Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(35)

Chapter 12

Alix Turner

During her fifteen-minute morning break Alix lit up a cigarette in the alley behind the café. Closing her eyes, she took her f irst drag. She held the smoke in her lungs an extralong moment, savoring the instant sense of relief before exhaling. When she opened her eyes again, she could imagine—all too clearly—her husband’s pained look of disappointment. Good boy that he was, Jordan Turner had never smoked. He couldn’t begin to understand how diff icult it was to quit. What he understood even less was why Alix had started again after four years of not smoking.

She wanted to quit. Except that she couldn’t seem to do it, although they both agreed that she needed to be one hundred percent free of nicotine before she got pregnant. A baby.

Tension skittered down her spine. Alix hoped to get pregnant soon and Jordan wanted that, too. They’d moved into his grandma Turner’s house on Star Lake and it was ideal, certainly for her, but perhaps even more for him. So many of his childhood memories were associated with the lake house. Only last night Jordan had said it was the perfect place to start their family. Which, of course, she’d been saying all along…. It’d be nice, Alix mused, really nice—until her gaze fell on the cigarette. In a f it of frustration and anger she tossed it on the asphalt and crushed it with the toe of her work shoe. And then she immediately regretted wasting most of a cigarette. Besides being a nasty habit that made her hair smell and stained her f ingers, it was an expensive one. At least she was down to a maximum of five cigarettes a day—less than two packs a week. The daily total varied, depending on the sort of day she’d had, but she never exceeded f ive. That was her limit, and she was proud of her discipline, proud she’d whittled the number down from twice that many just a few months ago. She knew it wasn’t sufficient. But still…

Jordan had been kind enough not to say anything about the cost, but it had to be on his mind. It bothered Alix, too. But she recognized that her inability to give up cigarettes was about more than the addiction. As much as she wanted Jordan’s baby, she was afraid. She didn’t think of herself as a fearful person. A few years back she’d stood up to an armed drug dealer without even f linching. But back then she didn’t much care if she lived or died. The truth was, becoming a mother terrif ied her. She’d tried to describe her fears to Jordan. He was better at listening these days, but after only a few words she realized her feelings on this subject were simply beyond his experience.

His family had nothing, absolutely nothing, in common with hers.

Jordan’s father was a pastor; Jordan was following in his footsteps and would one day have his own church.

Jordan’s parents were good people—loving, compassionate, down to earth. His mom was the Brady Bunch kind of mother who baked cookies and still owned an ironing board. Parents like hers didn’t fall within Jordan’s frame of reference. He couldn’t possibly comprehend what it was to hide in a closet to drown out the noise of her parents’ drunken brawls. He knew things like that happened because he’d worked with troubled teens in the past. But he knew it in a theoretical, indirect way. It wasn’t part of him, a memory always hovering, always there. Okay, so motherhood was scary. Alix admitted it and suspected the cigarettes were an avoidance technique. If she smoked, she could put off dealing with her doubts. She could defer f inding out whether she was capable of being a mother. After all, crying babies upset her. She thought messy diapers were disgusting. As for breast-feeding an infant, which Jordan seemed to think came naturally to women, the idea f illed her with trepidation. Other women might have strong maternal instincts, but not Alix. And after her mother’s example, who could blame her?

“Alix.”

Becky Major, the middle-aged prep cook, stuck her head out the door.

“Winter’s looking for you.” Winter Adams was the woman who owned the French Café.

“Hey, I’ve got another ten minutes.” Alix intended to take her full allotment of time. After a week of dismal rain, the sun was shining and she wanted to enjoy it as long as she could.

“Lydia’s here, too. She’d like to talk to you.”

Alix didn’t hesitate. She’d return to her motherhood worries later. A visit with Lydia was always a treat. On her way through the kitchen Alix poured herself a cup of coffee. If she couldn’t have nicotine, she’d settle for caffeine.

Lydia was waiting for her at the counter with a cup of her own.

“Have you got a few minutes?”

Alix noticed her friend’s anxious look. “Of course. What do you need? Shall we go outside?” she asked, and Lydia nodded. They’d have more privacy there.

The sidewalk tables were set up with the umbrellas open and Alix chose a shady one close to the café. Lydia sat across from her.

“I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your morning.”

“Not at all,” Alix assured her. Actually, she was grateful for a reprieve from her scattered thoughts.

“It’s about Casey.”

“Who?” As soon as Alix asked the question, she remembered.

“Oh, yeah. The foster kid.”

“Right.” Lydia held her coffee mug with both hands, resting them on the table.

“Wasn’t Casey only supposed to be with you for a week?” She knew that because of a comment Margaret had made during last week’s class.