Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(12)

Margaret looked at Lydia. “I don’t suppose she happened to see the sign in the window.”

Lydia’s face f looded with irritation. “Margaret!”

“Well, Alix is smoking, isn’t she? All the evidence says it’s not good for a pregnant woman to smoke.”

“I know that,” Alix said, more defensively than she’d intended.

“You can talk directly to me, Margaret. I’m standing right here. Besides, I’m not pregnant yet—and I only smoke f ive cigarettes a day.”

“That’s f ive too many,” Margaret said emphatically. Margaret made overcoming an addiction sound simple.

“Quitting isn’t easy,” Alix said. “It’s not just a matter of willpower, you know.”

“I’ve never smoked,” Lydia returned in that calming way of hers. “But I’ve heard that cigarettes are as addictive as heroin. We’d love to have you in the class, Alix, if you’d care to join.”

The thought tempted her; still, she hesitated. “When is it?”

Lydia told her.

Alix decided to consider it. “What’s the project?”

Lydia’s classes were always interesting, not only the projects but the people who signed up. It was through that f irst knitting class that she’d met Jacqueline, who’d become both mentor and friend.

“I was thinking of having everyone work on a sampler scarf with a variety of patterns,” Lydia explained. “From what I can assess so far, everyone’s at a different skill level. The scarf shouldn’t be too difficult for a beginner but it’ll offer a bit of a challenge for more experienced knitters, too. I think it’s going to be a lot of fun.”

A sampler scarf appealed to her. “How many people have signed up?”

“Just two so far, so there’s plenty of room.”

“What’s everyone quitting? Anyone else giving up smoking?”

Lydia shrugged. “Not that they said. And guess what? A man joined the class. His personal assistant found my ad in the phone directory.”

“A man?” That was intriguing. Apparently plenty of men were knitters, although they didn’t usually take classes. But then what did she know? She’d never actually met any and they had to learn somehow. So, why not a class?

“According to his assistant, he doesn’t currently knit.”

“What’s he quitting?”

Lydia looked uncertain. “She didn’t say, and I didn’t speak to him personally.”

“The lady who stopped in on Wednesday seemed almost distraught,” Margaret inserted. “She said something about a man, so I assume she’s either just out of a relationship or trying to end one.”

The group would certainly be varied, which made for a stimulating mix of ideas and personalities. “You know, it might not be a bad idea for me to do this. I’m going to need a scarf for this winter and I can work on the baby blanket when I’m f inished.”

Lydia smiled. “It would be wonderful to have you in one of my classes again.”

“It sure can’t hurt, especially if you’re sincere about giving up smoking,” Margaret put in.

Rather than take offense at Margaret’s attitude, Alix let her remark pass. Lydia’s sister didn’t have the ease with people or the engaging manner Lydia did, but she was a kindhearted person. A little critical, true—not that she was wrong in this instance. No matter what it took, Alix was quitting cigarettes once and for all. Alix lingered a while longer and purchased what she’d need for the class, then headed home to their cramped apartment. It was near the church, on a street off Blossom. They’d have to make other living arrangements before the baby arrived, since the apartment was barely big enough for two. She made a Cobb salad for dinner, with grilled chicken strips, blue cheese, hard-boiled eggs and sliced pickled beets, one of her favorite vegetables. Jordan liked turkey bacon on his, but she’d added that to the grocery list because they were out of it. Just as she was putting the f inishing touches on their dinner, Jordan walked in.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said, kissing her cheek. “How’d your day go?”

“Good.”

“Mine, too,” he told her. He sat down at their dining table.

“Have you got a moment to chat?” he asked.

A formal request like that wasn’t typical, so this must be important. “Of course,” she said. Jordan studied her as Alix left what she referred to as her alcove kitchen and sat down at the small table with the two chairs.

“Something wrong?” she inquired, feeling slightly nervous.

“Not really… It’s just that I got a call from my dad this afternoon. I must’ve spent an hour on the phone with him.”

Jordan and his father kept in close contact and spoke often, so the call in itself wasn’t unusual. “And?” she prodded.

“The family’s been trying to sell Grandma Turner’s house on the lake.”

That wasn’t new. After the funeral, the house had gone up for sale. The housing market was weak, and even lakefront properties weren’t selling. Grandma’s house was older, too. Alix felt the family was making a big mistake; she feared that in years to come they’d regret ever letting go of that wonderful home where Grandma Turner had spent her entire married life. Alix loved the old house with its expansive front yard and wide f lower beds. Grandma Turner had worked in her yard until the day before she died. She and Alix had developed a special friendship. Much of their time together was spent gardening, and the smell, the feel, of sun-warmed earth was something Alix would always associate with Sarah Turner. The older woman was everything she hoped to be one day: generous, gracious, accepting and loving. Not only had Jordan’s grandmother welcomed her into their family, but when Alix had been uncertain about going through with the wedding, Sarah had taken her in and sheltered her.