“I’m asking you to tell your mother what we decided,” Alix repeated, a cold chill running down her spine.
“I’m sorry, Alix, I was tired last night. I had other things on my mind.”
“I…see.
“Is it really that important?”
“Apparently not,” she returned. She realized how flippant that sounded—and didn’t care.
Jordan sighed. “Come on, Alix,” he pleaded.
She reacted with stone-cold silence.
“I assumed you could make at least one decision on your own. Do what you want. Bake the damn cake if it’s that important to you.”
Jordan was angry now and not bothering to hide it.
“I will, then.”
“I’ve got another call,” he said and without asking, put her on hold again.
She clicked off the phone. Taking a moment to allow her nerves to settle, Alix turned back to face the two women. “We’ve reached a decision,” she told them.
“That’s a relief,” Susan said.
“Cheesecake?” Jacqueline asked, her eyes wide with hope.
Alix nodded. “For one of the cakes.”
“You’re going to do what I suggested?” Like a little girl who’d been promised a special treat, Susan clapped her hands cheerfully. “We’ll have several smaller cakes, right?”
Alix nodded again.
“Each of the cakes will be a different flavor?” Susan turned to Alix for confirmation. “One a cheesecake, of course.”
“That’ll be fine.” Alix walked across the kitchen and gave Susan back her cell.
“I hope Jordan talked you out of baking it yourself.” Susan dropped the phone in her purse, watching Alix.
“He did.”
“Good.” Jacqueline looked pleased. “You’ll thank us later, Alix. Just wait and see.”
Alix’s cell phone rang and she knew without checking that it was Jordan. She turned it off.
“You made the right decision,” Susan assured her. “You’ll have enough to think about on your wedding day without worrying about the cake.”
Alix murmured agreement. Only she was seriously beginning to wonder if there’d be a wedding day.
CHAPTER 20
Colette Blake
Colette glanced at her watch. She was meeting Steve Grisham for dinner at seven-thirty; it was only ten after now. She’d arrived at the restaurant early. This Italian place was new to her and because she’d walked, Colette had given herself an extra fifteen minutes.
Actually, it’d been her idea to meet Steve here rather than have him pick her up. Susannah’s husband, Joe, had recommended the restaurant. It was romantic with small, intimate enclaves, dim lighting and flickering candles. The pungent scent of garlic drifted from the kitchen. If the food was half as good as it smelled, she’d be in epicurean heaven.
Colette wasn’t sure why she hadn’t wanted Steve to come to her apartment. He had before, several times. It just seemed more convenient to meet him here, she told herself.
The waiter brought her iced tea and she thanked him and paid for it. This was the fourth time she’d gone out with Steve. She enjoyed his company but didn’t feel any real attraction to him or any strong sense of connection beyond friendship, and a fairly casual friendship at that. He’d been Derek’s friend more than hers. She didn’t know if anything had happened between them, but the men had begun to grow apart, although the two couples had still socialized fairly often. Derek and Steve were partners for a few years and then Derek had started a new assignment. Colette had assumed the reassignment came from headquarters. She was no longer so sure of that.
She felt uneasy with Steve but couldn’t explain precisely why; to some extent, she blamed the fact that she was keeping such an important secret. If they continued to see each other, she’d have to tell him. However, she couldn’t really imagine doing that and wondered if it was such a good idea to go on seeing him. Although Steve hadn’t said anything overt, he’d made it plain that he’d like to deepen their relationship. Colette didn’t want that. Thinking about it, she decided the main reason she’d accepted his invitations was his link with Derek. Her husband was their most consistent topic of conversation. They’d exchanged memories of Derek as a rookie and laughed about the day Steve had helped them move; it’d been midwinter and the men had accidentally killed most of Colette’s houseplants, leaving them in the cold truck for hours. They’d recalled happy times, like the New Year’s Eve after Steve’s first daughter was born and the four of them had stayed up all night, delirious with exhaustion. Steve sometimes talked about the end of his marriage, too.
What she and Steve had in common besides their memories was their pain. But was this a solid basis for the kind of relationship he seemed to want?
Colette forced herself not to consider these uncomfortable thoughts for the moment. Since she had a few minutes to wait, she decided to check her mail, which she’d slipped into her purse on the way out. The first two envelopes contained bills. The following three or four pieces were junk mail and the last was a card, addressed to her. She immediately recognized the handwriting as Christian’s.
The night before, Colette had dreamed of him. She’d awakened around three that morning and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Those dreams shouldn’t have surprised her, though. Christian constantly turned up in her thoughts. She was in love with him and she worried about his future. She hadn’t told his great-aunt any of what she knew. How could she disillusion this woman who loved him so much?
It annoyed and perplexed Colette that she was always looking for him. A man would walk past Susannah’s Garden and for a split second she’d think it was Christian. Her heart would race with excitement—and then she’d recognize that she’d made a mistake.
Reading the handwritten return address on the card, she frowned. In all the years she’d worked for Christian, she couldn’t remember him ever sending a card. But then she wouldn’t, would she? He could mail out a thousand such cards and she’d never know it.
Feeling nervous, she delayed opening the envelope. Then she couldn’t stand to wait another second. Steve wouldn’t be there for five or ten minutes; she had plenty of time. Eagerly she tore open the envelope and withdrew a small card, a single sheet of heavy deckle-edged paper.
She read the short note he’d written. I wish you only happiness, Colette. But I’m not sure Steve Grisham is the man who will give it to you.
A comment like this was so unlike Christian that Colette just stared at the card. As he’d promised, Christian had stayed out of her life—until now, until this.
She still believed Christian Dempsey was a man of his word. Once she’d told him she didn’t want to see him again, he’d made no attempt to contact her. That he’d done so now meant he knew something about Steve, something he felt she needed to know. Otherwise he would never have broken his word; Colette was positive of that.
“You seem very absorbed,” Steve murmured, standing beside the table. He kissed her cheek before pulling out a chair to join her.
Colette quickly slipped the mail back inside her handbag.
“I see you got a head start on me,” Steve said and nodded toward her glass of tea, apparently believing it was the Long Island variety. He raised his hand to get the waiter’s attention and motioned that he wanted a glass for himself and another for Colette. She smiled, thinking how shocked he’d be when plain iced tea was delivered.
Their dinner was enjoyable. Steven had quickly switched to wine and he ordered port following the meal. She declined, choosing decaf coffee instead. As always, her date was charming and personable. They shared the usual reminiscences of Derek, and Steve regaled her with stories about his job and the investigation he’d just wrapped up. He seemed to know people wherever they went. Apparently, not everyone had heard about his divorce, and Colette received several curious looks. They lingered over their drinks and talked until Colette yawned and said she really did need to get home. After collecting his car from a n
earby parking garage, Steve drove her the short distance to her apartment.
“I had a lovely evening,” she told him. And it was true, although Christian’s warning was never far from her mind.
“I did, too,” Steve said, leaning close.
They kissed, his mouth moving fervently over hers until she squirmed away. When they broke apart, Steve whispered, “Are you sure you don’t want to invite me in for coffee?”
“Not tonight.”
“Soon?” he asked.
She smiled and gently kissed his cheek. “Perhaps.”
Steve released a sigh. “Colette, Derek’s been gone over a year now.”
“Yes, I know,” she said in a small voice.
“It seems longer than that.” He pressed his thumb against her chin and inclined her face toward his. “It’s time you moved on with your life,” he urged, his eyes warm. “Derek wouldn’t have wanted you to hide yourself away, working in this—” he hesitated, apparently searching for the right word “—obscure little flower shop. He’d want you to be happy.” Once more he lowered his lips to hers. “I can do that for you, Colette,” he promised in a husky voice. “I can help you remember what it means to be loved and cherished.”
“I…I—” The words clogged her throat.
“I’m not pressuring you,” Steve said, kissing the side of her neck. “Just know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
In her rush to escape, Colette reached blindly for the door handle and nearly fell out of the car.
“Thank you again for dinner,” she said. She couldn’t get inside the apartment fast enough. Without looking back, she scrabbled for her keys and let herself in. Her heart pounded as she leaned breathlessly against the closed door. A moment later, she secured the dead bolt. She stood there motionless, her hand on he forehead. What was wrong with her? It was more than Christian’s message. More than her own sense of caution. Only Colette didn’t know what.
Sunday afternoon, Colette picked up the phone, put it down and paced her tiny living room, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Then determination took hold and she picked up the phone. She called directory assistance; half a minute later, she had Jeanine Grisham’s number.
Jeanine answered on the third ring.
“Hello, Jeanine,” Colette said, hoping she sounded cheerful, when in fact her hands trembled with a combination of anxiety and fear. “This is Colette Blake.”
“Colette! Oh, my goodness, how are you?”
“I’m fine.” She hesitated and then decided to plunge into the reason for her call. “I heard about you and Steve. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too, but the girls and I are doing well.” Jeanine paused. “I heard via the grapevine that you sold the house and moved. Are you still in Seattle?”
“Yes…yes.” Colette explained the changes—some of the changes—in her own life since they’d last talked.
“It’s been ages! I meant to keep in touch after Derek’s funeral, but you know what they say about good intentions. By then, Steve and I were having major problems—and well, I was pretty consumed by all of that. How did you find me?”
“Steve told me you’d moved to Yakima to be closer to your parents.”
“For that and other reasons,” Jeanine confirmed. “So you’ve been in touch with Steve?”
“Yes… Actually, he’s why I phoned.”
“He asked you out?” Jeanine’s voice cooled considerably. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“It isn’t like that….”
“Listen,” Jeanine said without emotion. “Steve and I are no longer married. If you want to date him, you don’t need my permission.”
“That’s not why I called.”
“Okay.”
Colette looked out the window to the alley below. The conversation had grown uncomfortable, but she’d come this far and wouldn’t turn back now. “Steve…he never really explained why you got a divorce.”
“No, he probably wouldn’t,” Jeanine murmured.
“I’ve just started to date again,” Colette said. “Derek and I were married for a long time, and the whole dating scene’s changed so much.”
“You’re telling me?” Jeanine laughed lightly, the tension in her voice gone.
“Since it’s a whole new world for both of us, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I asked you a few questions.”
“Me?” Jeanine said. “Hey, I’m no expert.”
“What I mean is, can I ask you a few questions about Steve?”
“Oh, I see…” The wariness was back. “Colette, I like you. I’ve always liked you, but I don’t think I’m the right person to talk to about my ex-husband.”
“Who else would know Steve the way you do?” she asked.
Jeanine’s laugh lacked any pretense of humor. “Oh, about fifty other women.”
“What?”
“Colette, I’ll be blunt here. Steve couldn’t keep his fly zipped.”
Colette sank onto the edge of the sofa. “Steve…cheated on you?”
“It was more than that. He screwed anything in a skirt.” She snorted in disgust. “He was indiscriminate. Any woman who was available—and some who weren’t.”
Colette felt like she was going to be sick.
“You know this for a fact?” she finally managed to say.
“Oh, yes. It started even before we were married. I heard from a friend, a good friend, that she’d seen Steve with another woman about a week before our wedding.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
“Of course I did. He made up this completely credible story about this other girl being a cousin of his. When I mentioned this to my friend, she said they were obviously kissing cousins.”
“I’m so sorry.” Colette hated opening old wounds like this.
“The only one to blame is me. I was gullible enough to believe him. The man is a consummate liar. He’ll lie even when it’s more convenient to tell the truth. It’s his nature.”
“But…he’s a detective.”
“Astonishing, isn’t it?”
“But…”
“You can’t say anything I haven’t asked myself a dozen times,” Jeanine told her. “Steve can be the most devoted, wonderful man in the world—when he feels like it. The girls adore him, even now, and yet he practically ignores their existence.”
“They’re his children.” Colette found herself getting angry on Jeanine’s behalf.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” Jeanine muttered.
“But you stuck it out for so many years. Why did you divorce him now?”
Jeanine’s sigh came in a long rush. “My parents asked me the same question and I wish I knew the answer. I think Steve was more shocked than anyone. I didn’t even ask him if he was seeing someone else. He probably was, but I didn’t really care anymore and that frightened me. My emotions had become paralyzed, and that made me realize what I was doing. Over the years, Steve had become blatant in his affairs. I’d turned a blind eye for so long I literally couldn’t see anymore.”
Colette heard the pain in her friend’s voice.
“One morning I woke up,” Jeanine continued, “and I knew that if I didn’t get out of this marriage I’d lose my sanity. Steve left for work and I phoned my parents and asked if I could move in with them until I found an apartment in Yakima. They agreed.”
“You went that day?”
“That same day,” Jeanine said. “I knew with absolute certainty that I wouldn’t change my mind. It wasn’t just my pride at stake, or my children’s future. I know this might sound melodramatic…but my very soul was at risk.”
“Did Steve ask you to reconsider?”
Jeanine snickered softly. “He was convinced I’d come back and God knows he tried to talk me into it. He can be persuasive when he wants. What he didn’t understand was that he’d killed whatever love I’d felt for him. To be fair, I’d threatened to leave him any number of times.”
“Did you ever do it?”
“No, more fool me,” she said. “It took him six months to figure out I wasn’t moving back to Seattle.”
“You never let on, all the times we saw you. I would never have believed Steve was that kind of man.”
“That’s the sad part. I couldn’t believe it even when I had the evidence right in front of me.”
“I’m not going to see him again.” Colette’s mind was made up about that. Christian’s note and her own instinctive reaction to Steve were all she needed to know that Jeanine had told her the truth. Deep down she’d felt something was wrong, but she couldn’t identify it. Because she hadn’t trusted her instincts, it was Christian’s note that had prompted her to contact Steve’s ex-wife. How Christian had learned this about Steve, she had no idea.
“You’re smart,” Jeanine said. “I don’t think many women ever talk to the ex-wife before getting involved with a guy.”
Colette didn’t enlighten her, but she wasn’t nearly as smart as Jeanine thought. Without Christian Dempsey, she probably would’ve let her relationship with Steve drift on, a relationship that could only have brought her heartbreak.
CHAPTER 21
“No matter how much skill, passion and creativity one brings to knitting, you can’t make something better than the quality of the yarn you use.”
—Rebecca Deeprose, www.arizonaknittingandneedlepoint.com
Lydia Goetz
Margaret and I talked it over yet again, and decided not to tell our mother about the carjacking. Her physical and emotional health was fragile and growing more so all the time. It would’ve been too much for her.
The problem neither of us foresaw was her intuitive awareness of her children. Neither of us said a word, but somehow Mom sensed that something was wrong. She asked repeatedly if everything was all right. Again and again I assured her it was.
“Lydia,” she said the minute I stepped into her room. “Where’s Margaret?”