Blossom Street Bundle. Debbie Macomber
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were you?” he asked.
She couldn’t tell if he was genuinely interested or making small talk. Jacqueline found it curious that he was questioning her whereabouts; he’d done that a few times recently but she had no idea why.
“Out with the girls. For our monthly birthday lunch.”
“You might invite Tammie Lee on one of your outings sometime.”
He had to be joking. “Why would I do that?”
“Because she’s your daughter-in-law and it would be one way of welcoming her into the family.”
“I refuse to be a hypocrite. She isn’t welcome. She’s tolerated and frankly even that’s becoming difficult.” If one more person sang her daughter-in-law’s praises, Jacqueline swore she was going to scream. “Why does everyone think Tammie Lee’s so terrific? I don’t get it.”
Reese stared at her for a long moment. “Have you ever asked yourself why Paul fell in love with her?” His voice was cool and controlled, which usually indicated that he was curbing his anger.
“Of course I understand why Paul married her. He was ruled by hormones instead of common sense.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Reese shouted, slapping his palm against the kitchen counter.
Jacqueline nearly leaped out of her skin at her husband’s uncharacteristic display of temper.
“Tammie Lee is loving and caring and generous. The only person who doesn’t see it is you and only because you’re so blinded by your own agenda for our son you refuse to open your eyes.”
Jacqueline stared at him. “Are you suggesting I’m a cold, selfish bitch, Reese?” How dare he speak that way to her!
It looked as if he meant to leave without any kind of response, but apparently he changed his mind. “Perhaps you should answer that question yourself,” he said.
Then he walked out, slamming the door behind him.
19
CHAPTER
“Handknitting is a soothing and comforting means of creative expression that can result in a warm, useful and lovingly knitted garment … what a bonus.”
—Meg Swansen, Schoolhouse Press
LYDIA HOFFMAN
The three women in my knitting class sat around the table, eager for the last scheduled lesson. Before I could start, however, Jacqueline spoke up.
“I’d like to let everyone know I’ve decided against returning for the new session.” She meant our knitting “support group,” for which I charged five dollars a week.
No one made any protest, so I felt I should say something. “I’m sorry to hear that, Jacqueline.” I was, and my feelings weren’t entirely mercenary, although I knew if she stayed, Jacqueline would be inclined to purchase the higher-end yarns.
“I’m not,” Alix said without so much as a second’s hesitation.
“I didn’t expect anything different from you,” Jacqueline muttered, not hiding her scorn.
Truth be known, I was just as glad not to be stuck refereeing those two, although it did make for an amusing moment now and then. I don’t think I’ve ever seen two women who disliked each other more intensely. I’d believed that their animosity had lessened in the past few weeks, but apparently I’d read the situation completely wrong. Once again, my lack of experience when it came to relationships was showing.
Jacqueline was difficult to know—and to like. I did give her credit, though; she’d made a genuine effort to learn to knit and had nearly completed the baby blanket she was making for her first grandchild.
“I felt I should attend the last class and tell everyone what I’d decided.”
“Like we’d care,” Alix mumbled under her breath.
Standing behind Alix, I placed my hand on her shoulder as a way of asking her to keep her comments to herself. Through the last six weeks, I’d discovered that for all her crusty exterior the girl was actually quite sensitive. Even a hint of criticism was enough to make her withdraw.
“I don’t think I could stop knitting now if I wanted to,” Carol said. She was working on a sweater for her brother. The cashmere yarn was the most expensive in the shop and she’d bought it in a creamy gray.
“I’m going to continue, too,” Alix said, glaring across the table at Jacqueline as if to suggest the older woman lacked willpower. “I’m gonna get this blanket right no matter what it takes.”
I had to admire Alix’s determination. She was still rather clumsy in her handling of the yarn and needles, but she refused to give up. I suspect she undid as many rows as she knit in the first few weeks. Thankfully, she’d learned what she was doing wrong and was progressing nicely. Her biggest hindrance was lack of time.
“Are you saying I’m a quitter?” Jacqueline asked, challenging Alix.
“If the fancy shoe fits, then walk in it. It’s no biggie, right? You certainly won’t be missed by me.”
Jacqueline and Alix’s constant bickering wore on my nerves. But before I could react, Carol leaped in.
“I have news,” she said in a blatant effort to change the subject. I was grateful to her.
“Oh, good.” I didn’t bother to hide the relief in my voice.
“Monday morning Doug’s taking me in for the last IVF attempt.”
Although she presented a cheerful facade, I sensed—and I’m sure the others did, too—a deep-seated fear. I hoped everything would work this time and Carol would carry the pregnancy full-term. She’d been going in for regular appointments, although she hadn’t given us details. She’d talked briefly to the group about her fertility problems and a bit more to me privately, but not much. My heart ached for her.
To my surprise, it was Jacqueline who spoke first. “Oh, my dear, I certainly wish you success. Reese and I only had the one child and we longed for a second.”
“At this point Doug and I would be ecstatic with just one.” Her smile trembled.
“I so wished for a daughter.”
“Didn’t you mention that your son and his wife are having a girl?” I seemed to remember that from an earlier conversation with Jacqueline.
“Yes.”
Jacqueline had been suspiciously quiet about her son and Tammie Lee lately. It made me wonder if something had happened that she preferred not to discuss. With her it was hard to tell. While Carol and Alix had grown comfortable with each other, Jacqueline remained emotionally distant. I had the impression that the only women she allowed into her life were her country club friends.
Alix kept her head lowered and concentrated on her knitting. “I think only people who really want kids should have them.” She’d said something similar to this earlier, I recalled. She seemed to have strong feelings about it. I could only assume that was because of her own experience.
“I do, too,” Carol agreed. “What I don’t understand is why so many couples who love children seem to have such difficulty getting pregnant. When I think back on all the years I put off having a family, I want to weep. I thought I had lots of time, but how was I to know?” A pained look came over her.
“What about you?” Alix asked, glancing in my direction.
I was sure my face went scarlet, although why the subject of children should bother me, I don’t know. In response I shook my head.
“What?” Alix demanded. “You don’t want kids?”
“I’m not married.”
“That