Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(105)

I was in the hospital. Margaret, who hates hospitals, came to see me and dragged Brad in with her. In my hopelessness and despair, I’d broken up with Brad, but she simply would not believe I didn’t want to see him again. So she’d taken matters into her own hands. That was a love so clearly spelled out I couldn’t disregard it.

If I were to look for a turning point in our relationship, I’d have to say that was it. She wept with me when I learned I was cancer-free. In some ways, I think she was more relieved than I was. You see, I’d already made my decision. If the cancer had returned for the third time, I was going to refuse treatment.

It all seems rather melodramatic now. Thankfully, the decision was taken away from me and the truth of it is that I don’t really know if I would’ve followed through. To refuse treatment meant almost certain death. No matter what I said, a part of me, even during the worst of the chemo, wanted to live. And now there’s no doubt at all about the decision I’d make if cancer ambushes me again.

It was Tuesday, and I’d arrived at the shop early to pay bills and take care of some paperwork.

A lot had been happening recently. First, there was Alix and Jordan’s wedding. Alix had looked lovely, so happy. But shortly before the ceremony, Pastor Turner, Jordan’s father, announced that his mother had died that morning. He’d told us she had her family there, gathered around her, and how she was ready for death. His prayer was moving and what might have been a tragedy became a celebration as Alix and Jordan exchanged their vows and honored a woman they both loved.

Colette had mysteriously gone missing after the wedding, although I saw on the news that Christian Dempsey was back, and I suspected they were together. I caught a glimpse of her during the impromptu press conference at the airport on Monday. She was standing to the side and her eyes never left his face. I had to wonder if there was another wedding in the making.

Mom was nicely settled in at the memory care facility and had made yet another major adjustment. Every day I marveled at the transformation in her since she’d started getting the kind of individual care she needed. In barely two weeks, she’d improved noticeably, joining in the center’s activities and having meals with the other residents.

The door opened at ten and Margaret walked into the store. She slapped the morning paper on the corner of my desk, where I’d been sitting with my cup of tea and a stack of bills.

“Did you read this?” she demanded.

“Ah…” I’d glanced at the headlines but little else. “I scanned the front page. Why?”

“Look in Section B.” Margaret handed it to me. Arms crossed, she stepped back and waited.

It was all the routine local stuff—break-ins, accidents, police activities. Not wanting to admit I couldn’t find what she wanted me to read, I shrugged.

Margaret rolled her eyes, then pointed to a small article at the bottom of the page.

Two lines into the piece, I read the name Danny Chesterfield.

“He was caught,” I said.

“So it seems.” There was no disguising the glee in Margaret’s voice. “He pulled another carjacking, only this time there was a patrol car driving past. Danny Boy pushed the driver out of the way and took off. The cops chased him.”

“He decided to make a run for it?” I asked.

“And put several innocent bystanders at risk,” Margaret said. “Fortunately, no one, including the driver, was injured.”

“But he didn’t get away, did he?”

“No,” Margaret replied, hardly able to contain her delight, “and the one involved in an accident was none other than Mr. Chesterfield himself.”

My attention returned to the article. Apparently Chesterfield swerved in order to avoid a head-on collision with a second police car, lost control of the vehicle and flipped over at least twice.

“He won’t be released for lack of evidence this time,” Margaret said. “There’s no need to get someone to give him an alibi, either.”

I nodded and continued reading. “It also says he’s in the hospital.”

“Good. I hope he’s in a lot of pain.”

“Margaret!”

“Do you want me to lie?”

“No, but a little compassion wouldn’t hurt.”

“Compassion?” Margaret repeated. “I have as much compassion for him as he did for my daughter.”

I refolded the newspaper and gave it back to my sister. I’d really hoped Margaret had listened to Julia, but evidently not.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a big disappointment to you.”

“Oh, Margaret,” I said, growing tired of the discussion. “You aren’t a disappointment. I don’t have any love for Danny Chesterfield either, you know. He hurt Julia and his actions have affected our entire family. Even Mom’s sensed that something’s wrong.”

“The article said he’s in serious but stable condition.”

I’d read that, too. “He’ll live,” I muttered.

“Better yet, he’s going to jail.”

I had to agree; learning Danny Chesterfield would soon be incarcerated didn’t bother me any.

“You know what Julia said when I told her?” Margaret asked. She didn’t wait for a response. “Julia said revenge wasn’t for us to exact. Danny Chesterfield will pay for his crimes. In our justice system or a higher one…”