Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(62)

“Church in the morning,” Brad reminded the two children.

“Do we have to go?” Cody whined.

There were no Sunday School classes during the summer months, which meant Cody had to sit with Brad and me. It was his least favorite thing to do, but his father and I felt it was important. Casey had accompanied us each week, without comment.

“We’re all going,” Brad informed Cody.

“You’ll be glad you did,” I told him.

“No, I won’t,” Cody said, pouting.

I had to laugh. He was such a typical kid.

“Come on, Chase,” he muttered, starting down the hall toward his bedroom. He paused halfway, then started back. I thought he might want to argue some more about church. Instead he hugged his father, then walked over to me and threw both arms around my waist.

“I had fun today.”

“So did I,” I said and hugged him back.

As Cody returned to his bedroom, I saw the look of pain in Casey’s eyes.

“Hey, Casey,” I said. “How about a hug from you, too?”

She seemed unsure.

But I didn’t wait for her to come to me; I walked over and gave her a f irm hug. “I’m glad you were with us today.”

For a moment I thought she might let her arms dangle at her sides, but then she hugged me. “I had a good time, too.”

“I’m glad.”

“In fact,” she whispered, “it was probably the very best day of my whole life.”

Chapter 22

Phoebe Rylander

The weekend in Westport with Hutch was incredible and wonderful and exciting. Those were only a few of the words Phoebe could think of to describe their time together. The condo overlooked the Pacif ic Ocean on one side and Gray’s Harbor on the other. The community was f illed with quaint shops, delectable seafood restaurants and antique stores and seemed completely unspoiled.

Holding hands, they’d walked barefoot along the beach and on Saturday afternoon, Hutch assembled huge, complicated kites for them to f ly. Phoebe stood on the shore and laughed hysterically at Hutch’s attempts to keep their strings from tangling. Later on Saturday, after a dinner of Phoebe’s seafood linguine, they sat on the beach in front of a campf ire that crackled and shot sparks in the air. Hutch slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. They didn’t talk; conversation seemed unnecessary. Instead, they’d looked into the mesmerizing f lames as the driftwood burned and simply enjoyed being together.

Sunday morning, Phoebe insisted on making a cheese omelet, which Hutch praised as lavishly as he had her pasta the night before. They both grew subdued that afternoon, preparing to return to their respective lives. Phoebe regretted having to leave this idyllic place.

Hutch had kissed her several times, and Phoebe loved being in his arms. He didn’t pressure her to sleep with him, which was a pleasant change from other men she’d dated—Clark in particular.

It was while she sat staring into the f ire that she’d realized the biggest difference between the two men and the reason she’d always found an excuse to delay her wedding to Clark. Hutch was sincere, genuine, kind, while Clark had shown little evidence of those qualities. Clark’s entire world revolved around him—his career, his ambition, his needs. The more time she spent away from him, the more Phoebe saw how blind she’d been. His inf idelity had been a blessing wrapped in pain and betrayal. How grateful she was now that she hadn’t married him. As she sat by the f ire on the beach, thinking about Clark, Phoebe’s eyes had welled with tears. She could only feel thankful that she’d recognized the truth before it was too late. Hutch seemed to believe that her emotions were connected to the death of her f iancé. Phoebe wanted to tell him the truth and knew she needed to do it soon. She regretted the lie. When she’d f irst introduced herself to the class, it had just seemed easier than launching into a complicated explanation. This was the weekend she’d planned to tell him about Clark, but she’d been afraid. She hadn’t wanted to ruin their time together, so she’d put it off yet again.

Hutch dropped Phoebe at her apartment around eight on Sunday evening. After giving Princess a few minutes’ attention and refreshing her food and water, Phoebe checked her phone. The message light was blinking wildly. Caller ID informed her that the majority of calls had come from Clark. Without listening to any of his attempts to contact her, Phoebe deleted each message until she got to her mother’s.

“Phoebe, where are you? Why aren’t you answering the phone?” Her mother’s voice rang with urgency. “Clark’s father suffered a massive heart attack. He’s in the hospital. No one knows what’s going to happen. Please call Clark as soon as you get this. I just pray it isn’t too late.”

Phoebe gasped. She’d always been fond of Clark’s father, and the thought of losing Max shook her badly. Without thinking she grabbed the phone and dialed Clark’s cell.

“Phoebe!” he said. “Thank God you called.”

“How’s your father?”

“He had emergency bypass surgery on Saturday morning. Where were you? No one seemed to have any idea.”

“That isn’t important,” she told him. Phoebe didn’t owe him any explanations and she certainly wasn’t about to tell him she’d been in Westport with Hutch.