The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1)(71)

Victoria took one look at Alix and immediately went to work. Jacqueline accompanied the girl into the dressing room and was shocked at her lack of proper intimate apparel. She insisted on new bras and panties first, and none of those ridiculous and indecent thongs, either.

Alix made a fuss, but it didn’t last long. Still, while Jacqueline might have won that battle, Alix was the undisputed victor when it came to the war. She refused to even try on the St. John knitted suit or anything else Victoria delivered.

Considering the limited time available today, Jacqueline had to be content with buying Alix good-quality underwear. Before she was through, she swore she’d get her into something tasteful.

Unfortunately, the trip to the hairdresser didn’t go much better. Desiree gasped at Alix’s purple-tinged hair and started swearing in French. Even after years of high school and college French classes, Jacqueline couldn’t understand what the woman said. But judging by the tone of her remarks, it was preferable not to attempt a translation.

Jacqueline sat in the waiting area and sipped coffee while a verbal skirmish occurred in the background. Fortunately, most of the shop’s elite clientele had already departed; otherwise, their ears would’ve been assaulted by the ongoing exchange between Alix and Desiree.

Ninety minutes after they arrived, Alix flew to the front of the salon as if she’d just been released from prison. Jacqueline hardly recognized her. Gone was the tar-black hair with the eggplant-purple highlights. Instead, Alix’s hair was a soft shade of brown with a reddish tinge that was similar to the yarn she’d chosen for Paul’s scarf.

“Alix,” she said, coming to her feet. Once again, Desiree had performed a miracle. Not only had she colored Alix’s hair but she’d styled it in a froth of curls.

“I hate it,” the girl cried as she ran her fingers through her hair, disarranging it. “This isn’t me.”

“No, my dear,” Jacqueline said patiently, “this is a new you.”

For a moment it seemed Alix was about to burst into tears. “I look like…like one of the Brady Bunch,” she moaned.

“You look lovely.”

“Greg,” she cried. “I look like Greg from the Brady Bunch.”

“You’re being silly,” Jacqueline said sharply.

“I’m not! Everyone’s going to laugh at me.”

The girl was making absolutely no sense. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“I know you meant well, but this just isn’t me…. It just isn’t me.”

Without a word of gratitude, Alix stormed out of the salon, leaving Jacqueline speechless.

“Where did you ever meet such a girl?” Desiree asked, shaking her head.

“It’s a long story,” Jacqueline murmured, discouraged now. She’d wanted to do something nice for Alix, something kind to show her appreciation, and she’d failed.

When she got back to the house, she discovered Reese in the kitchen getting a beer from the fridge.

“Are you okay?” he asked as she hurried past him to her own area of the house.

Jacqueline was surprised at his question. They hadn’t spoken, other than to exchange basic household information, for days now. Another time she might have pretended not to hear, but tonight she was hurt and confused, and couldn’t hide it.

She didn’t know how her good intentions toward Alix could have gone so badly awry. Sitting down at the kitchen table, she accepted the glass of wine Reese brought her and launched into an explanation of her adventure with Alix.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong!” Jacqueline said hopelessly.

“How old is Alix?” Reese asked.

Jacqueline wasn’t sure. “Early twenties, I suppose.”

“You were trying to make her into another you, Jacquie.”

“I most certainly was not,” she cried, angry that Reese was so ready to find fault with her. She should’ve known better than to confide in him.

Then, at once, she realized he was right. She’d taken Alix to her salesclerk and her hairdresser. She met his gaze and slowly nodded. “Perhaps I was.”

“Next time, ask Tammie Lee to give you a few suggestions.”

“Tammie Lee,” Jacqueline repeated and automatically shook her head. “She couldn’t do any better than me.”

“Maybe not, but she’s closer to Alix’s age and might have a few ideas.”

“I suppose I could ask her,” she said. Her daughter-in-law might not do better, but she certainly wouldn’t do any worse than Jacqueline had.

CHAPTER 34

“Knitting goes with us, it calms us.”

—Morgan Hicks, Sweaters by Design

LYDIA HOFFMAN

W hen I didn’t hear from Dr. Wilson’s office by the end of the week, I didn’t think anything of it. Generally Peggy calls patients with their test results while the office is officially closed for lunch. From experience, I knew that if I needed a prescription refilled, I needed to contact Dr. Wilson’s office before eleven.

When I opened the shop on Tuesday morning, it occurred to me fleetingly that I hadn’t heard back from Peggy. Of course, she might have tried to reach me on Monday, but with the shop closed she would’ve gotten the answering machine. I realized I hadn’t given her my new phone number and the only way she had of getting hold of me was through the shop. I checked as soon as I’d flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN, but found no messages.