The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1)(83)

After a moment, Jacqueline smiled.

“Do you think Jordan will like it?”

Jacqueline laughed delightedly. “My dear, he’s in for a real surprise.”

That evening while she waited for Jordan to pick her up at the apartment, Alix nervously paced the living room.

“Would you stop pacing,” Laurel snapped. She was parked in front of the television with a pint of cookie-dough ice cream, which she ate directly from the container.

The knock on the door nearly sent Alix into a panic. She closed her eyes and although she wasn’t a person who’d prayed a lot in recent years, she found a prayer on her lips now. More than anything, she wanted Jordan to see her as beautiful.

Holding her breath, she opened the door.

Jordan stood there holding a wrist corsage in a clear plastic box. His eyes widened as he stood staring at her.

“Say something,” she pleaded. “Anything.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “Wow, Alix, is that really you?”

“It’s me.” Holding back a smile would have been impossible. “You like it?”

“I like you,” he said and handed her the corsage.

This was the first time in her life anyone had given her flowers and nothing in the world could have pleased her more.

CHAPTER 40

“Whether I am knitting for myself or someone else, my passion for knitting enables me to express my creativity and produces a feeling of accomplishment.”

—Rita E. Greenfeder, Editor, Knit ’N Style Magazine

LYDIA HOFFMAN

M argaret decided to go with me to the meeting with Dr. Wilson at his office. He had all the test results and medical reports back now, and there seemed to be some confusion about the diagnosis.

Notoriously closemouthed, he did mention casually when I was released from the hospital that he’d asked a colleague to review the biopsy. That news, I suspect, was meant to encourage me. But in my heart, I knew the tumor was cancerous.

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Margaret mumbled as we sat in the waiting area. It was the last appointment of the day, another sure sign of my prognosis, but I didn’t say any of this to Margaret.

Instead I leaned back and closed my eyes, wanting to block out the world. It was easy for my sister to suggest optimism. This wasn’t her life, her illness, her impending death. I couldn’t help wondering what her thoughts would’ve been had our situations been reversed. I bit back the words to remind her that she’d come running to me with her own recent scare. I was in that kind of mood right now. I could hardly keep from lashing out at the world and everyone close to me. The person who’d received the brunt of my anger, sadly, was Brad, and he was the last person who deserved it. But I refused to dwell on him or the regrets I felt whenever he crossed my mind. I’d done what I had for his own good. He would never know what it had cost me to send him away; I would carry the weight of that for the rest of my life, however short that might be.

My mother was another one I’d strived to protect. Margaret had, too. So far, we’d kept Mom in the dark. We’d concocted a story about my hospital visit having to do with a routine check-up. My mother had been all too willing to accept the lie.

Long before I was ready to confront the inevitable, Peggy came into the waiting area. This time she wasn’t holding that monstrosity of a medical file in her arms. “Dr. Wilson will see you now,” she announced.

I didn’t meet her eyes, although I heard hope and encouragement in her voice. I considered Peggy a friend, but that friendship wasn’t exclusive. She was wonderful to all of Dr. Wilson’s patients. I realized how difficult this must be for her, too. So often, she had to silently stand by and watch Dr. Wilson’s patients lose their battles with cancer. It wasn’t a position I envied.

Margaret was on her feet before I’d managed to put my magazine down and pick up my purse. I was certainly in no hurry to have my deepest fears confirmed.

Peggy led us into Dr. Wilson’s private office. His framed degrees lined the walls; he displayed a few family photos, which were artfully arranged on a credenza. The mahogany desk was polished and uncluttered, with my file set to one side. I’d been in his private office twice before, and each time I’d been devastated by his news. I didn’t expect anything different this go-round.

Dr. Wilson wasn’t in the room when we arrived, but he walked in directly behind us. My sister shook hands with him after a murmured introduction.

Dr. Wilson rolled out his big, high-back leather chair and sat down. He reached for my file, which he brought to the center of the table. He paused and then….

“The cancer is back.” I didn’t make it a question. The tumor was gone, but I was sure there’d be more, growing in areas not as accessible as this one had been.

“Is it?” Margaret asked and to my surprise her voice quavered slightly.

So often in our lives, I’ve wanted to prove to Margaret that I was right and she was wrong. Call it sibling rivalry. This time, however, I’d have given anything to be wrong.

As I’d said earlier, there was nothing to be optimistic about. The disease refused to leave my body. I opened my mouth to announce that I’d refuse treatment. I had neither the will nor the strength to face a third battle. Not without my father.

“Because of your history,” Dr. Wilson began, “I felt it was doubly important to be certain before I made a prognosis. I had the biopsy sent to the top brain cancer specialist in the country.”