Summer on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  “I’ll write you a prescription,” Dave said sternly, “but what you really need is a change in lifestyle.”

  Hutch resisted the urge to groan aloud. He couldn’t add one more thing to his already crowded schedule. “Like what?”

  “Diet.”

  Now, that rankled—although he agreed that he skipped too many meals and ate too much junk food on the run. “I’m not overweight,” he argued.

  “True, but you’re close to being anemic, your potassium is low and you’re putting your immune system at risk. That’s one of the reasons it’s taking your thumb so long to heal.”

  More than a month ago Hutch had sliced open the flesh between his thumb and index finger while he was trying to cut a rubbery, two-day-old piece of pizza. The injury had required several stitches. To this day it continued to bother him. His improperly healed thumb was what had prompted him to make the appointment for his physical. It’d been a year and a half since he’d last seen Dave in a professional capacity. Or any capacity, really, except for a drink at Christmas.

  “What about vitamins?” Hutch asked hopefully.

  “I’m going to recommend one and put you on iron tablets, as well as blood pressure medication, but that isn’t enough. You need to start taking better care of yourself.” The unspoken words hung in the air between them. Otherwise Hutch would end up like his father—prematurely dead of a heart attack.

  And this time, there wouldn’t be anyone to take over the business.

  “Okay, I’ll sign up for a gym.”

  Dave shrugged as if this wasn’t a big enough concession. “You’ve got to do more than sign up. You’ve got to work out at least three times a week.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

  “You might also join a class or two.”

  There was more? “What kind of class?”

  Dave leaned back, grinning as he studied Hutch. “Don’t laugh,” he said.

  “Why should I laugh?”

  “Because I’m going to suggest you take up knitting.”

  Hutch shook his head. “This is a joke, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not. I had a male patient come in to my office with sky-high blood pressure. He decided to start knitting—I think his wife talked him into it. I have to tell you I was shocked at the difference in him. I’m not kidding. I saw the evidence myself.”

  What a ridiculous idea. “Like I have time for…crafts?”

  “It’s only a suggestion, but it’ll help your thumb, too.”

  Hutch jerked his thumb back and forth and felt it tighten. It was especially stiff in the morning. But knitting? Him? The gym he could handle, but knitting? If any of his friends or employees heard about that, he’d be a laughingstock.

  “How about you?” Hutch asked, suddenly suspicious. “Do you knit?”

  “Yeah.” Dave grinned again. “My wife taught me.”

  “Get outta here!”

  “It works, Hutch. Give it a try.” Dave reached for his pad, wrote out the prescriptions and handed it to him.

  Hutch stared down at the small sheet of paper. He never would’ve believed he’d be on blood pressure medication in his thirties. Dave was right; this didn’t bode well.

  “I want to see you again in two months.”

  Hutch nodded. He stood and pulled a candy bar from his inside pocket. “I brought you something.”

  Dave accepted it and looked up expectantly.

  “We’re about to launch this nationwide. It’s called the Mount Saint Helens bar.”

  Dave turned it over and read the description. “Coconut covered with dark chocolate and a liquid chocolate center. An explosion of flavor.”

  “That’s what I’ve been working on for the last eighteen months. We finally have a national distributor willing to give us a shot.” His friend couldn’t appreciate how difficult it was to get into the bigger markets when he was up against the huge candy companies. Hutch believed in this new product and was prepared to gamble on the future of the business. So far, everything seemed positive—if he didn’t end up forking out millions over a frivolous lawsuit.

  Dave examined the packaging and Hutch could tell he was impressed. “Sugar’s not too high,” he murmured, “and 70 percent cocoa is good.”

  “Practically health food,” Hutch said with a smile. He began to turn away.

  Dave stopped him. “Two months, Hutch. Don’t disappoint me.”

  “I won’t.” He walked out of the office and galloped down four flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator. He couldn’t disagree with Dave about getting more exercise. But there just weren’t enough hours in the day. He delegated whatever he could but so much still demanded his personal attention.

  By the time he returned to his office, Hutch was fifteen minutes behind schedule. Gail Wendell, his personal assistant, relaxed her anxious face the moment he walked in the door. She stood as if expecting him to need something right away.

  “Mr. Williams is waiting in your office,” she told him.

  Hutch glanced at his watch. It was past one and he’d skipped breakfast and was feeling light-headed. Hardly surprising, considering all the blood Dave had taken earlier. “Can you order me lunch?”

  “Teriyaki chicken?” Gail asked.

  It was one of his favorites. High sodium, though. “Could you get me a salad with a side of cottage cheese?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t like cottage cheese.”

  “I don’t, but it’s supposed to be good for you. Doc said I need a more balanced diet.”

  “Okay, cottage cheese it is. Anything else?”

  Hutch nodded. “Find a gym close to my place and sign me up.”

  His assistant made a note on her pad.

  “And…” He hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I need a knitting class.”

  He watched, but Gail didn’t bat an eye.

  “See if you can find an evening class somewhere in the downtown Seattle area.” His condo was in a central location and he didn’t want to travel far for this craziness. Actually, he’d be astonished if Gail found such a class, which would be fine by him. He could tell Dave he’d tried and leave it at that.

  “I’ll look into it right away.”

  Dave reached inside his pocket for the prescription. “Would you please have this filled for me, too?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks, Gail, you’re the greatest.”

  She grinned. “Your father used to say the same thing.”

  She was a valuable asset to the company, and Hutch was grateful she’d stayed on through this lengthy transition period. He knew, however, that it wouldn’t be long before she retired. He hadn’t worked out what he’d do then. Thankfully, it wasn’t a question he needed to answer that minute.

  The remainder of his day was routine, with meetings stacked on meetings, and it was nearly seven o’clock when he left the office. Instead of driving to his condo, he stopped at his mother’s house in Bellevue. She’d tried to call him earlier in the afternoon but he’d been tied up in a meeting with the ad agency.

  Gloria Hutchinson’s face brightened the instant Hutch walked in the door. “I’m so glad you came by.”

  He made an effort to visit and update her on what was happening at the office at least once a week.

  “Have you eaten dinner yet?”

  “No, but I had a late lunch.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You should eat.” Hutch enjoyed the way she fussed over him and knew his mother needed to be needed. She’d adjusted to widowhood with difficulty. Fortunately his sister, Jessie, spent a lot of time with her, for which Hutch was grateful. The three of them had always been close and still were.

  “I called you this afternoon.”

  “I got the message,” he said as he followed her into the kitchen.

  Opening the refrigerator, his mother took out eggs and cheese and set them on the kitchen counter. “I called to see how your physical went.”

  “It was fi
ne.” No reason to worry her.

  “How’s your cholesterol?”

  “Excellent.” That was true, anyway.

  “Oh, good.” The rest of his health was far from excellent, but he didn’t plan to mention that.

  “You’re too thin.”

  Hutch didn’t think so but he didn’t want to argue. “Yeah, I could put on a few pounds,” he said mildly.

  She added grated cheese to the eggs and whipped them together. Melting a pat of butter in the pan, she poured in the eggs and cheese and stirred.

  Without asking, Hutch slid two slices of bread—whole wheat, he told himself righteously—in the toaster.

  “I can’t tell you the number of nights I made your father eggs for dinner,” his mother went on to say. “The two of you are so much alike.” As if she suddenly realized what she’d said, Gloria paused. “Do take care of yourself, Hutch. You will, won’t you?” She turned to cast him a pleading look.

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” he said in a cheerful voice that took a bit of effort. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  Her eyes grew sad. “I thought your father was, too.”

  “I got a gym membership today.”

  “That’s wonderful.” She spooned the scrambled eggs onto a plate and set it on the breakfast bar.

  Hutch pulled up a stool. “I start an exercise program first thing in the morning.” He’d set his alarm an hour earlier and launch into his three-times-a-week regimen. The prospect of losing an hour’s sleep left him feeling vaguely depressed. But that was nothing compared to how he felt about the knitting class….

  The toast popped up; his mother buttered it and brought it to him. Hutch stood to get some of his favorite homemade raspberry jelly from the refrigerator.

  “What you really need is a wife.”

  This was a frequent topic of conversation initiated by his mother. The truth was, Hutch would’ve liked nothing better, but meeting the right woman wasn’t easy. Not with his busy schedule. He’d tried the Internet but that hadn’t worked out. It was too complicated, too time-consuming. Neither had the dating service he’d contacted. Whenever he’d met a woman, who, according to the professional matchmakers, was perfect for him, the spark just wasn’t there. It’d happened repeatedly until he’d finally given up.

  “Do you have a candidate in mind?” he asked.

  From her returning smile, he knew she did.

  “It’s a school friend of Jessie’s.”

  “Okay.” His sister had impeccable taste—in everything. “Divorced?”

  His mother nodded.

  “Kids?”

  “A boy and girl and they’re both darling.”

  “So you’ve met her?”

  His mother grinned sheepishly. “Yes, and I think she’s delightful. Would you like her phone number?”

  “Sure.” He had no idea when he’d be able to meet this “delightful” woman, but that was a minor detail. The least he could do was try.

  “Don’t tell the whole world, but I’m taking a knitting class.” He offered this tidbit because he thought it would please his mother—and to shift the conversation away from his marital status.

  Her eyes widened. “You?”

  “It’s supposed to help me relax and Dave said it might be good therapy for my thumb.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah. It’s on Wednesday nights. First class is next week.”

  She blinked. “You aren’t pulling my leg, are you?”

  “Would I do that?”

  She laughed, then placed her hands on both sides of his face and affectionately kissed his cheek. “I never guessed that my son would become a knitter.” She laughed again. “Not me, not my daughter, but my son.”

  His own laughter was a little forced. However, he’d committed himself now. And how hard could knitting be, anyway?

  CHAPTER 4

  Alix Turner

  Friday afternoon Alix Turner hung up her baker’s apron in the kitchen of the French Café. Her shift had started at five that morning and now, at two-thirty, she was finished. Jordan, her husband, was a youth pastor. He wouldn’t be done at the church until close to six, which gave her time to take care of a few personal matters.

  Standing in the alley behind the café, Alix lit her cigarette and took a long drag. She was down to five a day now, and was gradually working herself up to quitting completely. All five were smoked during breaks at work. Nights were the hardest, but she knew Jordan wouldn’t appreciate her lighting up at home. Jordan didn’t want her smoking at all. He was worried about the effects of cigarettes on her health, and he was right to be concerned. She worried about it, too. But all the dire warnings hadn’t been enough to successfully break her addiction to nicotine. She was careful not to smoke in front of the kids in Jordan’s youth group, since it wouldn’t be appropriate for the minister’s wife to provide such a bad example.

  Jordan was well aware that he wasn’t getting any angel when he married her. But her past wasn’t a problem between them, and she wanted to be sure the smoking wasn’t, either—or didn’t become one. She’d quit before, lots of times, and she could do it again.

  Alix blamed the wedding for the fact that she was smoking now. Between her friend Jacqueline and Jordan’s mother, the whole affair had turned into a circus. In the midst of all that pressure, Alix had to find something to settle her nerves. She’d bought a pack of cigarettes on impulse and that was that.

  In the end, Alix and Jordan had a lovely wedding at Star Lake, on Grandma Turner’s property. However, by then the habit of smoking had insinuated itself into her life and now, a year later, she was struggling to break it.

  Although Alix had never told her husband or her friends about the cigarettes, they all knew. She couldn’t hide the smell on her clothes, and the smoke clung to her hair, her hands. No one said anything. Jordan never chastised her or demanded she stop, but he wished she would, especially now that they were talking about starting a family.

  Alix wanted to quit. It was important to give it up before she got pregnant. Jordan was due for a new job title and pay increase, and they’d decided it was the right time to become parents.

  While she longed for a baby, her fears nearly over-whelmed her. She had so many concerns. So many doubts. It wasn’t as if Alix had grown up with a good model of what a family ought to be. Her own mother was incarcerated at the women’s prison in Purdy. This wasn’t her first stint in jail, either.

  The mere thought of having a child thrilled her and terrified her in equal parts. Alix had no idea what kind of mother she’d be. Her own parents had been drunk most of the time. And when they drank, they fought.

  As a child, Alix had often hidden in a closet where she lived with an imaginary family. In her make-believe world, she had a mother and father who loved each other and cherished her. She’d held on to that dream for years, escaping to a fictional world because the real one had become increasingly violent.

  She was still in grade school when the state removed both Alix and her older brother from the family home. Between then and age sixteen, she’d drifted from one foster home to the next. Some weren’t so bad, but a few were dreadful. The only constant had been her brother. He’d died of a drug overdose while she was in her teens.

  As much as possible, she tried to put those terrible years behind her.

  Despite all her misgivings, the prospect of having Jordan’s baby excited her. She decided she’d knit a special blanket for their yet-to-be conceived child. That would show Jordan she was serious about quitting, too.

  As she crossed the street to A Good Yarn, Alix noticed a sign in the window for a new knitting class. Knit to Quit. Alix had taken two of Lydia’s classes previously and enjoyed them both. More than that, she considered Lydia one of her dearest friends. Other than Jordan and her mentor, Jacqueline Donovan, Lydia was the person she confided in.

  “Alix.” Lydia’s face lit up the instant Alix stepped inside. Whiskers, who’d been asleep in the window, extended his front pa
ws and stretched his sleek back as he yawned, showing his pink gums and needle-sharp teeth.

  “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Alix walked over and gently scratched his ears. She loved Whiskers.

  Lydia immediately hugged her. For a long time Alix hadn’t been comfortable with other people touching her. It still made her a little uneasy. Lydia was different, though, and she briefly hugged her back.

  “I hope you didn’t bring us any croissants,” Margaret said, joining them at the front of the store. “I’m watching my weight and those croissants are my weakness. Especially the almond ones.”

  “Not to fear. We sold out.”

  “Good.” Margaret sighed with relief. “What makes them so yummy, anyway?”

  Alix answered her with a single word. “Butter.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes. “I should’ve known.”

  “Actually I came for yarn,” Alix said. She was automatically drawn toward the DK-weight yarn in soft pastel colors. Lydia had displayed them in bins close to the cash register.

  “Do you have a project in mind?” Lydia asked, following Alix’s gaze.

  Alix felt funny telling others about the baby. But this was Lydia, so she figured that made it okay. “It’s kind of a secret,” she began, “but Jordan and I are talking seriously about getting pregnant and I thought I should knit something for the baby.”

  Margaret looked at Lydia. “I don’t suppose she happened to see the sign in the window.”

  Lydia’s face flooded with irritation. “Margaret!”

  “Well, Alix is smoking, isn’t she? All the evidence says it’s not good for a pregnant woman to smoke.”

  “I know that,” Alix said, more defensively than she’d intended. “You can talk directly to me, Margaret. I’m standing right here. Besides, I’m not pregnant yet—and I only smoke five cigarettes a day.”

  “That’s five too many,” Margaret said emphatically.

  Margaret made overcoming an addiction sound simple. “Quitting isn’t easy,” Alix said. “It’s not just a matter of willpower, you know.”