Back on Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber
ship in the Port of Seattle within a day of the attack. Apparently the new car my sister had chosen was one of the most desirable vehicles on the black market. The whole family had been so proud of their first brand-new car, and this only added to the burden of Margaret’s guilt.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Alix muttered.
I knew Alix distrusted the police. I should’ve said something positive to counter her cynicism, but I didn’t feel like arguing. Besides, it wasn’t getting the car back that was important to my sister. It was justice she wanted. Justice she demanded. Margaret wasn’t one to easily forgive and forget, and she was fiercely protective of her family, especially her daughters Julia and eleven-year-old Hailey.
The bell chimed a second time and in strolled Susannah and Colette. All three women had already bought the necessary needles and yarn and I’d supplied the pattern as part of the class fee. Because Colette and Susannah were new knitters, most of my time would be spent helping them.
“Susannah, Colette, this is my friend Alix,” I said. “She works at the French Café, so you’ve probably seen her around the neighborhood.”
Alix shrugged her shoulder in an unfriendly manner. Her attitude reminded me of the way she’d acted during my first knitting class, when she’d sat across from Jacqueline Donovan. I hadn’t seen this side of Alix in a long while and knew something must be troubling her. Once more I bit my tongue.
“Colette, why don’t you introduce yourself,” I said, hoping to begin the class on a more optimistic note.
“Well, I obviously know Susannah and Lydia, and I’ve seen Alix at the café. I’m Colette Blake.”
When she didn’t offer any other information, I prompted her. “Tell us about yourself,” I urged.
Colette looked at Alix. “What would you like to know?” she asked.
Again Alix answered with that halfhearted shrug. “Nothing, unless it’s some little fact you’re dying to tell me.”
I could no longer remain silent. “Alix!” I snapped, telling her I found her behavior downright rude.
She had the good grace to apologize. “I’m sorry, Colette, I’ve had a rotten day. Please, tell me about yourself.”
Colette shook her head. “Actually, I don’t have anything to say. I’d prefer it if we just started the class.”
“Hey, everyone,” Susannah inserted. “This is supposed to be a fun class. We’re knitting a prayer shawl, for heaven’s sake! Not a bulletproof vest.”
That made me smile. “Okay, Susannah, why don’t you take a turn?” I said. She, at least, seemed willing to chat.
“Well,” she began, “as everyone here knows, I bought Susannah’s Garden last September. It’s a real change from my teaching position, which I had for over twenty-four years.”
“What made you quit teaching?” Alix asked, sitting a bit straighter.
“I was in a rut,” Susannah explained. “Burned out. Without realizing it, I’d lost my enthusiasm. When I started teaching, I loved every minute of it. Back then, I almost hated to see the school year end. The last year I taught, I couldn’t wait for summer and I realized I was cheating my students—and myself.”
Alix’s question made me wonder if she wanted to have her own bakery one day, the way Susannah had opened a florist’s business. I found that an exciting idea, but wasn’t sure how Jordan would feel about it.
“Why a flower shop?” Colette asked, leaning forward.
Susannah gestured expansively. “I’ve always had a beautiful garden and my mother did, too. I guess I inherited my love for flowers from her. Actually, I would never have thought of owning a flower shop if not for my husband. Joe knows me best.” She paused and smiled. “I’ll amend that. On a good day, he can be astonishingly intuitive about me and what I need. He’s the one who checked out the For Sale sign at Fanny’s Floral and talked to the previous owner. When he suggested I buy the shop, I knew right away that it was exactly what I should do.”
“You like being your own boss?” Alix asked.
“I absolutely love it,” Susannah said fervently. “Although I have to tell you I’ve never worked harder in my life.”
Alix looked out the window at the French Café. I knew she’d once dreamed of working in such a place and her dream had become a reality, the same way mine had.
“Say, Alix, didn’t someone tell me you’re getting married in June?” Susannah asked.
Alix nodded, but not with much vigor. I feared her bad day was directly related to the wedding. I wish I knew what had set her off. But Alix isn’t one to freely share her troubles; I suppose that kind of reserve comes from having only herself to rely on all those years. She’d been living on her own from the time she was sixteen.
“Have you ordered the wedding flowers yet?” Susannah asked.
Alix squirmed again. “I’m leaving that up to Jordan’s mother.”
“Don’t you want a say in the matter?” Colette asked, glancing at Susannah and then at me.
“Not really.” Alix reached for the knitting needles and yarn as if the subject bored her.
“But flowers are an important part of the wedding,” Susannah said. “Shouldn’t they—”
“I haven’t made a single decision yet,” Alix broke in. “Why would I start now?” She turned to me. “Are we going to talk all afternoon or are we going to knit?”
“Knit.” Apparently the wedding was a subject best avoided. I picked up the needles and a skein of yarn. “There are various ways to cast on stitches,” I explained as I inserted my index finger into each end of the rolled yarn. I’ve developed my own method of finding the end and pulling it through the skein. To be honest, I’m not always successful. Fortunately, this time I looked like a genius. I pulled out the end, then had Susannah and Colette do the same.
Finding the end of the yarn was a good ice-breaker and I was sorry I hadn’t started with that. Alix clearly wasn’t in a talkative mood, and Colette didn’t seem interested in sharing a single piece of information about herself. I assumed she’d be willing to tell Alix that she was a recent widow. Or maybe she thought Alix had already heard. Then again, Colette might prefer to keep her grief about Derek’s death private.
I continued by showing Colette and Susannah how to cast on stitches by knitting them onto the needle. It’s not my favorite way of casting on; however, I find it one of the less complicated methods. It’s also an effective prelude to learning the basic knitting stitch.
Alix had completed the first inch of the pattern before Colette had finished casting on and counting her stitches.
Colette frowned as she looked across the table. “You know how to knit,” she complained. “Why are you taking the class?”
Alix glanced up and made brief eye contact with me. “Jordan—my fiancé—suggested it might help calm my nerves.”
“I’m not getting this,” Susannah groaned and set the needles and yarn aside. “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.”
“Not necessarily at the beginning,” I said.
“No kidding,” Susannah muttered.
Alix burst out laughing. “You should’ve seen me when I was learning. Jacqueline turned three shades of purple when I dropped my first stitch.”
“As I recall,” I said, grinning at the memory, “it wasn’t because you dropped a stitch but because of how you reacted—with a whole vocabulary of swearwords.”
Alix’s lips quivered with amusement. “I’ve toned down my language, so don’t worry, ladies.”