Debbie Macomber - Blossom Street

“I’ll bet you can.”

“Do you want to know what I learned about you?” This was one of her best conversational gambits—character analysis through movie selection—although she didn’t have much opportunity to use it.

He grinned, and she was struck by how cute he was when he smiled. Laurel couldn’t understand what Alix saw in a guy as average as Jordan. She couldn’t explain it to her friend, either. Someone attracted to a guy who rented XXX videos just wouldn’t get it.

Jordan leaned against the wall beside her. “Go ahead and tell me what you’ve figured out.”

Flustered now, Alix suddenly found it difficult to express herself. She faltered and struggled with what she wanted to say and to her utter humiliation, she couldn’t do it. In one final attempt to redeem herself, she gestured weakly with her hands and said. “They’re cool, you know.”

“Cool?” Jordan repeated. “You mean I pick cool movies?”

“Yeah.” She wanted to crumple onto the sidewalk and disappear.

“Thank you.”

The heat was radiating from her face. “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said gruffly and without another word, she practically ran back into the store.

To make matters worse, Laurel was waiting for her. “How’d it go?” her roommate asked eagerly the instant Alix returned.

Alix glared at her.

Laurel raised both hands. “That bad, huh?”

A sick feeling attacked Alix’s stomach. It was like the nausea she’d experienced as a kid when her parents started to fight. That painful sensation used to corrode her stomach—as if she were somehow responsible for every bad thing that had befallen their lives. Jordan might be the same Jordan Turner she’d once known, but there’d been no time to ask. And she couldn’t now, not after she’d run away!

“You okay?” Laurel asked, studying her.

Alix brushed aside the question and marched to the back of the store, where she walked into the employee rest room. The toilet was disgusting. She didn’t want to guess how long it’d been since the last cleaning. The blue additive didn’t begin to disguise the yellow ring around the inside of the bowl. Funny she’d notice that now.

Standing in front of the sink, Alix stared into the mirror. The voices that came to taunt her were familiar ones. They were the ugly, negative voices that shouted words she tried to ignore. Voices that laughed in her face and said she was a loser. No matter what she did or how hard she tried, she’d never amount to anything. Her life was doomed. This was her lot. She’d never earn more than minimum wage, never be loved, never have a real home with things that normal people took for granted, like a phone and a dishwasher.

Pressing her hands to her face, Alix closed her eyes and felt the dark misery descend. She could feel its oppressive weight settle on her shoulders, shoving her down to a place deep inside. She tried unsuccessfully to shake off the depression, tried to shake off the ugly words that echoed in her mind.

The repulsive names her mother had called her rang through her head. She could hear a teacher’s chastisement and belittling comments next, and the humiliation returned as strong now as it had been twelve years earlier. She wanted to bury all the hurtful words. Instead they reverberated through her mind with such force she nearly slumped to the rest room floor.

A knock sounded at the door, startling her. Alix jerked her head toward the noise.

“Alix, you in there?”

Laurel. Damn. “What?” she snapped.

“He’s back.”

“Who?”

“The guy you were just talking to. I don’t know his name.”

Alix bit her lower lip. “You help him.”

“He asked for you.”

“Why?” she asked, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Laurel said irritably. “Am I supposed to read minds, too?”

“I’ll be out in a minute, all right?” Alix straightened, brushing her hands through her hair as she came to grips with this information. She wondered what possible reason Jordan could have for seeking her out.

Because her face was beet-red, she ran cold water over her hands and then brought them to her cheeks, not caring what it did to her makeup.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally found the courage to come out and face Jordan.

He was standing at the counter waiting. He smiled as she approached.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked as if he’d interrupted her. She didn’t want to give him the impression that she was happy to see him, and in truth, she wasn’t. After humiliating herself once, she didn’t feel like doing it again. Not this soon, anyway.

“You said you’d put aside The Matrix for me?”

Her relief was intense. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I’ve got it up front.” She moved past him and behind the counter to the spot where she’d placed the video.

“I appreciate you doing that for me.”

“No problem,” she said, busying herself with the computer screen. She rang up the total and asked for his card. After he’d paid her the rental fee, she set the video in its protective plastic case, then slipped it inside a bag and handed it to him over the counter. “We’ve got a special on microwave popcorn this week if you’re interested.”

“No, thanks. I bought a case at Costco my last visit. I’ve got enough popcorn to last me for the next ten years.”

She rested her elbows on the counter, feeling awkward and a bit embarrassed. She had no idea what to say, what to ask. If she mentioned the Jordan Turner from sixth grade, it would sound like a pick-up line. “Uh, any other movies you want me to put aside for you?” That wasn’t exactly a scintillating question but at least it made sense.

He shrugged. “Can’t think of any at the moment, but if I do I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

With a nod, Jordan left. The glass door closed and as if by magic Laurel appeared. “What did he want?”

“A movie, what else?”

“How come he only wanted you to help him?”

Alix didn’t feel inclined to go into the details. “How am I supposed to know that?”

“There’s no need to get all snappy with me.”

The door chimed and to Alix’s astonishment, Jordan stuck his head inside. “Alix, what time do you get off work?”

She was too shocked to answer immediately. “Eleven. I close three nights a week.”

“Do you close tomorrow?”

“No. I’m here until nine on Wednesdays.”

“Do you want to meet for coffee then? After work?”

“Ah …” She found it hard to believe he was actually asking her out. Well, sort of out. “Yeah, I guess,” she said as if it wasn’t any big deal.

“Great, I’ll see you then.” He waved and was gone.

A bubble of happiness rose up inside her. It demanded every ounce of restraint she possessed not to stamp her feet with joy.

“Knitting—my Amazing Grace.”

—Nancie M. Wiseman, Editor, Cast On magazine and author of Classic Knitted Vests and The Knitter’s Book of Finishing Techniques

LYDIA HOFFMAN

My mother phoned me early in the week to suggest she, Margaret and I go out to the cemetery together on Memorial Day to visit my father’s grave. It had only been a few months since we laid Daddy to rest. These were difficult days for Mom as she had yet to find her footing as a widow.

I readily agreed to join her, but I wondered about Margaret’s response. She’d managed to manipulate the situation so we didn’t see each other on Mother’s Day. At every family function, my sister acts prickly and standoffish. It seems she’d prefer to forget we have the same parents. More than once, the thought has passed through my mind that Margaret would rather I was the one who’d died instead of our father. That isn’t a pleasant notion to entertain, but given her attitude, I feel it’s true. Yet I continue to try. Some perverse part of me refuses to let go. She’s my sister. Having been so close to death, I feel that even though we might not like each other, we need each other.