Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(87)

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen. I’d just gotten my driver’s license.” I kept my answers short and considered trying to change the subject. I didn’t, because Casey obviously wanted to understand.

“What was the worst part, other than feeling sick all the time?”

“The worst part?” I echoed. “I think it was missing out on all the fun in high school.” It was so much more than being unable to attend football games or dances. All my friends were dating and exploring their independence. Not me. Instead I’d been in the hospital for months on end, hooked up to IVs, in such physical and emotional pain that I didn’t have the strength to open my eyes. I’d desperately longed to be like everyone else. I was so sick of being sick.

“Did you ever go to a dance?”

I nodded. I’d gone with my girlfriends.

“Did you have a special dress?”

Unexpectedly a lump f illed my throat. “Mom made me one, and it was beautiful.”

“A date?”

I shook my head and managed a laugh. “The boys in my class tended to date girls who weren’t bald.” I’d generally worn a kerchief, since the wigs I had were so hot and uncomfortable.

“You lost your hair?” Casey asked in horror.

“Margaret has pictures. I think she took them as revenge for reading her diary.”

Casey smiled, but then her expression grew serious again. “It was hard having cancer, wasn’t it?”

I could make light of those years but decided on honesty instead. “Yes.”

She was quiet for several minutes. “The cancer came back, didn’t it?” she f inally asked. “That’s what Cody told me before.”

“When I was in my early twenties. The fact is, it might still return. Life doesn’t come with a guarantee that just because I’m a nice person the tumors won’t grow again.”

We pulled into the driveway and I turned off the engine. I climbed out of the car and waited, watching as Casey continued to sit there, apparently steeped in thought. A moment later, she joined me.

“You’re a brave person,” she said quietly.

I laughed because I certainly didn’t think of myself in those terms. Looping my arm around her neck, I brought her head close to mine and kissed her hair. “Oh, yes. That’s me, all right.”

“You had cancer twice and you…you still let me live with you this summer.”

That part, at least for this day, was pure joy.

Chapter 31

“Hutch” Hutchinson

Hutch was in love. Everyone around him recognized the signs and didn’t have any qualms about pointing it out. Not that he was trying to hide it.

A little while ago—before Phoebe—his sister had attempted to set him up with a girlfriend of hers…Mia, Myra, something like that. He’d forgotten her name just as he was sure she’d forgotten his. Meeting Phoebe had changed everything. The f irst time he’d seen her he’d felt the attraction. She was beautiful, and he wasn’t reacting merely to her appearance. Phoebe was everything he’d ever hoped to f ind in a woman—and she loved him. He could hardly believe it.

Hutch was, however, somewhat disappointed that it’d taken Phoebe so long to admit that her f iancé wasn’t dead. But although it troubled him, he could understand why she’d lied. In similar circumstances, he might have done the same thing in order to avoid embarrassment and lengthy explanations. It’d been simpler this way, and as she’d said to him, the minute her f iancé agreed to pay for sex with another woman he was dead to her. Hutch wondered about this other man who’d once been a very important part of Phoebe’s life. In the two months they’d been seeing each other Phoebe had never spoken of her engagement or offered up anything but the sketchiest details. All Hutch knew was that the man Phoebe had planned to marry had lied and cheated on her. When the truth came out—the second time—

she’d severed the relationship for good. He realized how deeply hurt she’d been by what her ex-f iancé had done.

“I have your attorney on line one,” Gail Wendell said, breaking into his thoughts.

Now that the trial date was approaching, he heard from John Custer nearly every day.

“Hutch speaking,” he said, picking up the phone. The conversation with John lasted only a few minutes. As soon as he’d f inished, he tried to put the matter out of his mind. It was on days like this that he wanted, no, needed, to talk to Phoebe. As soon as he heard her voice, his blood pressure seemed to decrease. Checking his watch, he reached for his phone again. Quarter to eleven. Phoebe was between clients. They spoke two and three times a day now, and even that wasn’t enough.

“Hi,” he said when she answered her cell.

“Hi, yourself,” she said. “Did you talk to your attorney?”

“I did.” Hutch closed his eyes. He loved hearing the sound of her voice. It f lowed over him, easing his burdens, comforting him.

“And?”

Reality returned and his eyes f lickered open. “We’re scheduled to go to court next week. There doesn’t seem to be any way around that.”

“I’m sorry.”

No sorrier than Hutch. “I was hoping, foolishly perhaps, that the other attorney would see reason. But from what I hear, Clark Snowden’s conf ident he can win—and in the process make a name for himself.”