The Shop on Blossom Street (18 page)

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

M
onday morning following her hair appointment, Jacqueline returned to the house to find that a local florist had delivered a dozen red roses. Martha, the housekeeper, had placed them in the center of the formal living room on a round coffee table.

“Who sent the roses?” she asked, stunned to find them.

Martha shook her head. “I didn’t read the card.”

Jacqueline walked into the living room and examined the red buds, gently taking one in her hand. The roses were perfect, still dewy and just ready to open. Their scent was so lovely, Jacqueline thought they must be antique roses. If so, they would’ve cost a fortune. She couldn’t imagine who’d be sending her roses or why.

She reached for the card but didn’t open the small envelope, wanting to linger over the suspense. It wasn’t her birthday or her wedding anniversary. Her husband had never had much of a memory for such events, anyway.
In fact, Reese hadn’t sent her flowers in years. Paul was too much like his father to think of doing such a thing, especially when there was no obvious reason for it.

Unable to guess, she finally tore open the envelope, withdrew the card and read it.

Reese
.

Her husband! There was no explanation, no message. Confused, Jacqueline sat down on the sofa, still holding the card. She found Martha staring at her, making no attempt to disguise her curiosity.

“Well?” the housekeeper asked.

“They’re from Reese.”

Martha beamed her a broad smile. “I thought so.”

Despite herself, Jacqueline smiled, too. Maybe her housekeeper knew more about her life than she did.

“Would you like me to start dinner for you this evening?” Martha asked as she turned toward the kitchen.

Jacqueline shook her head. “No, I believe I’ll cook tonight, Martha.”

The housekeeper didn’t so much as blink, but Jacqueline could tell she was surprised. Jacqueline rarely ventured into the kitchen, and hadn’t made a complete meal in years. Early in their marriage she’d found a chicken curry dish that Reese had particularly enjoyed. She’d torn the recipe out of a magazine. Jacqueline thought she knew where it was, although it’d been quite a while since she’d gone to the effort of preparing it.

“Martha, do we have any curry spices in the house?”

“I think so. Let me look for you.”

“Is there chicken in the freezer?”

“Should be.”

Jacqueline was only half listening. She moved past the housekeeper and into the kitchen, opening a bottom
drawer where she kept her cookbooks. “Do you remember a recipe I had years ago for chicken curry?”

Martha frowned. “Can’t say I do. Are you going to be making a mess in my kitchen?”

Jacqueline smiled, biting back a retort that would have reminded the other woman whose kitchen this really was. “Don’t worry,” she assured Martha. “You’ll get it back in the morning.”

Martha nodded, but she still looked concerned.

After paging through six cookbooks, Jacqueline found the recipe in the back of Julia Child’s
Mastering the Art of French Cooking
, together with a number of other loose recipes she’d collected over the years. Sitting down at the table, she wrote out a grocery list.

By the time Reese walked into the house at six o’clock, the kitchen was redolent with the scent of coconut milk, chicken, curry and yogurt.

“What’s this?” Reese asked, loosening his tie.

Jacqueline hadn’t heard him come in and whirled around, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Dinner,” she announced cheerfully.

Forgetting herself, she walked over and kissed his cheek. “The roses are beautiful. Thank you.”

Reese’s eyes widened just a little. “I figured I owed you an apology,” he murmured. “I came down on you pretty hard about parking in the alley. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”

“You were worried about me. It’s a case of me running over the mailbox with the tractor.”

He frowned. “What?”

Jacqueline laughed and quickly retold Tammie Lee’s story. “That’s why her daddy hollered at her mama,” she concluded. “Twice.”

Reese chuckled and then to Jacqueline’s amazement,
he kissed her. She was sure he only meant to brush her lips with his, but when their mouths met, something wonderful and exciting took hold of them both.

The wooden spoon clattered to the floor and Jacqueline slid her arms around her husband’s neck. Reese’s mouth was on hers, as avid as if they were new lovers.

Jacqueline lost all sense of time and didn’t know how long they remained locked in each other’s arms. When they broke apart they both seemed at a loss as to what to say or do next. This was by far their most passionate kiss in years.

What astonished her most was the zeal with which she’d responded to his kiss. She’d assumed that after years of celibacy, the sexual part of her nature had atrophied. It was a shock to realize just how alive—how sexual—she was capable of feeling.

“I’d better shower,” Reese said as he backed away from her. He seemed to be in a state of shock himself.

Jacqueline didn’t trust her voice enough to speak, so she merely nodded. Leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, she closed her eyes.

“Wow,” she whispered to the empty room. Now
that
was something! Once she’d stopped trembling, she retrieved two dinner plates and set them on the dining room table.

When Reese returned from the shower, his hair damp, he’d donned slacks and a golf shirt. Jacqueline had just finished lighting the candles, pleased with her efforts. She could be domestic when called upon and today she’d rediscovered how much she actually enjoyed it.

“Can I do anything?” he asked.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. It was ridiculous to feel shy with her own husband of more than thirty years. She would never have expected this, but she felt
as if that kiss was the first one they’d ever shared—as if their intimacy was completely unfamiliar. “Would you pour the wine?”

“Sure.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of chilled chardonnay, which he uncorked. After he’d poured them each a glass, he turned on the CD player.

Singing along to the soundtrack of
Les Misérables
, Jacqueline mounded rice on their plates and ladled on generous servings of curry. She carried the plates to the table, where Reese was waiting for her. He stood behind her chair and pulled it out, a courtesy he hadn’t bothered with in years.

“It’s a long time since you made me chicken curry,” he said when he was seated across from her. “It smells delicious—thank you.” He reached for his wineglass and raised it. “Shall I propose a toast?”

“Please.” Happiness settled over her until she was nearly giddy with it. Until now, Jacqueline had lost hope that they might recapture the love in their marriage. She felt light-headed with anticipation as she lifted her wineglass and touched the rim to his.

“To the future,” Reese said.

“The future,” she echoed.

After a sip of wine, Reese picked up his fork. Jacqueline held her breath while he tasted his first bite, anxiously awaiting his reaction.

She knew she’d succeeded when he closed his eyes and murmured a soft sigh of appreciation.

“It’s even better than I remember.”

Jacqueline relaxed and took her first taste. The curry was as good as she’d hoped. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure why she’d buried the recipe when she knew how much Reese enjoyed her meals—and how much she used to enjoy making them. Years earlier she’d done all their
cooking, even for their many social events. More recently, she’d had her parties catered. She’d casually mentioned that in last week’s knitting class when they’d started talking about memorable meals. To her surprise, Alix had said she’d like her own catering company one day. Alix of all people! This was a rather unexpected revelation, but it made her wonder. She owed Alix….

“I have a small confession,” Reese said, breaking into her thoughts.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it, but before she could stop him, he continued.

“You need to thank Tammie Lee for the roses. They were her idea.”

Jacqueline picked up her wine. “Well, I didn’t think you’d come up with that idea on your own.”

“To Tammie Lee,” Reese said, holding up his wineglass.

“To Tammie Lee,” Jacqueline repeated.

The phone rang and she sighed.

“I’ll get it.” Reese was out of his chair before she could protest.

For once, just once, she wanted them to have a quiet dinner together. She wished now that she’d taken the phone off the hook.

Whoever was on the line certainly had Reese’s attention. His brow furrowed and he frowned and then nodded curtly. Replacing the receiver, he muttered, “I have to go.”

“Where?” Jacqueline asked before she would stop herself.

“Problems on the job.” He grabbed his car keys and was out the door. “I’m needed at one of the sites. Not Blossom Street—the Northgate project. It appears we blew a circuit and the entire block is without electricity.”

Sitting alone at the table, listening as Reese’s car engine roared to life, Jacqueline felt numb.

A moment later, she flung her napkin furiously onto her plate and walked over to the sink. She grabbed the counter with both hands, biting down hard on her lower lip.

“He’s needed at the site,” she repeated, her voice cracking. She knew exactly who’d phoned and exactly where he’d gone and it wasn’t to any job site.

ALIX TOWNSEND

S
unday morning, Alix found herself standing on the same street corner she had for the last few weeks, watching as people filed through the church doors. Ordinary people, some wealthy and some not. People like those in her knitting group. People like Carol Girard and her husband.

Having lunch at Carol’s high-rise condo had been an eye-opening experience. Literally! The view was incredible, unlike anything she’d seen before. She might live in Seattle, but she certainly never saw it from this perspective. And Puget Sound was beyond fabulous. Alix felt as if she’d stepped right onto a page in one of those fancy home decorating magazines people left behind at the Laundromat. The condo itself was spacious. The furniture was simple and classic, and there were lots of warm, appealing touches. One thing was for sure. Alix had no intention of returning the invitation. She could just imagine
what Carol would think if she saw the inside of
her
apartment. Especially now, since Laurel had taken to being even a bigger slob than usual.

Carol had made a lovely lunch of cold tomato soup—a Spanish recipe, she’d said—and a seafood salad. She’d set the table with beautiful matching dishes, complete with linen napkins. A few weeks ago Alix would have considered details like that pointless, but these days she was taking notice. This was exactly the type of thing she needed to know if she hoped to start her own business one day. Alix had been nervous at first, afraid she might commit some social blunder by using the wrong fork. If Jacqueline had been there, she would’ve been more worried, but Carol was a normal kind of person. Funny, with all that wealth, she still had her problems.

Everyone had problems, Alix now realized, even if they lived in gorgeous apartments with million-dollar views. Over lunch she and Carol covered a lot of subjects, and after a while, it felt just as if they were in the knitting group at Lydia’s shop. Alix had never expected to become friends with these women but that was exactly what had happened. Even with Jacqueline…

All of them encouraged her to pursue the relationship with Jordan.

Following the roller-skating party, Alix had seen him only once. He’d stopped by the video store to tell her he was going out of town. Apparently he was involved in a summer camp program and was driving some kids to eastern Washington. He’d mentioned sending her a postcard, but if he’d mailed one, she hadn’t received it. That had been on her mind ever since he’d gone away.

As she stood on the corner across from the Free Methodist church, the music drifted out the open doors. Alix recognized the song, which she’d heard several times be
fore. For some reason she couldn’t identify, she boldly marched across the street and up the steps. As she did, she glanced around, half expecting someone to stop her.

She missed Jordan, and if walking into this church was the only way she could feel close to him, then she was doing it. Anyone who questioned her was in for one hell of a fight.

An usher looked in her direction, but she scowled at him with such ferocity that he backed off. She didn’t need anyone to tell her where to sit. Slipping into the last pew, she saw that people were standing and singing. She grabbed what she assumed was the hymnal and picked up a Bible instead. She wondered if anyone noticed. As casually as she could, she replaced the Bible and grabbed the red book, opening it to the number posted on a board at the front of the church.

The sanctuary was surprisingly crowded. Alix had no idea so many people actually attended services. Perhaps if her family had prayed together, they might have stayed together. Yeah, right! As a kid she’d done her fair share of praying and a lot of good that had done her. A familiar bitterness welled up inside. These kids were lucky. They had parents who cared about them. By her own choice, Alix was no longer in contact with her mother and hadn’t seen her father in years. He hadn’t even bothered to show up when Tom died. As she thought of her brother, her hand tightened around the hymnal. All Tom had ever wanted was someone to care about him. They’d both been cheated in that department; their father was more interested in drinking with his friends than he was in his children, and their mother was no better. Little wonder they’d had serious problems of their own, but Alix was determined to have a better life.

She studied the words printed on the page but didn’t
sing. One of Alix’s fears was that she wouldn’t know when to stand or sit. That was the advantage of being in the back pew—she simply followed what everyone else was doing.

When the song ended, the congregation sat down and the minister, an older man, stepped up to the podium. Alix figured she’d leave after the sermon, afraid that if she stood up and walked out now, someone might be offended.

The minister preached from the Old Testament and the book of Nehemiah, which Alix had never heard of before. The sermon, about the ruined walls of Jerusalem and how they symbolized people’s lives, interested her, although she didn’t understand everything he said.

Alix was just getting ready to slip out of the pew when she saw Jordan walk to the front of the church. He was obviously back from summer camp, although he hadn’t come by the video store.

She tried to ignore the disappointment and the hurt. Seeing him in church wasn’t the only shock she received. Jordan wasn’t alone. A blond beauty came with him. The girl eyed Jordan like he was Jesus returning to collect His saints before Armageddon.

The two of them had handheld microphones. The music started, and their voices blended as if they’d been singing together their entire lives. Listening to their performance was more than Alix could bear. In an effort to exit the pew as fast as possible, she nearly stumbled over the feet of the woman next to her. Without looking back, she rushed out the door.

If she’d needed proof that she was deluding herself, this was it. Reeling, she ran into an alley. She closed her eyes and called herself every ugly name she’d ever heard. With her back against the brick wall, she slid down and hung her head.

Naturally Jordan would be singing in church with Miss America. And why not? He was a preacher’s kid; he’d been raised in the church. He’d never sat in a jail cell or stood before a judge. His parents had loved him, wanted him. She could just imagine what his daddy would say if he knew Jordan was hanging with
her
.

Alix squatted there, caught in a misery so deep she could barely move.

“Hey, Alix?”

A voice drifted into her awareness, and she glanced up to find Tyrone Houston, better known in the neighborhood as T-Bone, standing above her. He was a gang member and a known drug dealer. The last Alix had heard he was doing time. Apparently he was out.

“Whatcha doin’?” T-Bone demanded.

“Taking up space. You got a problem with that?” Normally no one flashed attitude to T-Bone and she could be risking her life. For a second, she wasn’t sure she cared.

“No problem. You interested in a party?” He gave her the once-over.

In her present frame of mind, Alix was in no mood for company.

“I got the stuff,” he said enticingly.

That meant he had a fresh supply of drugs. Probably meth or cocaine or any of a dozen different substances guaranteed to shut up the voices in her head.

“I could be,” Alix said. She’d been clean a long time—ever since her brother had overdosed—but she hated this dark ugly feeling eating at her gut. If she could swallow something to make her feel good, she wanted it because whatever T-Bone had was better than these awful voices.

The house was a couple of blocks away. Everyone in the area knew that if you needed a hit, T-bone would sup
ply it—for a price, naturally. Alix didn’t know his sources, didn’t want to know.

When they stepped into the house, the shades were drawn and the room was dark. Five or six guys were lounging around and the air was thick with sweet-smelling smoke. Alix buried her hands in her leather jacket as she slowly surveyed the scene.

In one corner she noticed another girl sitting with a guy. His arm was wrapped around her and he appeared to be out of it, in a drug-induced haze. Alix looked again, harder this time. The girl seemed familiar, but Alix couldn’t figure out how she knew her. Working at the video store she saw a lot of people; while she might not remember names, she rarely forgot a face.

This girl hadn’t been in the video store, Alix was fairly certain of that. She was young, fourteen, possibly fifteen, and trying to look older. Alix knew the signs because a few years back she’d done the same thing.

Then it came to her. The girl was familiar because Alix had seen her at the roller-skating rink with Jordan. She was a church kid. The girl recognized Alix, too. She averted her gaze.

Anger surged through Alix. This kid didn’t belong here with a bunch of druggie losers.

She strolled to the sofa where the girl sat with her stoned boyfriend in a tangle of arms and legs. Alix sat down on the sofa arm and glared at them.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded of the girl.

The teenager glared back at Alix, her eyes full of defiance. “Same as you.”

The guy she was with rolled his head and pointed at Alix. “Who’s this, Lori?”

Yes, Alix remembered her now. Her name was Lori and she’d come with a couple of friends. Roller skating with
church kids one month, doing drugs with criminals and losers the next. Quite a contrast.

Lori stared up at Alix, her face hard and her eyes cold. “This,” she said, sneering, “is no one.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Alix said as she came to her feet. “Sorry, we have to go now.” She grabbed Lori by the arm. The girl protested but let Alix pull her up.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

“Getting you outta here.”

“Like shit you are.”

“You don’t belong here any more than I do.”

“Baby?” Her boyfriend was so out of it he didn’t protest, which was good. T-Bone, however, wasn’t pleased. He blocked the door, his arms crossed over his massive chest as he focused narrowed eyes on Alix. Fear shivered down her spine. T-Bone could slit her throat if he perceived that she was hurting his business. He wouldn’t hesitate, either.

“She’s a church kid,” Alix said, meeting his gaze. “You keep her here and you’re gonna have a pack of little ol’ ladies marching outside your door, carrying signs and bringing the heat.”

T-Bone’s gaze shifted from Alix to Lori, who squirmed under his scrutiny.

“You want trouble, it’s up to you.” Alix raised both arms in a hands-off gesture.

“Get out,” he said to Alix, “and take her with you.”

Alix seized Lori’s upper arm and dragged her out of the house.

Once outside, Lori jerked her arm free. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she screamed.

“What am
I
doing?” Alix repeated, laughing. “What I’m doing, little girl, is saving your sorry ass.”

“I don’t need anyone to save me.”

Those words were almost identical to what she’d said when Jordan announced he was a youth minister. But they weren’t true for Lori—and maybe not for Alix, either. Lori had no idea what kind of danger she’d so blithely stepped into. She didn’t appreciate the risk Alix had taken by pulling her out, either. Alix’s knees shook when she realized what she’d done in standing up to T-Bone. It was time to make herself scarce.

“Go home,” Alix said.

Lori rolled her eyes and headed back into the house, only to be stopped at the door. Alix didn’t hear what was said but apparently Lori got the message and came scurrying out a moment later. She hurried down the street without a backward look.

With no place else to go, Alix returned to her apartment. Laurel was gone. In her unhappiness her roommate was eating everything in sight—and leaving the mess for Alix to clean up. She wondered if Laurel still fit into her jeans. She must’ve gained twenty pounds since her breakup with John. If Laurel wasn’t at work, scarfing potato chips on the sly, or at home, sitting in front of the television with her face in a bowl of ice cream, Alix didn’t know where she could be. But for once she was grateful to be alone.

Picking up her knitting, she heaved a sigh when she saw what she was doing and threw it down in disgust. Carol had given her the gray yarn and the pattern, as well as the work she’d already done. Alix had painstakingly continued the project, knitting a sweater for Jordan. Yeah, right, like he cared. Like anyone did.

Lying on the sofa, Alix stared at the ceiling for an hour before she was scheduled to work. The video store did good business on Sunday afternoons and she was kept busy, especially when Laurel didn’t bother to make an ap
pearance, even though her name was on the schedule to work with Alix.

An hour into her shift, Jordan walked into the store. Alix’s heart reacted instantly and that infuriated her. As effectively as she could, she ignored him.

“Alix,” he said.

“You’re back.” She made sure he knew it wasn’t any big thing to her.

“Is something wrong?”

She shrugged and handed two videos to the customer at the register, offering him a wide smile. When she turned her attention to Jordan, the smile was gone. “Should there be?”

He frowned. “I was hoping we could get together tonight.”

She considered his invitation. Part of her was shrieking with excitement and another part, the part that insisted she get over him, was saying something else.

“Who’s Miss America?” she asked coldly.

“What?” Jordan said, blinking in confusion.

“You sang with her this morning.”

His eyes widened. “You were in church?”

“Long enough to see you and Miss America smiling at each other. You seem to be very good friends.”

“We are.”

“I’ll just bet.”

“Can I get some help here?” the next customer at the counter asked.

Alix reached for his videos and typed in the codes before taking his money. She gave him his change and smiled sweetly in his direction. Once again she returned her attention to Jordan, making sure there was no evidence of pleasure at seeing him.

Jordan frowned. “You’re jealous of Pastor Sutton’s seventeen-year-old daughter?”