Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(98)

—Katherine Misegades, designer. www.atimetoknit.com Lydia Goetz

Casey was so quiet lately and standoffish, too. I’d tried to reach her, but the harder I tried the more she withdrew. This frustrated me to no end.

I had Saturday free, my f irst since the day we’d rented bikes at Green Lake. After looking through the newspaper ads, I decided to do some school shopping for Cody and for Casey, too. I assumed…I hoped Casey might enjoy going shopping with me. Brad, Cody and I had already had breakfast by the time Casey emerged from her bedroom.

“Morning, beautiful,” Brad said, smiling. He sat at the kitchen table, lingering over his coffee before he headed out to mow the lawn. During the summer he’d started calling Casey beauti-ful and princess.

At f irst Casey had scowled and claimed she wasn’t beautiful nor was she anyone’s princess. Brad ignored those comments and continued—until she either accepted his affection or got tired of arguing with him.

“Morning,” came her less-than-friendly reply.

“I’m glad you’re up,” I said, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice. “How about a trip to the mall? Just you and me.”

Casey opened the cupboard and took out a box of cereal.

“What for?”

Her wariness surprised me. I’d f igured this would be one invitation she’d jump at. What twelve-year-old girl didn’t want to visit the mall?

“Do you need a reason to shop?” I asked.

She shrugged, but I could see that, despite herself, her interest was piqued.

“I need to get Cody some jeans for school and a new winter coat. He hates shopping.”

“So do I,” Brad inserted.

“Like father, like son,” I said blithely.

As Casey shook cereal into her bowl and poured milk over top, she offered me a quick smile.

“You can help me pick out the things he needs,” I coaxed.

“Wanna come?”

“I guess.” This was said as if she was doing me a tremendous favor by keeping me company.

“While we’re out we should get a few things for you, too.” I waited in vain for a reaction, although I’d felt conf ident she’d be excited at the prospect.

As though the very idea bored her, she said, “I usually get my clothes from Goodwill.”

“Then it’ll be fun to have something new,” I countered. She shrugged again. “Can we see Grandma Hoffman today?”

I smiled, touched by the affection she felt for my mother. Their unlikely friendship was a gift for both of them. And for me. Casey had visited only that one time and I’d been hoping to arrange a second trip. “Sure,” I said. “We’ll do that.”

“Okay.” She ate her breakfast, disappeared for ten minutes, then returned dressed and ready to go.

“I still need to put on my makeup,” I told her. It takes me longer to reach the beautiful stage, although I didn’t point that out. “By the way, Margaret and her family will be over later this evening, so we’ll pick up dessert on the way home.”

“Are they coming for dinner?” Brad asked.

“No, Julia’s got a softball game but they’re stopping by for dessert afterward.”

“What kind of dessert?” Cody asked, coming into the kitchen to get Chase a dog biscuit.

“I ordered an ice cream cake.”

He grinned, nodding in approval. “Good idea, Mom.”

I thought so, too. I always felt a bit guilty buying a cake when it was so easy to bake one, but ice cream was the perfect summertime dessert. Casey sat in the living room waiting for me. She held a small paper bag and although I was curious, I didn’t ask what it contained. Nor did she tell me.

“Can we see Grandma Hoffman f irst?” she asked when I’d backed the car out of the garage and onto the street.

“That’s f ine.” The assisted living complex wasn’t far from the mall.

We parked, and Casey was out of the car before I could even unfasten my seat belt. I hurried to catch up with her. Casey’s eagerness was quite a contrast to Cody’s discomfort. He’d been to visit my mother any number of times, but he quickly grew bored. After ten or f ifteen minutes he was ready to leave. I hadn’t phoned ahead and hoped we wouldn’t be interrupting anything. I found Mom sitting in front of the television, watching the Food Channel as usual. She had a pen and pad in hand and seemed to be trying to write down the instructions. I hadn’t seen her do that in some time. Over the past few years, she’d f illed several spiral-bound notebooks with carefully detailed recipes, but she hadn’t done it recently. Often, when we spoke on the phone, it was about these wonderful cooks and the recipes they’d demonstrated on television. Mom had always enjoyed making family dinners, and it hurt me that this small joy had been taken away from her.

When Casey and I entered the apartment, Mom’s eyes brightened, then immediately dimmed. I realized she’d forgotten Casey’s name, although she obviously recognized her face.

“Casey and I thought we’d stop by for a quick visit,” I said, mentioning her name so Mom wouldn’t need to ask.

“Casey,” Mom repeated, stretching out her hand. Casey plopped down on the f loor, sitting cross-legged next to Mom’s chair. She took her hand. “I brought you a gift,” she said.