Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(3)

Her smiled was filled with sadness. “Derek and I talked about a baby that morning. The next thing I knew, I was choosing his casket. Ironic, isn’t it?”

I didn’t know how to comfort her, so I leaned over and gave her a hug.

She seemed a little embarrassed by my show of sympathy and focused her gaze on the floor. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to start your day on a sad note. Actually, it wasn’t until I glanced at the calendar on your desk that I realized the date.”

“It’s okay, Colette. I’m just so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said, shrugging lightly. “Life is like that sometimes, you know?”

“Yes…” And I did.

Colette set the empty cup in my sink.

The back door opened, then shut with a bang. Margaret, of course, muttering about the weather. After Colette moved in, Margaret had taken to parking in the alley, apparently to keep an eye on my tenant’s comings and goings. After dumping her huge felted purse on the table, she hesitated, stiffening at the sight of Colette.

“Good morning,” I said brightly, pleased to see her despite her bad mood. “It’s a fine morning, isn’t it?” I couldn’t resist a touch of sarcasm.

“It’s raining,” she replied, eyeing Colette almost as if she were an intruder.

“Rainy weather’s good for knitting,” I reminded her. For me, there was nothing more satisfying on a rainy afternoon than working on my current knitting project with a cup of tea by my side. People looked for something productive to do when it rained and—fortunately for me—that sometimes included knitting.

Margaret removed her coat and hung it on the peg by the back door. “Julia dropped me off this morning,” she said in passing.

I caught the significance right away. “You let Julia drive the new car?” Only the day before, Margaret had said that her oldest daughter, a high-school senior, had been asking to take the car out for a spin. If I recall, Margaret’s exact words were Not in this lifetime.

Margaret’s hot-from-the-showroom vehicle was a first for the family, since she and Matt had always purchased their cars secondhand. Margaret’s previous car was well past repairing, and she was excited about buying a brand-new vehicle. They’d looked for weeks before deciding on one that was in high demand and said to get incredibly good mileage. Once the decision was made, they’d waited two months for the vehicle to arrive. Which it finally had in all its metallic-blue glory.

“I know, I know,” Margaret grumbled. “I said I wasn’t going to let her take the car, but I couldn’t help myself. She has something going on after school and somehow managed to convince me that her entire scholastic future rested on driving my car.” Her mouth twitched as she admitted how easily Julia had finessed her way past her mother’s objections.

“I don’t even have a hundred miles on that car,” Margaret said. “That’s how fast she broke down my defenses. Sad, isn’t it?”

Colette laughed. “Kids can do that.”

Margaret responded to the comment with a dismissive nod, barely acknowledging Colette.

Colette’s eyes momentarily met mine. “I’ll catch up with you later, Lydia,” she said and headed back upstairs.

Margaret’s gaze followed Colette. “You like her, don’t you?”

“She’s great.” I wished my sister would give Colette a chance. Hoping the sympathy factor might work, I added, “Today’s her dead husband’s birthday. She’d started telling me about it when you arrived.”

Margaret had the grace to look ashamed. “That’s tough,” she said, her own eyes returning to the stairs. The door had been left open and Whiskers wandered down.

“I know the rental income’s a plus, but frankly I don’t trust her,” Margaret said.

I sighed; I’d heard this far too often and it still made no sense to me.

“Why not?” I asked defensively.

“Think about it,” Margaret said. “Colette’s obviously far more capable than she’s letting on. Why is she working in a flower shop? She could get a job anywhere.”

“She just lost her husband,” I muttered.

“A year ago. Okay, that’s tragic and I’m sorry, but it doesn’t mean she has to go into hiding, does it?”

“She isn’t hiding.” I didn’t know that for sure. But I argued with Margaret because I sincerely liked Colette; my sister was overreacting and it troubled me that she went through life seeing everyone as suspect.

“Then why’s she working next door for minimum wage?” Margaret pressed. “There’s more to her than meets the eye and until we find out what it is, I don’t think it’s wise to be so chummy.”

“Everyone handles grief differently,” I went on to explain, although I didn’t have the answers Margaret wanted. It was true that Colette had made a lot of major changes in a short time. Equally true that I didn’t know much about her circumstances.

“I doubt any of this has to do with her husband, anyway,” Margaret said, still looking in the direction of the stairs. “Mark my words, Colette’s hiding something.”

My sister sometimes shocked me with the things she said. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, that’s ridiculous!”