Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(52)

“What’s the matter? You don’t want to meet him?” Tim asked, obviously bewildered.

“I do, but I asked Mom what she thought he looked like and she said he probably had big warts on his face.” She giggled again. Tim slid a look toward Anne Marie. “Did she, now? What else did she have to say?”

“It was a joke,” Anne Marie rushed to add.

“That he had really big feet.” Ellen raised her leg. “Feet as big as a clown’s.”

“Personally, I doubt that’s true,” Tim said, squatting so the two of them were at eye level. “My guess is that your father’s a handsome prince who’d like nothing better than to sweep you and your mom off to a magic kingdom.”

Ellen’s dark eyes rounded with pleasure. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That would be so cool!”

“Yes, it would,” Tim agreed and, straightening, he looked at Anne Marie. “Don’t you agree?” he asked. And then he winked at her.

Chapter 18

Large or small, all types of women’s bodies are beautiful and I want to give knitters permission to express their beauty through what they make and wear.

—Joan McGowan-Michael, www.whiteliesdesigns.com and author of Knitting Lingerie Style (2007) Lydia Goetz

I’d noticed subtle changes in Casey since I’d taken her to see her brother, Lee, last Monday. A week had passed, and she’d begun spending more time with the family, instead of hiding in her bedroom with the door closed.

Without being asked, she’d set the dining-room table one night. I was pleased—and surprised—but I didn’t dare comment. She started doing her homework at the kitchen table, too. All this had taken place since seeing her brother. His encouragement, and his talk about going to college and getting a job so he could send for her, had given her hope. I prayed everything would work out for Lee and consequently for Casey. Monday night, I served my special meat loaf, from a recipe Margaret had shared with me. She hadn’t gotten it via any of the usual methods today—cookbook, magazine or the Food Channel. Instead, my sister had heard about it at her hairdresser’s. Like Margaret, I’ve discovered that some of the best recipes come by word of mouth. It had certainly proved true in this instance. Her meat loaf had become a family favorite. It was a cool and rainy afternoon and because I was home all day doing housework, I didn’t mind having the oven on, even if it was almost the middle of July.

I’d been to see my mother earlier that morning, having switched days with Margaret, and then after summer school, Casey had hung around me most of the afternoon instead of attending day camp. I thought she might want to make cookies again, but she declined. She asked if she could bake a cake instead. I agreed, and we found a recipe for an apple upside-down cake in my cherished old Joy of Cooking. It turned out really well, too. Again without being asked, she set the table for dinner and called Brad and Cody once everything was ready.

“Janice phoned me this afternoon,” Brad said as he loaded his plate with a helping of peas and mashed potatoes, followed by a thick slice of meat loaf.

Cody’s mother hadn’t contacted them since school was dismissed for the summer. I’d been figuring we’d hear from her sooner or later.

“She wants to see Cody tomorrow afternoon.” Brad turned to me and then our son.

“That’s nice,” I said in what I hoped was an encouraging voice.

“What do you think about seeing your mother, buddy?” Brad asked, ladling gravy over everything on his plate. Cody shrugged. “Do I have to spend the night?”

“Not unless you want to.”

Cody seemed torn. “She doesn’t have any computer games and she doesn’t like Chase. Can I see her and hug her and go home again?”

I hid a smile. Cody was more concerned about being away from his Xbox and his dog than spending time with his mother. And I couldn’t really blame him. Although he was only ten, he knew what Janice was like. He showed her the same level of interest she’d given him.

Casey frowned as she listened to the exchange. “I thought Lydia was your mother.”

“She is,” Cody said, smashing peas with his fork and mixing them into his potatoes. “I have two moms.”

“I married Brad when Cody was eight,” I explained to Casey.

“Why don’t you have more kids?” she asked.

I set my fork beside my plate. “As a result of the chemo and radiation used to treat my cancer, I can’t have children.”

“That’s why you applied for adoption?”

I nodded. The subject of my infertility wasn’t as painful to me as it’d once been. For years I’d been convinced that even if I found a man willing to live with the uncertainty I faced as a two-time cancer survivor, my inability to bear a child would kill any hope of marriage. And then I’d met Brad Goetz…. I counted my blessings every day. My feelings of inadequacy had diminished because of his unstinting love and support. And since we’d set our adoption plans in motion, I’d been feeling almost serene.

Casey was quiet after that, as though the conversation distressed her.

“Cody’s going to be with his mother tomorrow afternoon.

Would you like to come by the yarn store after school?” I asked her as we f inished our meal.