Doug came slowly into the room. “Are you okay?”
She wasn’t yet, but in time she’d adjust. “I cancelled the appointment with the adoption agency.”
He thrust his hands in his pockets. “You can deal with that?”
She nodded. She had to accept that there would be no baby.
Doug sat down across from her and leaned forward, bracing his arms against his knees. His shoulders drooped.
“Where did you go?” she asked.
“A walk.”
“For three hours?”
He nodded.
“Do you want anything to eat?”
He shook his head.
“I phoned Bon-Macy’s. They’re coming to collect the baby furniture next week.”
He stared down at the carpet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I am, too.” Sorrier than he’d ever know.
Doug extended his arm to her. “We’ll be all right, just the two of us.”
“Yes,” she whispered as her fingers clasped his. It was true. It would be true.
It had to be true.
CHAPTER 44
“Knitting is a haven, a safe place where one can touch history, dance with art and create a peaceful life.”
—Nancy Bush, author of Folk Socks
LYDIA HOFFMAN
At first I was angry when I didn’t hear from Brad. After all his affirmations about being there for the long haul, he’d walked out on me like every other man in my life, with the exception of my father. A thousand times over, I wished I’d read his letter. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer—I had to know.
I turned to my sister for advice; I’d come to rely on her more and more, especially in emotional matters. So on Monday, I called her.
“Where are you?” Margaret demanded immediately after I’d said hello.
“At the shop.”
“It’s Monday. I thought you took Mondays off.”
“I do, but there are always a million things to do here and well, it’s where I’m most comfortable.” I did all my best thinking with walls of yarn around me. I’d always looked upon skeins of yarn as unfulfilled promises—the way some people, writers or artists, look at a blank page. The potential is there, and it’s up to us to make something with that yarn or write something on that page. It’s the sense of possibility I find so exciting.
Actually, I gave a lot of thought to that analogy. My relationship with Brad held promise and because of my fears I’d let him go. I didn’t do anything with all those possibilities.
“You’re calling about Brad, aren’t you?”
Sometimes Margaret seems like a mind-reader. “If you must know…yes. Have you heard from him?”
“Me? What makes you think he’d contact me?”
“Wishful thinking, I suppose.” Even over the telephone line, I could tell my sister was amused by my question.
“Are you going to call him?”
The idea had been swirling around inside my head all week. “I might.”
“Then why are you calling me?” The gruffness I’d experienced so often with her was back in full force.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe because I was hoping you’d tell me I was doing the right thing and that I wouldn’t make a complete idiot of myself in the process.”
Margaret hesitated for only a moment. “If I were you, I’d go for it.”
“You would?” Hope sprang to life.
“Call me back once you do, okay?”
“Okay.” I had to pause to be sure the warmth in her voice was directed at me. “Margaret.” I swallowed, finding it difficult to continue.
“What?”
“I wanted to thank you for being so wonderful these last few months.”
My gratitude must have taken her aback, because she didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Time seemed to be suspended and then I thought I heard a soft sigh.
“It’s very nice to have a sister, you know,” she whispered.
I couldn’t have agreed with her more.
Once I’d determined that the only thing to do was call Brad, I was on a mission. I’d rehearsed several approaches before I dialed his home number later that evening.
His son answered on the second ring. “Hello, Cody,” I said.
“Hi.” He sounded unsure as if he didn’t recognize my voice.
“I’m Lydia. Remember? We met a little while ago.”
“I remember! You’re the lady who owns the yarn store. You said you were going to knit me a cool sweater with a green-and-yellow dinosaur on it.”
I smiled to myself. “I’ve already started it.” I’d put the project aside when I went into the hospital, but with concentrated effort, I could have it finished by the end of the week. “Is your dad home?”
“Just a minute. I’ll get him for you.”
My heart died a hundred deaths in the time it took Brad to pick up the receiver. It must’ve been less than a minute but it seemed closer to an hour before I heard his familiar voice.
“Hello.”
“Hi.” My mouth was so dry, my tongue refused to cooperate. “It’s Lydia.” His silence was nearly my undoing, but I forged ahead, simultaneously blessing and cursing Margaret for encouraging this.
“What can I do for you?” he finally asked.
“Could we meet and talk?” I asked.
“When?”
“Whenever it’s convenient for you.” I wanted to shout the sooner, the better, but it depended on his schedule and not mine.
“All right. I’ll let you know when I can arrange it.”
I waited for him to say something else and when he didn’t, I had no choice but to end the conversation. “I’ll wait to hear from you, then.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” The line went dead and I was left standing with the receiver in my hand and the dial tone in my ear.
This was much worse than I’d imagined. I’d secretly hoped that once Brad heard the sound of my voice, he’d be so pleased that whatever pain I’d caused him would evaporate. How foolish I’d been not to consider his feelings.
Over the years Margaret’s complaint about me had been that I was self-absorbed. I know she resented the fact that Mom and Dad focused their attention on helping me through my ordeals. I’d always believed that her accusations were unfair, based on her own jealousies and insecurities, but now I began to see things differently.
How cheated she must have felt. Cheated and abandoned. For the first time, I wondered if she could be right about me. I couldn’t have done anything about my cancer, but I could’ve changed my reaction to it. I had the victim mentality down to an art form.
I remained standing in my kitchen, toying with the idea of calling Margaret again, when the phone rang, startling me. I grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”
“I can meet you in half an hour at The Pour House.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes,” he said as if that should be obvious.
“All right.” The phone clicked as he hung up.
Within five minutes I’d brushed my hair and dabbed my wrists with a lovely French perfume my dad had given me years ago—the one I saved for my most special occasions. On my way out the door, I grabbed a light sweater.
I’d found a corner booth and paid for a pitcher of beer by the time Brad walked into the pub. He glanced around, saw me and then headed toward the booth. He slid in across from me.
Hard as I tried, I couldn’t stop watching him. All of a sudden, my eyes started to fill with tears. I would die of mortification if he noticed. I did everything but dive head-first into my mug of beer in an effort to hide this ridiculous crying jag.
Of course he noticed.
“Lydia, are you crying?”
I nodded and dug frantically in my purse for a tissue. “I am so sorry,” I sobbed, hiccuping in an effort to hold back the tears.
“For crying?”
I nodded, letting my head bob a time or two more than necessary. “
For everything. I treated you terribly.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I was so afraid and—”
“You didn’t read my letter.”
“I know.” I paused long enough to blow my nose. “I couldn’t, because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep you out of my life. I had to let you go, for your protection and for mine.”
Brad lifted the pitcher and refilled my mug. “I prefer to make my own decisions.”
“I know, but…” All my excuses sounded hollow and insincere now. “Margaret thinks I’m self-absorbed and she’s right. I’m so sorry, Brad, for…everything.”
“That’s what you wanted to tell me? Why you called and asked me to meet you?”
I nodded again. It was what I’d wanted to say, but there were other things, too. My throat seemed to close up, and the silence that fell between us felt utterly unmanageable.
“There’s more.”
Brad looked up from his beer expectantly. He wasn’t making this easy, but then I didn’t deserve that.
“Ever since I met you, since we started seeing each other, I’ve been…happy.”
He shrugged. “You could’ve fooled me.”
“I know… You see, I’ve realized I have a hard time handling life when everything’s going smoothly. I’m not used to being happy and I don’t know how to deal with it. So I do something stupid to mess it up.”
“You figured this out on your own?”
I shook my head. “Margaret helped.” None too gently, either, but he didn’t need to know that. My relationship with my sister was still complicated, but now I knew she cared about me.
“Ah yes, Margaret. Little Ms. Matchmaker.”
“She’s all right.” It surprised me how defensive I felt toward her.
“Yes, she is—and so are you.”
I smiled through my tears. “Thank you.”
He took a deep swallow of beer. “Okay, now that the apology’s out of the way, where does that leave us?”
I didn’t know what to tell him. “Where would you like our relationship to go?” My heart was hammering so loudly, it was nearly impossible to hear my own thoughts.
“In the same direction it was headed until your most recent tests.” His look grew intense as he reached across the table for my hand. “What about you, Lydia? What do you want?”
“I want the entire month wiped from my memory and I want us to go back to the way things were before and…and I want us to be close again.” Then, because he should know, I added, “But it’s important that you understand there are no guarantees.”
“Your sister told me everything.”
“Everything?” Then he knew. “And you still want…”
“I want you more than ever, Lydia, but I don’t want you shoving me out of your life because you think I can’t deal with your illness. Let me make that decision for myself.”
It was hard to give him that control, but I knew he was right. He was asking more of me than he realized.
“I can’t make you any promises,” he continued, “but I can tell you that I care for you a great deal.”
“I care for you, too.”
“That’s a starting point, and where it leads neither of us can know.” He smiled at me with those devilish blue eyes and I understood that Brad Goetz wasn’t going to turn tail and run at the first sign of trouble. He was a man I could trust. A man I could lean on. A man who was my father’s equal in every way.
CHAPTER 45
JACQUELINE DONOVAN
Jacqueline knew she should give her son and daughter-in-law time alone with Amelia, but she couldn’t make herself stay away. The baby had filled a deep emotional void in her, one she’d ignored for years. But the love that blossomed in her heart refused to be ignored. Whenever she held Amelia, the ties that bound her to her granddaughter seemed to grow stronger, more constant and enduring.
Amelia was in her arms now as Jacqueline gently rocked her to sleep. She breathed in the baby’s pure scent, and in a rush of nostalgia remembered holding Paul just this way.
“You look so peaceful,” Tammie Lee said, coming into the nursery with a new package of disposable diapers. She set them on the dresser and turned to watch Jacqueline with Amelia.
Jacqueline glanced up. “Peaceful is how I feel.” She supposed she should apologize for dominating so much of Tammie Lee’s time. She’d been over to the house every day since Amelia had come home from the hospital, and some days she visited twice.
“I don’t mean to make a pest of myself,” Jacqueline murmured, a bit embarrassed at her own behavior.
“Nonsense.” Tammie Lee dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “I don’t think it’s possible to give a baby too much love.” She walked to the dresser and pulled out a new infant’s outfit. “Too many clothes, though—that’s something else. I’m not sure she’ll ever be able to wear everything you bought her.”
Jacqueline tried to hide her amusement. “I did go a little crazy.”
“Paul says he’s never seen you like this.”
“I had no idea I was going to love her so much.” Jacqueline cringed whenever she thought about her long-held resentment of Tammie Lee, and her anger when she’d first learned about the pregnancy. To her horror, she remembered calling Tammie Lee a “breeder,” certain she was manipulating Paul. Instead, Jacqueline had finally discovered what everyone else had seen about Tammie Lee from the beginning—she was a genuine and compassionate woman.
“You can love her for my mama,” Tammie Lee whispered. “I so wish she was well enough to travel.”
The idea of sharing Amelia with another grandmother made her feel shockingly possessive, but Jacqueline couldn’t begrudge Tammie Lee’s mother her precious granddaughter.
“Mama already has five granddaughters, though. And three grandsons.”
“A bounty of riches.”
“That’s what my mama says, too. She says she’s the luckiest woman in the world to be blessed with such beautiful, talented grandchildren.”
“Amelia’s the most incredible baby in the universe,” Jacqueline insisted. Tammie Lee chuckled, and Jacqueline didn’t bother to explain that she wasn’t joking. This was one special baby to have four sensible adults completely wrapped around her little finger. Denying this child anything was incomprehensible.
Tammie Lee sat on the end of the bed. “Between you and Paul, I swear Amelia’s in someone’s arms twenty hours a day.”
Jacqueline smiled as the infant slept contentedly. Her tiny mouth moved in a small sucking motion in her sleep.
“Even Reese wants to hold her.”
“Reese has been over?”
“Almost every day, and he always brings her a gift. It’s so sweet the way you two spoil her. Amelia’s just a week old.”
Jacqueline pinched her lips together at this news about her husband’s visits. She hadn’t known that Reese was regularly dropping by, but then she knew very little about his comings and goings. Resolving not to dwell on it, she glanced at her watch. Five-thirty. Paul would be back from work soon and it was time for her to leave.
“I should be heading home,” she said reluctantly. The house had never felt emptier than it had in the last few weeks, nor had she experienced such bitter loneliness. Ever since the night Reese had left her so abruptly, claiming a work emergency when she’d known what he was really doing… She refused to imagine Reese with that other woman.
“Is Reese like his son? Does he like to have dinner precisely an hour after he gets home?”
Tammie Lee asked the question in a joking manner, and that was the way Jacqueline should have responded, but at the moment, her granddaughter in her arms, pretense was beyond her. She’d been living a lie for so long, anyone might think it would be second nature. But she discovered, to her dismay, that she couldn’t do it. It was as if holding this innocent child made anything other than the truth seem wrong.
“Reese doesn’t come home on Tuesday nights,” she said starkly.
r /> “Oh, I didn’t know. Does he bowl?”
The question brought a brief smile. Only Tammie Lee would assume that Reese was part of a bowling team. Jacqueline shook her head.
“Mom?”
For a long time Jacqueline had disliked the easy way Tammie Lee had slipped into the habit of calling her “Mom.” Now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“He…has another commitment,” she said.
Tammie Lee didn’t say anything for at least a minute. Then she did something completely unexpected. She sank down on the carpet next to the rocking chair and put her hand on Jacqueline’s knee. The gesture was simple and comforting, and it touched her deeply.
“Did I ever tell you about my uncle Bubba and my aunt Frieda?” She didn’t wait for Jacqueline to answer. “It seems that Bubba—well, actually, that’s not his name, it’s really Othello, but everybody calls him Bubba. It’s a southern thing. Anyway, he took a fancy to the waitress over at the Eat, Gas & Go off Pecan Avenue. Started hanging out there at all hours of the day.”
Six months ago, Jacqueline would have stopped her, but after hearing Tammie Lee’s stories, she’d grown accustomed to the folksy wisdom her daughter-in-law freely dispensed.
“Anyway, Aunt Frieda got wind of what was happening, and she put up the biggest fuss you can imagine.”
“Did she go after the waitress?”
“Aunt Frieda? No way. She tackled my uncle Bubba. She told him she was all the woman he could handle, and if he didn’t believe her, then she’d just have to prove it to him. She told my mama she’d married Bubba and by golly, she wasn’t going to let any waitress lure him away. Next thing I knew, Uncle Bubba was walkin’ around town with a grin as big as a sink hole. Far as I know, he never went near that Eat, Gas & Go again.”
Jacqueline was amused by the story but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that making a fuss over Reese would change anything. “More power to your aunt Frieda,” she said.
“No, Mom,” Tammie Lee said, staring up at her intently. “The power is yours, too. And you can use it as you wish.”