by on Wednesdays. We include her in weekend activities whenever possible. That Monday morning began with the three of us at the breakfast table—Cody, Casey and me. They seemed to be getting along, I’d noticed, exchanging occasional comments with each other, often about Chase. Animals had a way of breaching people’s defenses, allowing them to connect. I’d seen that with Whiskers, too.

Cody was dressed for day camp and Casey had her books set out for her remedial math class. She never asked for help with homework, although both Brad and I had offered. Her streak of independence was as wide as the Columbia River. Most days I felt she simply tolerated us. Meanwhile, I was working hard to f ind common ground with her.

She made that diff icult with her mood swings and generally negative attitude. My hope was that today’s visit with her brother—which she didn’t know about yet—would somehow make a difference.

“I’ll pick you up after class this morning,” I told her casually. Casey looked up from her cereal bowl. “Why are you doing that?”

“I thought we’d go to lunch,” I said. I wanted to surprise her with the visit—but I didn’t want to disappoint her if it all fell through.

Casey frowned, as though she wasn’t pleased with the idea of joining me for lunch.

I’d discovered that her brother’s name was Lee Marshall and he’d recently turned eighteen.

For a minute I thought Casey was going to say something. I half expected her to insist she didn’t need any favors but she didn’t, which was a relief. I didn’t feel like arguing with her.

“Casey f ixed my backpack,” Cody piped up. “The zipper was stuck and she got it to work.”

The girl shrugged, dismissing his appreciation. “No big deal.”

“Well, Cody’s grateful and so am I.”

“You could’ve done it just as well,” she said. Cody had the same problem earlier and I’d had real diff iculty getting the zipper unstuck. “Maybe I could have, and maybe not. But I didn’t have to worry about it because you already f ixed it. Thank you, Casey.”

“Mom isn’t very strong,” Cody was quick to explain. “She had cancer, you know, and it’s hard for her to do some stuff.”

I bit my tongue to avoid contradicting Cody. My having had cancer had nothing to do with my ability to slide a zipper up or down.

“You had cancer?” Casey frowned as she looked at me.

“Twice,” Cody said importantly. “In her head.”

I made a feeble gesture with my hand, hoping to change the subject. So much of my life had revolved around my illness that I didn’t speak of it all that often these days. But since Casey was obviously curious, I felt I should explain. “I was f irst diagnosed as a teenager and then later as a young adult.”

“Are you going to die?”

This wasn’t a question most people asked, even if they wondered about it. Anyone who did persist couched the enquiry in more subtle terms, referring to my “prognosis” or “remission.”

“Everyone eventually dies, Casey. It’s part of the human condition.” I felt that was too philosophical, so I smiled. “But I’m hoping to live a good, long time and become a problem to my children.” I made that plural because of our hopes for adoption. Her concern touched me; I hadn’t expected it of her. Casey nodded and returned to her cereal.

Casey and Cody left the house together and I tore into my weekly routine of housekeeping and laundry. I didn’t have any appointments other than the one at the juvenile facility in south Seattle early that afternoon.

The morning sped by and soon it was almost twelve and time to pick up Casey. She slid sullenly into the passenger seat and slammed the door, sitting there without a word for several minutes. Then out of the blue she asked, “Do you want me to get my things f irst?”

“What things?” I glanced at her as I drove.

“My clothes and stuff.”

The question confused me. “For lunch?”

She looked directly at me, her eyes narrowed. “What about after lunch? You aren’t taking me back to Mrs. Boyle?”

“No.” I shook my head as I waited for a light. A hint of a smile came to her, so f leeting that I thought I might have misread it.

“Did you think that’s what was happening?” I asked, shocked by her assumption. I probably should’ve mentioned my plan earlier and regretted that I hadn’t.

She didn’t answer.

“Actually, I wanted this to be a surprise, but I might as well tell you now,” I said.

I saw her stiffen, as though surprises of any kind were bad and something to be avoided.

“We’re on our way to the Kent Juvenile Facility so you can visit your brother.”

“Lee?” She jerked her neck to look at me with such speed I actually wondered if she’d dislocated it. “I get to see Lee? ”

“I certainly hope so. I called Evelyn Boyle and she set it up for us.” Not without pulling a few strings, I suspected. From that moment forward, Casey couldn’t sit still. Once I’d parked the car in the garage outside the facility, she nearly leaped out the passenger door.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly when I introduced

Casey and myself. While the receptionist led her back to visit with her brother, I sat in the waiting area and took out my knitting. Because my little shop on Blossom Street had grown so busy, I found less and less time for my own projects. I knew I’d have a full hour to work on a sweater I was making for Cody. He’d chosen the colors himself—a dark green and brown that looked almost like camouf lage when they were knit together. I’d have it f inished before he started school. I’d offered to knit a poncho for Casey but she’d rejected the idea. It’d hurt my feelings but I didn’t let her know that. I had a pattern that several teenage girls had made, and I’d been so sure she’d like one.

The hour passed quickly. I spent it knitting—making substantial progress—thinking over some plans for the store and daydreaming about a baby. When Casey reappeared, her eyes were shining and she hurried over to me.

I tucked my knitting in my bag and stood. “How’d it go?” I asked.

“Great! Just great.”

“Are you ready for lunch?”

“Yeah.” She seemed delighted that I’d remembered. “I’m starved.”

Since she was in such a good mood, I took a chance and placed my arm lightly around her shoulders. To my private satisfaction she didn’t shake it off.

We chose a small Mexican restaurant in downtown Kent and decided to eat outside on the patio. We both ordered cheese enchiladas with rice and beans, which happened to be the luncheon special.