Blossom Street Brides

by Debbie Macomber

  “Five Guys for me,” Brad said.

  “Brad?” Lydia asked, keeping her voice low. She didn’t have a clue what her husband was up to now.

  His gaze momentarily left the road to meet hers. “I think it’s time you took a look at one of these knitting baskets, don’t you?”

  Lydia didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of that herself. “Yes, it is time.”

  “It might be gone by now,” Casey said. “From what I understand, they don’t stick around long.”

  “Good. Try to get Dad to swing by Burger King,” Cody said with a pout.

  “We’re not buying lunch,” Brad said. “If we want to take a family vacation this summer, we need to save our money.”

  “That sucks,” Casey muttered.

  “Everything that is worthwhile demands sacrifice of some kind,” Lydia reminded their daughter.

  “When the time comes, you’ll be glad,” Brad promised.

  “But August is months and months away.” Cody didn’t seem to agree.

  “It’ll be here before you know it,” Lydia promised.

  “I’ve never been to Oregon or California,” Casey said. “I can hardly wait.”

  “It’s not like it’s that much different from Seattle,” Cody said, sounding like a well-traveled man of the world. “It’s just more of the same.”

  “But in Oregon and California while we’re on a family vacation we won’t have to eat at home or wash dishes afterward.”

  “Is my cooking so bad?” Lydia asked, finding her children’s conversation less than amusing.

  “We’re here,” Brad said, and pulled into an empty parking space. He was fortunate to find one. The fast-food restaurant was busy.

  Bracing his arm along the back of the car seat, Brad turned to face their children. “You kids stay here while Lydia checks out the knitting basket.” He pointedly glanced at his wrist, reminding her that the first pitch was less than a half hour away.

  “I won’t take long,” Lydia promised as she rushed inside.

  It took her only a few minutes to find the knitting basket. To her surprise, a woman close to her own age sat in a booth in the corner of the restaurant, knitting on the scarf.

  “Did you find that here?” Lydia asked.

  The woman glanced up and blinked. “Oh, my goodness, did I misunderstand? This is yours? You must think me incredibly rude to pick up your project and start knitting.”

  “No, no, it’s nothing like that. I’ve been hearing about these baskets, and my son said he saw one here. He said the yarn comes from my store on Blossom Street.”

  “I found this by the window,” the other woman explained. “I assumed it was holding the table, but no one came, so I checked it out,” she explained, setting down the needles. “I wandered around, looking for a place to sit, but there weren’t any vacant tables except this one. No one seemed to be coming, so I thought whoever was here last must have inadvertently left their knitting behind.”

  “That’s a natural assumption.” That made perfect sense to Lydia.

  “But when I looked inside, I found an index card that said KNIT ME.” She reached for the basket and dug through it and showed the card to Lydia.

  Sure enough, what she’d said was true. “Was there a small tablet inside as well?”

  “No, but I didn’t do a thorough search. Here,” she said, and scooted the basket toward Lydia.

  “Excuse me.” They were approached by a third woman, carting a tray with her order on it.

  Both Lydia and the knitter looked up.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation,” she said. “I write a human-interest column for the Seattle Times newspaper. Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Max looked at his text message from Rooster and couldn’t stop grinning. “It looks like love is in the air.”

  “Oh?” Bethanne stepped into the bedroom fresh from her shower. She wore a silk robe and had a thick towel wrapped around her head.

  For a moment, Max couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I got a message here from Rooster. He’s staying in Seattle until Memorial Day. It seems he wants to take Lauren to the Mariners game later this afternoon.”

  “And will you extend your visit, too?” Her hands remained on top of her head as she studied him, her eyes wide and hopeful.

  This was the biggest problem they faced nearly every week. It was killing him to leave Bethanne and return to his home or to watch her return to Seattle. They belonged together. “I’m no more eager to leave you than Rooster is to leave Lauren.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” she murmured, holding his gaze. “Is there a reason you need to get back to California? Monday’s a holiday.”

  Rooster had made the decision a simple one. Any way he could spend extra time with Bethanne was worth whatever sacrifice it took. Staying meant he’d be riding back in the same frenzy with which he’d arrived, but he’d gladly do it, although he wouldn’t mention his plans to Bethanne. “I can’t think of a single thing on my schedule that’s more important than being with you.”

  Bethanne’s shoulders sagged with relief, and at the same time a smile lit up her face. “Oh, Max, I can’t tell you how much I was dreading watching you go.”

  Not any more than he dreaded returning. This trip had been good for him and Bethanne. He hadn’t known what to expect at this family gathering, celebrating Andrew and Courtney’s baby news. Max was prepared to let Grant play the role of Lord Bountiful, and while it had been hard on his ego, he’d let it pass.

  Grant chose to sit at the head of the table, raise a toast of champagne to his son, and pay for the dinner at a high-end restaurant. This was Grant’s son, and he had a right to be excited and happy. In Max’s opinion, Grant had overdone it, but Max let Grant’s power play pass without a comment. Bethanne hadn’t said anything, but he knew she hadn’t been taken in by her ex’s display.

  Even Andrew had appeared uncomfortable when Grant slapped him across the back and pretended they were the best of buddies. Max knew otherwise, and so did Bethanne.

  Annie, however, had eaten it up. She was much closer to her father than Andrew was. The relationship between father and son had been strained ever since Grant left the family. Max was able to ignore Annie’s dirty looks that suggested his presence wasn’t appreciated. According to his stepdaughter, he was an interloper. Max made it through the evening because he had what was important, and that was Bethanne as his wife. It was early days yet, and he expected that with time Annie would come to accept him; patience was the key.

  “I’m so pleased Lauren was able to connect with Rooster,” Bethanne said, sitting down on the mattress next to Max.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Me too, and now seeing that we’ve got an extra day together, what would you like to do?”

  “The truth is, I’d like nothing better than to simply spend time with you. I intended to work in the yard; I know that doesn’t sound exciting, but it brings me satisfaction.”

  “And here I thought you’d spend the day in mourning,” he teased. “I pictured you standing in the middle of the street with tears in your eyes as I rode off into the sunset.”

  “I would have done exactly that, and then I’d go weed my flower beds.”

  Max grinned. “Would you like some help digging in your garden, my dear wife?”

  “I’d love it.”

  Early on, Max discovered that among her many talents, Bethanne had a green thumb. Flowers blossomed and trees budded with a minimum of care. She had the ability to bring out the best, not only in people, it seemed, but in plants, too. Max enjoyed watching her with her houseplants. She talked to them as she watered and pared away dried leaves. The amazing part was that it was almost as if they could hear her.

  Once after an extended trip, he’d watched his wife walk through the house, going from room to room, touching her favorite things and kissing her plants. It helped him understand how dea
rly she loved her home.

  The thought gave him pause. Rooster had asked him an important question the day before. He wanted to know if Max fully comprehended what he was asking of Bethanne when he suggested she move to California. It was more than moving or selling her business; it was leaving this house she loved and all that it symbolized to her.

  “I’ll cook us a fabulous dinner,” Bethanne promised.

  “I’ll provide the wine.”

  She smiled, and her shoulders rose slightly with a long sigh. Leaning against him, she tucked her head beneath his chin. “I love these lazy mornings with you.”

  No more than Max loved spending them with Bethanne. They were far too few, so he appreciated it all the more when they had these special times with each other.

  Bethanne finished dressing, and then they started work outside. Max helped till up an area where she planned to plant a small vegetable garden, while Bethanne fertilized and watered her roses and weeded the flower beds. When they finished, they ate a light lunch.

  Relaxing in front of the television, Max turned on the Mariners baseball game.

  “I need to make a quick run to the grocery store,” Bethanne told him. “Do you need anything?” She had on a sweater, and her purse was draped over her shoulder.

  “Not a thing.”

  “I won’t be gone long.”

  Max set his feet on the ottoman and heard the kitchen door that led to the garage close as Bethanne left. He got a beer out of the refrigerator and watched the first pitch when the door off the kitchen opened again. “Did you forget something?” Max called out.

  When he got no response, he got out of the chair to find Annie in the middle of the kitchen. Her gaze narrowed when she saw him.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I live here,” he reminded her.

  “Part-time.”

  “But I’m a full-time husband.”

  She ignored that. “Where’s my mother?”

  Bethanne’s daughter seemed to be in a rare mood. On second thought, it wasn’t so rare. He’d done everything he could think of to win her favor, and finally decided, for Bethanne’s sake, that it was enough to simply keep the peace. Often that meant ignoring Annie’s verbal jabs and her blatant efforts to engage him in an argument.

  “Bethanne is picking up a few groceries.”

  “What are you still doing here?” She glared at him from halfway across the room. “Mom said you’d be leaving this morning.”

  “I decided to stay over the holiday.”

  “I bet you’re surprised I’m here,” she taunted, “seeing that you made a point of changing the locks and everything. You can try, but you can’t keep me out of my own home.”

  “I wouldn’t want to do that.” Max was well aware of how she’d gotten into the house. She still had a garage door opener. When she’d left for the store, Bethanne hadn’t bothered to lock the door off the kitchen. No reason, seeing that he was in the house.

  “But you tried to keep me out.”

  “It wasn’t you Bethanne and I wanted to thwart. It was your father.”

  “My father—”

  “Is your mother’s ex-husband. I’m her husband now, and I live here.”

  They stood like gunfighters in the old west, Max mused, each at one end of the street, waiting for the other to draw and aim the first bullet. “Couldn’t we call a truce, Annie?” he asked, hoping he could convince her to accept him, even if begrudgingly.

  “No. Way.” She gave little doubt to the depth of her dislike of him.

  “We both share one thing in common,” he reminded her. “We love your mother.”

  “I do love Mom, but I’ll never accept you. I tried. At Andrew and Courtney’s wedding when Mom told me she loved you, I tried to let her think I was happy for her. Then later Andrew told me how hard Dad took her decision, and I realized how much he still loved Mom. He would have done anything—”

  “You’re forgetting Grant is the one who walked out on your mother,” Max felt obliged to remind her.

  “So? He made a mistake. I bet you’ve made one or two of those yourself, although I doubt you’d ever admit it.”

  Max had no intention of arguing with her. “I have, for sure.”

  “It was a midlife-crisis thing with Dad. All men go through that.”

  Not all men abandon their wives and children. Again, Max bit his tongue.

  “I don’t know how you can sleep in this house,” she said, spreading out her arms and gesturing about her. “This is where my dad lived. This is where he slept with my mom. Doesn’t it bother you that you’re sleeping in the same bed as my dad?”

  “Actually, it did, which is one reason we purchased a new bedroom set.” Max hoped that by agreeing with her, it might take away some of her animosity toward him.

  She glared back at him.

  “Annie, listen,” he said, willing to try again. “You don’t have to like me. I realize it’s hard for you and your dad to accept that your mother didn’t choose to give your father another chance, but—”

  “She would have if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Are you sure of that?” Max was unconvinced.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Dad is still crazy about Mom. He would have done anything to win her back. He would have stood on his head in the middle of the I-5 corridor if Mom would’ve given him a second chance. Even now he never dates. All he can think about is Mom and what he lost. It breaks my heart to watch my dad pine after my mother.”

  “Have you ever had this conversation with your mother?” he asked gently. “The reason I ask is because I did, before we were married. It was important to me that I not tear up this family. Do you know what she told me?”

  “No, and I don’t care what she said. It was a lie. I’m convinced to the very roots of my being that given time Dad would have been able to convince Mom that they were meant to be together.”

  Max continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Bethanne told me that it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d met me or not. A reconciliation with Grant would never have worked. She isn’t the same woman he divorced. She’s changed. She told me that after your father moved out, she was close to a nervous breakdown. She was emotionally fragile, and every day was a struggle. It wasn’t until she came up with the idea of starting the party business that she was able to face going on.”

  For the first time since they’d started talking it seemed that Annie was truly listening, and so he continued. “She made new friends.”

  “And she started knitting,” Annie added softly. “After Dad moved out it was awful for all of us. All Mom did was cry … She couldn’t even make the phone call to sign up for the knitting class. I had to do it for her.”

  “Then Maverick gave her the start-up money she needed.”

  “She told you about Maverick?”

  Max nodded. “I wish I’d known the old coot. He sounds like he was a wonderful man.”

  “He was,” Annie agreed. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  At last Max felt like he was making progress. “I was watching the baseball game. Do you want to come sit with me until your mother gets back?”

  Right away, Annie stiffened as if she’d woken from a trance. “No. I meant what I said. You and I are never going to be chummy.”

  “That’s a shame, because I was hoping that someday we could be friends.”

  “It ain’t gonna happen.”

  He shrugged. “You can dislike me all you want, Annie, but it isn’t going to change the fact that I’m married to your mother and I love her. I genuinely love her.”

  “So does my dad.”

  “Then your father needs to accept the fact that there are consequences to his actions. Your mother doesn’t hold a grudge against him. She forgave him long before I came into the picture, but that doesn’t mean she was willing to remarry him.”

  “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “I don’t care what Mom told you, she would have taken my dad back if it wasn’t fo
r you.”

  Max had heard about all he could take. “Annie, listen, I’m sorry I ruined the perfect picture of the reunited family that you’ve painted in your mind. I wish we could be friends, but you’ve made it clear you aren’t interested. I can accept that. However, for your mother’s sake, I ask that we both make an effort to be civil and get along.”

  “No, I can’t and I won’t, because one day Mom is going to wake up and realize what a horrible mistake she made marrying you.”

  Apparently, Annie held on to the fantasy that her mother would have the same kind of epiphany. The one Grant had had when he realized what a mess he’d made of his life by walking out on Bethanne and their children. Maybe Annie was right, but Max sincerely doubted it.

  “You’re not thinking of your mother, Annie,” he said. “It’s all about you, and you’re being immature.”

  The color drained out of Annie’s face. “How dare you talk to me like that.”

  Just then the door opened and Bethanne came into the kitchen, both arms loaded down with groceries. Max immediately went to help her.

  “Annie,” she said, smiling, genuinely pleased to see her daughter, “this is a surprise.”

  “I had one myself,” Annie returned without a hint of warmth. “Max is still here.”

  “Annie, please,” Bethanne pleaded, her face falling.

  “I thought we agreed to disagree,” Max inserted, looking pointedly in Annie’s direction. He didn’t want to drag Bethanne into the middle of their disagreement.

  “Not anymore.” She returned her attention to her mother. “He said some ugly things to me, Mom.”

  Frowning, Bethanne looked to Max for confirmation.

  “I told her she needed to grow up,” he admitted. It was the truth.

  “You chose him over me—”

  “I chose Max over your father,” she corrected.

  “Fine. Whatever. But I can’t accept it. Max changed the locks to keep me out of the house.”

  Bethanne didn’t so much as blink. “I can see it didn’t do much good.”

  “And you let him,” Annie cried, as if she was on the verge of tears.

  “We changed the locks to keep Grant out, not you,” Bethanne continued. “He no longer lives here, Annie, and you had no business giving him the key to my home.”