Читать книгу Summer on Blossom Street - Debbie Macomber - Страница 19

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.

“This is Phoebe Rylander,” Lydia said, slipping an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders.

“Hi,” she said, nervously wiggling her fingers.

The man stood and extended his hand. “I’m Bryan Hutchinson. Everyone calls me Hutch.”

“Hi,” she said. Normally Phoebe wasn’t shy, but for some reason she felt awkward and unsure of herself. Maybe because this was a whole new venture for her, one that required skills she lacked. Although she’d done a bit of knitting as a girl, she’d never been very interested in any of the domestic crafts. Maybe that was about to change.

“I’m Alix, spelled with an I,” the girl said. Her hair was black, probably dyed, and she wore it in a short, spiky fashion that suited her. She had on a leather jacket and jeans. When she’d first noticed Alix-with-an-I, Phoebe had assumed she was a teenager, but on closer inspection she decided Alix had to be in her early twenties. The leather jacket was unzipped and revealed a cotton shirt with a lace collar in stark contrast to the rest of her appearance. She was obviously a bit unorthodox but that seemed rather charming to Phoebe. Smiling at Alix, who smiled back, Phoebe pulled out the chair next to her.

Lydia moved closer to the table. “Since this is a Knit to Quit class, I thought it might be helpful if we each shared the reason we joined and what we’re hoping to achieve by knitting.” She looked at Alix. “Would you mind starting us off, Alix?”

The young woman shrugged. “Sure, why not. As you know by now, my name is Alix.”

“With an I,” Hutch inserted, grinning.

“Right.” Alix gave him a cocky thumbs up. “I assume Lydia asked me to begin because I’ve taken classes here before. I learned to knit almost five years ago, when Lydia opened the shop.”

“Alix was in my original class and has become one of my dearest friends,” Lydia told them.

“I’ve changed a lot since that first class,” Alix went on to say. “Back then, I was pretty angry at the world. I’d gotten a bum rap on a drug possession charge. I think the judge must’ve realized that because he sentenced me to community service rather than jail.”

Hutch leaned closer to the table. “And you took up knitting as your community service? How did that work?”

“It was knitting for charity. I got approval from the court to knit a baby blanket for Project Linus. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to learn something constructive for once in my life.”

“Good idea,” Phoebe said, nodding. Alix certainly wasn’t typical of other young women her age. But then again, maybe she was….

“The reason I signed up for this class is that I started smoking before Jordan and I were married. All the stuff going on before the wedding turned out to be pretty stressful and I decided I needed a cigarette. I told myself I’d only smoke the one pack. As you might’ve guessed it ended up being a lot more than that and now I’m trying to quit.”

“I can’t believe you’re married,” Phoebe blurted out, then felt like a fool. “I mean, you seem so young.”

“I’m older than I look.” She laughed softly. “I hope it’s my appearance and not my behavior that made you think I was younger.”

“Of course!” Phoebe said.

“Definitely,” Hutch mumbled.

“Anyway, Jordan and I want to start a family. Before I get pregnant, I have to quit smoking. Knitting’s helped me through other things and…here I am.”

“And we’re glad you are,” Lydia told her. She turned to Hutch next. “What about you, Hutch?”

He was a nice-looking man, Phoebe thought, studying him across the table. It was difficult to tell how old he was. Midthirties, she guessed—although she’d just proven she wasn’t very good at judging age. He had pleasant, regular features and light-brown hair. Although she hated to admit it, he didn’t possess the strong masculine appeal of Clark. He seemed like a regular guy, not that there was anything wrong with that. What Phoebe did like was how interested he was in what everyone had to say. Other than her boss, she didn’t know many men who were good listeners.

Hutch sat back in his chair. “Actually, my doctor’s the one who suggested I try knitting. He’s a college classmate of mine. I was in for my annual checkup recently and Dave lectured me about working too hard and not getting enough exercise. I’m on medication for high blood pressure and, with a history of heart disease in the family, he felt I should find a method of relaxation. In fact,” Hutch said, “he told me he knits himself. I suppose that convinced me.”

“Your doctor’s very wise.” Lydia picked up the conversation. “Various studies have shown the health benefits of knitting as a form of relaxation. And from personal experience, I’d say that while our hands are at work on a project, we’re able to quiet our thoughts.”

Hutch nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

“I think you’ve made an excellent choice. Obviously,” she added with a quick grin.

“Dave also said knitting would aid the healing process with my thumb.” He held up his right hand and showed where he’d cut himself. The scar was red and ugly.

“Another good point,” Lydia commented.

“So I’m here, but I have to tell you I’ve never held a pair of knitting needles in my life.”

“That’s not a problem,” Lydia said. “I’ve taught people how to knit since I was a teenager. I’m sure you’ll learn it easily.”

Hutch grinned. “Your confidence is reassuring.”

Lydia turned to Phoebe and gestured toward her. “Phoebe, can you tell us what prompted you to join Knit to Quit?”

She hesitated. Spilling her grief to strangers was more than she was ready to do. She stared up at Lydia. “I was engaged and…” What came out next was a complete surprise. She certainly hadn’t intended to lie, although the truth embarrassed and humiliated her. “My fiancé died.”

Lydia’s eyes softened with sympathy. “Oh, Phoebe, I had no idea. I…I thought—” She stopped abruptly. “It doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m so very sorry.”

“I need to get over him,” she said and swallowed hard. Tears clogged her throat and she struggled to hide the fact that she was close to weeping.

Thankfully no one asked for the details of Clark’s supposed demise.

“I’m sorry,” Alix said. Leaning across the table, she gently squeezed her hand. “I can’t begin to imagine what it would be like if I lost Jordan.”

Phoebe avoided their eyes. It was bad enough that she’d lied, but now she’d be obliged to continue with the charade. Everyone’s sympathy only added to her guilt. Although Hutch hadn’t spoken, his gaze was caring, concerned.

Blindly Phoebe unwrapped her knitting needles, indicating she was ready for class to begin.

Responding to her cue, Lydia held out the scarf pattern. “I chose this Bev Galeskas pattern because I feel everyone can knit this, no matter what level they are. It starts with the basic stitch.” She reached into a bag behind her and brought out a scarf in soft gray wool. “I knit this up so everyone could see the finished project.”

“I could knit that?” Hutch asked, sounding shocked.

“We all will.”

“You’re sure I can do that?”

Alix laughed. “I felt the same way in my first class when Lydia showed me the baby blanket. I guarantee you’ll be impressed with yourself.”

“It’ll impress my sister, anyway.” He smiled at Lydia. “If mine turns out even half as good as yours, I thought I’d give it to her for her birthday.”

His sister? If he’d mentioned his sister rather than his wife, that probably meant he wasn’t married. Phoebe wasn’t in any mood to get romantically involved, but she felt increasingly curious about Hutch. His personality seemed the opposite of Clark’s. He didn’t need to be the center of attention and, instead, listened carefully to everyone else. As far as Phoebe was concerned, that was a rare quality. He might look ordinary but even on short acquaintance she could see that he was anything but.

Before they cast on stitches, Lydia described the pattern and explained that reading it over first prevented mistakes later. She also offered to photocopy their patterns to use as “working copies.”

“That way the copied sheet can be marked up and carried with the project. Then if it’s lost, the original is always available.”

After that, Lydia demonstrated how to cast on stitches. The skill came back to Phoebe faster than she’d thought it would.

Sitting beside Hutch, Lydia reviewed the technique with him repeatedly. He followed her instructions carefully and although he found it difficult to hold the needles and yarn and cast on at the same time, he never once lost patience. Phoebe couldn’t picture Clark not throwing the needles and yarn down in disgust.

Clark.

How easily he’d slipped into her mind, despite her resolve. Forcing herself to concentrate, she knit methodically to the end of the row. Then the next one…

About an hour into the class, the phone rang. Lydia excused herself and moved to the front counter.

From what Phoebe could hear, this call was of a personal nature.

“Water balloons in the house?” Lydia gasped at one point, covering her eyes with her free hand.

When she returned a few minutes later, she looked troubled.

Alix was the one who broached the subject. “Is everything all right with Cody and Brad?”

“I…I’m not sure. We have a houseguest, and it appears that she’s managed to ruffle a few feathers.”

“How long is your guest staying?” Hutch asked.

“A week.” She frowned but didn’t volunteer any further information.

It was still light out when the class was officially over. As Phoebe gathered up her knitting bag and her purse, the shop door opened and a clean-cut young man walked in.

“Jordan,” Alix said, her voice elevated. “Hi!”

The man went over to Alix and slid his arm around her waist. “I thought I’d stop by and pick you up.”

Alix smiled at Hutch and Phoebe. “This is my husband, Jordan Turner.”

Jordan exchanged handshakes with both of them. “Pleased to meet you.”