Читать книгу Blossom Street - Debbie Macomber - Страница 93

“Knitting is just the best ever hobby! Creative, therapeutic, stress-busting, relaxing and rewarding, it’s the perfect way to both express your creativity and to gently unwind. Make it part of your everyday life.”

—Kate Buller, Brand Manager, Handknittings. (Rowan Yarns, Jaeger Handknits, Patons, R2)

LYDIA HOFFMAN

Margaret had been working a lot of hours at the shop while I made the arrangements for our mother’s continuing care, since I’m the one with the most experience in dealing with medical bureaucracy. I needed to get the paperwork set up at the nursing home first and then I’d organize her finances so Mom could make a smooth transition to the assisted living complex we’d found.

This time-consuming work gave me a new appreciation for everything my parents had gone through when I was first diagnosed with cancer. Hours of sorting through bank statements, old receipts, insurance information. Hours spent on the phone and in meetings. Hours on the computer. Hours—days—away from the shop. Then there was the time I spent with the real estate agent and cleaning Mom’s house before we listed it. That couldn’t be put off. We needed the money to finance her care.

It wasn’t until Friday afternoon as I counted out the money from the till that I realized my gross intake for the second week of September was almost half of what it’d been for any week in August. A quick check of my nightly deposits showed a substantial decrease in revenues. I’d known that spending so much time away from the shop would be detrimental to business, but I had no idea it would have this much impact.

Margaret just isn’t a natural salesperson, nor does she share my appreciation for yarn. I knew all that, but I couldn’t ask anyone else. She’s familiar with the shop and my regular customers in a way no one other than me is. And she’s my sister.

While I tallied the figures again, a sense of doom came over me. I had loan payments now, and they made a significant dent in my income. I’d wanted to repay the bank as quickly as possible, so I’d asked for an eighteen-month payment schedule. I could always go back to request an extension, but it wouldn’t look good if I had to do that after only the second payment. Although nothing was said, I had the impression this shortened loan period was one of the reasons the bank had agreed to give me the money.

I sat at my desk, feeling sick to my stomach. The summer months are usually slower, but my sales had doubled from the previous year. Now, not only did they seem to be slipping, I had a huge financial obligation to worry about. There were cost-saving options, such as decreasing orders, but I didn’t want to do this. Part of my success, I believed, was that I carried a wide range of yarns from the inexpensive to the more exclusive.

I was so preoccupied with these worries that I didn’t hear the knock at the shop door until the pounding grew louder. Leaping out of my chair, I hurried into the main part of the store; normally I’d simply explain that we were closed, but right now I didn’t feel I could turn down a single sale.

However, it wasn’t a customer. Brad stood at the door with his hands cupped around his face, peering inside. As soon as he saw he’d gotten my attention, he backed away from the glass.

The last time we’d talked had been almost a month ago. I’d had brief conversations with Cody but they seemed as painful for him as they were for me. When I’d talked to Cody at the end of August, his mother must have been standing close by, because he sounded tentative and cautious, almost as though he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. He hadn’t called me since.

Unlocking the door, I sighed. I didn’t have the physical energy or emotional resources to talk to Brad, so I decided not to allow him inside. Instead, I stood in the opening and waited.

“Hi,” I said, hoping I’d found the right tone to convey my feelings.

“Hi,” Brad said, hands in his uniform pockets. “Hadn’t seen you at the store in a while.”

I could’ve stated the obvious and told him I hadn’t been at the shop more than an hour or so each day, but that seemed unnecessary. I didn’t respond.

“Margaret said you found a place for your mom?”

He made it a question. I answered as if it was. “We’re planning to move her next week.” If I could finish all the paperwork, arrange for all the necessary medical records, finalize the sale of Mom’s house and complete my dealings with her lawyer and her bank.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“I’m okay.” I didn’t want Brad’s sympathy; his concern would be my undoing. I was tempted to ask about Janice, but didn’t. If they were getting along well, I didn’t want to hear it. At the same time, I didn’t want to know if their reconciliation wasn’t working out. Just then, at the end of a long day in an emotionally crowded week, I couldn’t deal with another crisis. “How’s Cody?” It hurt my heart to ask because I missed him so much—missed our talks, missed hearing about his dog and the tricks he’d taught Chase. Difficult though our conversations often were, I needed them. I loved that child.

“He’s doing great,” he said quickly, which I suppose was Brad’s way of informing me that his happy little family was flourishing.

“Give him my love, would you?”

“Of course. I’ve been worried about you,” he added as he stared down at the sidewalk.

“Worried about me?” I asked, forcing surprise into my voice. “Whatever for?”

He looked up, wearing a crooked half smile. “I know you, Lydia. When you’re under stress, it shows.”

“How would you know? You haven’t seen me in weeks.”

“I have seen you—I just haven’t made a point of seeking you out. You’re tired and—”

“Yes,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t need Brad Goetz to tell me what I already knew.

“Let me take you out for a drink,” he suggested.

I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

“I know you’re dating someone else now, but this is just as friends.”

Actually, I could hardly believe Margaret hadn’t enlightened Brad, hadn’t told him I’d lied about meeting someone new. I’d done that out of pride, and I regretted it.

“Why not?”

“I have one hard and fast rule when it comes to men,” I said, smiling as I spoke. “I avoid the married ones.”

“Janice and I are divorced.”

“Are you or are you not reconciling?” I snapped. Damn it, he couldn’t have it both ways.

He didn’t answer at first, then muttered, “Janice and I are talking.”

“In that case, having a drink with me would be inappropriate. I appreciate the offer, Brad, but … I don’t think so.”

Brad said goodbye rather abruptly and left. I stood in the doorway, my arms crossed, and watched him walk away, feeling empty and alone. I closed and locked the door again, then returned slowly to my office.

When someone tapped on the door ten minutes later, I half suspected Brad had come back. I turned and retraced my steps to peer through the glass.

It wasn’t Brad. Instead, Alix Townsend stood on the other side. She held a plate of chocolate éclairs, which guaranteed I’d open the door.

“Hi,” she greeted me cheerfully as I let her in.

I’d dropped in at the charity knitting session that afternoon and she hadn’t been there, so I’d guessed she was working at the café. Her classes were usually in the morning.

“I saw you and Brad talking just now. You don’t have to tell me what happened unless you want to—but I thought these might help.”

I hid a smile. Brad might have succeeded in getting past my threshold if he’d brought chocolate.

“I don’t have any worries a chocolate éclair won’t cure,” I said, leading the way to the office. “I’ve got coffee on, if you’re interested.”

“I’d love a cup.” Alix followed me into my tiny office, where she settled on a corner of my desk, moving papers aside and making herself at home. I didn’t mind. That was Alix—why sit on a chair if there was a desk? Why walk if you could run? I loved her exuberance, her loyalty and her frequently unconventional behavior.

I poured her a mug and felt slightly guilty because it looked so dark. I hoped it wasn’t bitter.

“So Brad came to see you,” she said, unable to hide her curiosity, after all.

In retrospect, my attitude toward him seemed coldhearted. Unkind. Part of me wanted to call him back, to begin the conversation all over again. I wouldn’t, though. Leaving things as they were was for the best. “Lydia?” Alix asked. She reached out to touch me.

I nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“Anything happening?” Although she’d brought the éclairs for me, Alix scooped one off the plate and took a bite. When the custard filling oozed out from the sides, she grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk.

“Nothing really. How about with you and Jordan?”

Alix raised her eyebrows. “You’re changing the subject.” She picked up the plate and offered me an éclair.

I didn’t need a second invitation. “I know. I don’t want to talk about Brad, that’s all.”

“He doesn’t want to talk about you, either,” Alix informed me. “He makes a delivery to the café every now and then, and he’s his old chatty self until I mention your name. Then he shuts up tighter than a coffin.”

I didn’t like the image. “We both have our reasons.”

“So it seems.” She hopped down from the desk. “Gotta go. Jordan and I are seeing a movie with the youth group tonight. I just thought I’d come over and say hello.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said. I walked her to the door, unlocking it and letting her out. As soon as she was gone, I relocked the door, found Whiskers waiting for me and headed up the stairs to my apartment—first remembering to turn off the lights and retrieve Alix’s plate. I could’ve been having a drink with Brad, I mused nostalgically, but for emotional protection, I’d decided on my own company. I’d spend the night with my television, my cat and my éclairs.

Whiskers meowed as though to remind me I wasn’t alone. He was absolutely right.