Blossom Street (Books 1-10). Debbie Macomber
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miss?” a young police officer stepped up to ask her.
“No,” she said, her face streaked with tears and her eyes dull with pain. “Nothing is right.” She understood then that someone must have seen her and thought she needed help. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything the policeman or anyone else could do for her.
“Should I call someone?”
“No, thank you.”
“You’re sure?”
She stood, needing to escape. “I appreciate your concern, but you can’t help me. No one can.” If she didn’t leave now, she might end up in Emergency or even the Psych ward. Escape became key, so she started walking again. Walking and walking and walking.
It was dark when she discovered she was miles from home. Doug must be frantic by now but she couldn’t face him yet, couldn’t watch the look in his eyes when he learned there wasn’t a baby anymore.
An hour later, Carol took a taxi home.
When she walked in the door, Doug nearly flew across the room. “Where the hell were you?”
“I lost the baby.”
He didn’t seem to be listening. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?”
“Didn’t you hear me?” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “I lost the baby.”
“I know,” Doug whispered and wrapped her in his arms.
Carol was weeping again, unable to stop. The tears came from deep inside her, sobs that wrenched her soul. This was an agony that could be understood only by those who’d experienced such a loss. It felt as if her beating heart had been ripped from her chest, as if she would never again know joy or happiness or anything good. Her future stretched before her, bleak and without hope.
“I so badly wanted to have our child,” she sobbed into her husband’s arms.
Doug held her tightly in his embrace, his head against her shoulder. Then she realized he was weeping, too. They clung to each other, neither able to offer anything to the other. Empty, bereaved, in agony.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “So sorry.”
“I know … I know.”
“I love you.”
He nodded.
“I tried so hard …” She couldn’t think of anything she might have done differently, any effort she hadn’t made.
“I’ll always love you,” Doug assured her.
Exhausted, Carol showered and went to bed and with Doug’s arms around her, she fell into a deep sleep.
At three, she woke with pain heavy upon her chest and remembered there was no longer a child growing in her womb. The tears came fresh, stinging her eyes.
Slipping out of bed, she walked into the nursery and stood in the middle of the darkened room. She curled her fingers around the end of the crib and bit her lower lip hard to hold back the sobs.
It was then that she noticed the wall. She squinted, certain she was seeing things. Flicking on the light switch, she looked again. Her knees went weak and she sagged to the floor as she stared at the place where her husband’s fist had gone through the wall.
33
CHAPTER
JACQUELINE DONOVAN
Friday afternoon Jacqueline arrived at A Good Yarn, her usual five minutes after starting time. Being “fashionably late” was a habit she’d picked up long ago and seemed unable to break. To her surprise, Carol was missing. Alix was slouched down in her chair with a morose look on her face.
“Where’s Carol?” she asked Lydia, who stood at the end of the table, knitting needles in hand. Lydia carried her yarn and needles around with her, so her hands were constantly busy.
“Carol decided to stay home this afternoon,” Lydia explained. “I’m afraid she had bad news. She lost the baby.”
Jacqueline had feared as much. “I’m so sorry.”
“She’s taking a few days to regroup, but I hope she’ll be back.”
Jacqueline nodded; she felt terrible for Carol. The other woman’s desire for a child was so strong it verged on desperation. Jacqueline was worried about her and hoped Carol could, somehow, rebound from the loss. She recalled her own bitter disappointment over her inability to give birth to a second child, but at least she’d been able to have Paul. The likelihood that Carol and Doug would get a baby through adoption was slim. Jacqueline sighed. This was a sad turn of events, and there wasn’t a thing any of them could do.
“I’m afraid we might lose Carol,” Lydia said.
“Why? What do you mean?” Alix asked, anxiety in her voice.
“She didn’t say anything, but I think she might be returning to work. The only reason she quit was for the baby, and she told me a couple of weeks ago that the brokerage firm would like her to come back.”
Alix looked, if anything, even more dejected.
Jacqueline wondered what was bothering her so much. Worry about Carol was obviously part of it, but Jacqueline sensed that something else was wrong.
“How are you, Alix?” Jacqueline murmured, reaching inside her bag for her knitting. She was working on a scarf for her son. It was a lovely worsted wool, the same brown shade as a pony Paul had loved as a child. Jacqueline wondered if her son would remember Brownie and make the connection.
“Hi,” Alix murmured, keeping her head lowered.
Jacqueline looked to Lydia, who shrugged, indicating she didn’t know what was wrong, either. The shop grew quiet, the silence broken only by traffic noises from outside.
Alix glanced up, and Jacqueline saw that she was no longer working on the man’s sweater she’d taken over from Carol. In fact, she was knitting something entirely different.
“What’s your problem?” Jacqueline asked bluntly.
“That’s my business.” Alix’s eyes flared to life as if she’d welcome a verbal confrontation.
“Man trouble if I’ve ever seen it,” Jacqueline announced to Lydia, who grinned slightly and nodded in agreement.
Alix’s mouth thinned but she didn’t take the bait.
“My guess is it involves that minister you’re dating.”
“We weren’t dating…. We were just friends.”
“Past tense?” Lydia pried gently. “You aren’t seeing him anymore?”
“I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s got more than one friend, if you know what I mean.”
“You saw him with someone else,” Jacqueline guessed.
Alix’s head was so low her chin sank into her chest when she nodded.
“Someone pretty,” she mumbled. “And blond.” The girl in church.
“Naturally,” Jacqueline added. She’d always imagined that Reese’s mistress was blond, and regarded with suspicion any blonde who came near him. Not that she cared, she told herself, but Jacqueline had to admit she occasionally wondered what the woman looked like. At the same time, she didn’t want to know. In fact, she usually tried not to think about her at all.
Jacqueline’s marriage, what was left of it, had been strained since the night Reese had walked out on their dinner. She hadn’t forgiven him; more than that, she’d avoided him.
Reese hadn’t made any effort to bridge the gap, either. Apparently, finding his roses stuffed in the garbage the next morning had been message enough.
The