Summer on Blossom Street

by Debbie Macomber

  Cody was up now, standing blurry-eyed with Chase beside him, watching us. Casey stared at him and he stared back.

  “It’s only until Friday,” Brad promised, and it was as much a promise to her as it was to us. “Can you last that long, Casey?” he asked.

  She gave him the same silent treatment she had me.

  “You should stay,” Cody said.

  I wanted to hug my son for his generous heart. I knew it had taken a great deal for him to say those words. I’d never loved him more.

  “Friday—another two days. If you can stick it out, so can we,” Brad said, trying again. “Can you do that?”

  Reluctantly Casey nodded.

  “Okay, agreed.” Brad sounded relieved. So was I.

  “No more of this, right?” I said.

  Casey met my eyes, then Cody’s. “I’ll stay, but I won’t like it.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  With that Casey went down the hall, past Cody and Chase, and into her bedroom, closing the door hard. After she was gone, Cody returned to his own room, holding Chase by the collar.

  Brad slid one arm around my waist and I leaned against him as I tried to absorb what had just happened. I’d noticed that Casey had made enough noise to alert us to her escape plans. That told me she didn’t really want to go. She wanted us to stop her.

  For the first time since her arrival, I started to think I might actually understand this rejected child. I prayed we could prove to her that we did care.

  All of us, even Cody.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Hutch” Hutchinson

  Gritting his teeth, Hutch hung up the phone after speaking with his attorney, John Custer. He could feel his blood pressure rising. John, who’d been a longtime friend and confidant of his father’s, had suggested a settlement offer to the nuisance lawsuit. The woman who’d filed was in her forties. Her ridiculous claim was that Mount Rainier Chocolates had caused her to gain weight; furthermore, because she was overweight, she was viewed in a prejudicial light by prospective employers.

  But Hutch hadn’t forced her to consume his candy. She was the one who’d chosen to overeat.

  What had happened to self-discipline? Hutch wondered as he often did these days. It wasn’t as if he’d added an addictive element to his chocolate or crammed them into her mouth. As far as Hutch was concerned, if he gave in to this lawsuit he was making himself—and every other candy manufacturer—vulnerable to a thousand more. This lawsuit was an opportunistic attempt to repeat what had happened with the tobacco companies years earlier.

  What he really wanted, he decided as he leaned back in his office chair, was for this woman to withdraw her suit. But there was no chance of that, since the plaintiff—no doubt encouraged by her attorney—saw the suit as an opportunity for easy cash.

  Gail tapped politely at his door.

  “What is it?” he asked, far more waspishly than he’d meant to.

  His assistant came into his office. “I thought you’d want to know your mother just pulled into the parking lot.”

  “Thanks.” Hutch nodded and didn’t hesitate to apologize. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “I know.” She forgave him with a faint smile. “That was John Custer on the phone, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  He shook his head. “It looks like this lawsuit’s going all the way to court.” His wasn’t the only company that had been faced with nuisance suits, many of which were settled out of court, as John was quick to remind him. A settlement was easier than suffering through the ordeal of taking the matter to a jury. According to John, juries were fickle and there were no guarantees. Hutch wished he knew what his father would’ve done. Perhaps he was foolish not to listen to his attorney’s advice.

  “Oh, Hutch, I’m sorry,” Gail was saying.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  If this lawsuit did end up in the courtroom, the media would inevitably come into play. They might not show him in a sympathetic light, either. His father had once told him there was no such thing as bad publicity, but Hutch wasn’t convinced. And he could do without the stress of this ludicrous situation.

  “Should I send your mother in?” Gail asked on her way out the door.

  Hutch nodded. He felt protective toward his mother and, as much as possible, tried to spare her any worry. In return, she felt it was her duty to look after him, to enquire about his diet and whether he got enough sleep and had enough of a social life. In most instances Hutch didn’t mind. Lately, however, she’d been on this marriage kick. She said it was because she didn’t want him to repeat his father’s mistakes and bury himself in work.

  Bury, in his father’s case, had been the literal truth. The company had killed him, and after his latest medical checkup, Hutch could see that he was headed in the same direction.

  Well aware of his tendency to work too hard and too long, he was taking measures to prevent that. The knitting class was a good example, along with his gym membership. He cringed, remembering that he’d only been there once, the day he’d plunked down his membership fee. He resolved to start exercising that very afternoon—no more excuses or delays.

  A few minutes later, Gail opened his door and his mother stepped inside, a frown on her usually serene face. She was dressed for a day on the town, in a crisp lavender pantsuit with a matching purse and shoes. “I haven’t heard from you all week,” she said.

  Had it actually been that long? “Sorry, Mom, I guess the time got away from me.”

  “You haven’t been sick, have you?”

  “No, no.” He glanced at his assistant. “Would you bring us each a cup of green tea?” he asked.

  “I’d be happy to,” Gail assured him with a knowing smile. He’d asked as a way of distracting his mother and Gail knew it.

  His mother waited until Gail had left the room. “Green tea?” she asked, sounding surprised.

  “I’ve turned over a new leaf,” he told her. Realizing what he’d said, he added, “No pun intended.”

  His mother smiled. In her eyes, there was little he could do wrong.

  “I did mention I’ve joined a gym, didn’t I?” There was no need to tell her he’d only been once.

  “Oh, yes, and knitting classes, too.”

  As if to prove he was taking his physician’s advice seriously, he reached behind his desk where he kept his knitting, although he hadn’t picked it up since that initial class. “I learned how to cast on last week,” he announced proudly, waving the needle with its clumped stitches to show her. He’d managed to knit three or four rows, although for every stitch he made he’d had to unravel two. But, he reasoned, he was learning.

  Gloria clapped her hands in delight as he shoved the needle, trailing its skein of white yarn, back in his briefcase. She made him feel there wasn’t anything he couldn’t tackle. Everyone needed a mother like his and in that sense Hutch considered himself one of the fortunate people of this world.

  “Did you make that phone call yet?” she asked, looking expectantly at him as she took her place on the leather sofa.

  Phone call? Hutch was supposed to have made a phone call? He wracked his brain, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember.

  “Bryan, you promised.”

  He was Bryan to her when he’d disappointed her. Apparently his blank expression gave him away. “Remind me again who you wanted me to phone.”

  Thankfully Gail’s timing was impeccable and she chose just that moment to return with a small tray. The teapot was covered with a white cozy and she’d arranged two cups, together with a small pitcher of milk and packets of sugar. She set it on the corner of his desk and quietly left.

  “I’ll pour.” His mother stood and moved toward him.

  “I take mine black…or green as the case may be,” he said, thinking himself rather clever.

  “Jessie’s friend,” Gloria said, handing him the first mug.

  His sister had lots of friends—a
nd then it hit him. “Oh, that friend.” His mother had mentioned something about a woman, but it’d been early last week and had completely slipped his mind.

  “Her name’s Mia Northfield.” With her own tea in hand, she sat on the sofa and sipped delicately.

  The fact was, Hutch didn’t remember much of their conversation. Nor did he recall promising his mother that he’d contact this Mia.

  “She’s divorced.”

  He nodded. That sounded vaguely familiar.

  His mother’s eyes brightened. “I don’t mean to nag, I really don’t. All I want is for you to find some nice woman and settle down and have two or three children…or ten.”

  Hutch nearly choked on his tea. “Ten?”

  “I’d spoil every one of them, you know.”

  “I do know.” The image of his mother with young children gathered around her was strangely appealing. The problem was, he hadn’t dated anyone in quite a long time. He was embarrassed to admit just how long it’d been. There didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day for an active social life, not like the one he’d had before his father’s death.

  All of a sudden Phoebe Rylander’s face flashed before him. A warm feeling came over him as he pictured her fragile smile and dark, lively eyes. “As it happens,” he murmured, holding his cup with both hands, “I have met someone.”

  His mother sat up straighter. “When?” she asked speculatively, almost as if she didn’t believe him.

  “Last week in my knitting class.” He grinned and knew instantly that his mother had noticed.

  “Tell me about her.”

  There wasn’t really that much to say. “The class is called Knit to Quit,” he began.

  Gloria looked worried. “She’s not a smoker, is she?” Then before he could respond, she asked, “Does this girl have a weight issue?” She seemed to regret that question. “Actually, that doesn’t concern me nearly as much as the smoking.”

  “This woman doesn’t smoke—” he hoped that was true “—and she’s certainly not overweight.”

  “Then tell me about her. Why is she in the class?”

  Hutch reviewed the introductions Lydia had asked each of them to make. “To be honest, I don’t remember exactly what Phoebe’s hoping to quit.” What he did recall was a rather sad story. “Apparently she was engaged and her fiancé died shortly before the wedding.” He raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I guess she’s trying to get over him.”

  “Phoebe. What a lovely name.” His mother’s eyes clouded with sympathy. “The poor girl.”

  “She’s as lovely as her name.” Hutch didn’t realize he’d spoken the words aloud until he saw his mother’s reaction.

  Gloria sipped her tea, sending him a thoughtful look over the rim of her cup. “She’ll need time to heal, of course. Did she say when this happened?”

  Phoebe hadn’t given the group many details. In fact, she seemed reluctant to talk about her fiancé’s death at all, which told him she was still dealing with the loss.

  Hutch could understand that. He would never forget how he’d felt when he’d learned about his father’s heart attack. That kind of trauma wasn’t quickly laid to rest.

  “Be patient with her,” his mother advised.

  Hutch simply agreed. He’d hoped Gloria would be satisfied with a few remarks about Phoebe, but he could tell that wasn’t going to be the case.

  “What does she look like?” His mother pressed and then laughed. “Outward appearance doesn’t mean much, but she’s obviously captured your fancy and that makes me wonder. She must be beautiful.”

  “She is.” At least in his eyes, Phoebe was strikingly attractive. “She has big, dark eyes.” In them he read her pain and determination to survive this and whatever else life threw at her. The woman had courage, and that appealed to him even more than her beauty. As for describing her features, all he could come up with was that she looked pretty.

  “She’s about your height,” he said, turning to his mother. The fact that Phoebe had slipped so easily into his mind was actually surprising. He hadn’t thought about her since last week’s knitting class.

  “Short, then.”

  “No-o-o.” Hutch didn’t view her that way. “Petite.” Not a word he normally used, but it seemed to describe Phoebe.

  “How does she wear her hair?”

  “Her hair,” he repeated. “It’s…it’s…” He made several futile attempts to depict it with his hands and finally gave up. “She wears it sort of…long. To her shoulders, I guess. It’s uh, wavy.” That was the best he could do.

  His mother laughed, apparently finding his antics amusing. Finally Hutch shook his head. “You’ll meet her soon enough, so all your questions will be answered.”

  His mother fairly beamed with excitement. “You’ve already asked her out?”

  “Well…”

  “Move slowly with her, Hutch. She’s suffered a tremendous loss and the last thing she needs is to be rushed into a new relationship.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  The way he said it made his mother smile. “I know, I know, you don’t need dating advice from me.”

  She was right, but he wasn’t willing to say so.

  His mother finished her tea and left soon afterward. Hutch walked her to her car as she chatted about meeting his younger sister for lunch and the shopping trip the two of them had planned.

  As he returned to the office, Phoebe Rylander’s image came to mind again. He thought of her sitting across the table from him, working quietly on her project while he struggled to learn the craft. He suddenly felt unnerved as he recognized how much attention he’d paid to her. Until his mother’s visit, he hadn’t even realized it. That said a lot. He’d been out of the dating world for so many years, he found it hard to remember what it was like to have a relationship.

  Offering to walk Phoebe to her car after class had been a matter of courtesy. Only now did he acknowledge his disappointment when she’d refused. He was completely out of his element with women these days—that was an unavoidable conclusion—but he was going to pursue Phoebe. In the gentlest possible way, of course. He’d follow his mother’s suggestion and take things slowly. For all he knew, Phoebe might already be in another relationship. Somehow he didn’t think so.

  The phone on Gail’s desk rang as Hutch stepped into the office. He heard her answer, then say, “Just a minute, Mr. Custer. I’ll see if he’s available.”

  He paused.

  Holding her hand over the receiver, Gail said, “It’s John—want to talk to him again?”

  Hutch had been half expecting the attorney to call back. “I’ll take it at my desk.” He hurried into his office, closing the door.

  “Hutch,” John said excitedly. “Listen, these people are ready to deal. They don’t want to go to court any more than we do.”

  “Good.” Naturally he hoped the plaintiff in this case could drop it entirely. That, however, was unlikely.

  “Her attorney said he’d make everything go away for half a million dollars.”

  Hutch nearly laughed out loud. “There is absolutely no way!”

  “Hutch, be reasonable,” John said in a persuasive voice. “Getting rid of the aggravation factor is worth half a mil in itself. Be done with this once and for all.”

  Hutch hesitated, then decided to go with his gut. “In my opinion, this is blackmail, plain and simple.”

  “True, but it can also turn around and bite you if you don’t settle now. It’s a take it or leave it proposition. They’re insisting on an answer by this afternoon.”

  Hutch had to admit he was tempted. He’d like nothing more than to put an end to this whole mess. “If we pay them off, what’s to prevent someone else from filing the same suit two months down the road?”

  John didn’t respond for a moment. “That’s unlikely. Let’s deal with what’s in front of us right now,” he urged. “This can all be resolved today if we pay up. Don’t you feel that’s worth it?”

  Hutch desperately
wanted this lawsuit to disappear. However, writing a cheque for half a million dollars meant he’d be buying peace, and a tentative one at that. If he settled now, he was convinced he’d be opening the door for other such lawsuits and he refused to let that happen.

  “I can’t do it, John.”

  His father’s old friend sighed loudly. “I figured you wouldn’t take it.”

  “Do you seriously think I should?”

  “I won’t say. The decision is yours, and you went with your instincts. It’s what your father would’ve done.”

  Hutch replaced the receiver, pleased with the comparison—until he remembered that his father had died at the age of fifty-eight.

  CHAPTER 11

  Phoebe Rylander

  Phoebe hurried through the rain to the waterfront restaurant where she’d agreed to meet her mother for lunch. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe the invitation had been prompted by any desire for her company. In every likelihood, Clark would be the main topic of conversation.

  Her first instinct had been to beg off. Several convenient excuses readily presented themselves. For one thing, Phoebe only had an hour’s lunch break and there was no guarantee she’d get back on time. Second, she’d seen her mother recently, although she’d cut their visit short because of Leanne’s insistence on discussing Clark.

  Yet, even though her mother would pressure her to forgive Clark and forget the entire unsavory mess, Phoebe had agreed to this lunch. She didn’t know why.

  Then again, she did.

  A part of her, the part that missed Clark so much, that missed his kisses and larger-than-life energy, hungered for any word of him. If she couldn’t have Clark—and she couldn’t—then, fool that she was, Phoebe wanted to hear about him. Her mother would be more than willing to give her the details she secretly longed for.

  The outrage had faded now, replaced with a burning sadness. She loved Clark. He’d been a very important part of her life for nearly two years. It felt as if a giant hole had opened up in her everyday existence, a hole that seemed to grow deeper and wider every single day. Phoebe wavered between wishing Clark could be wiped from her memory and pathetically craving any scrap of information about him.