Debbie Macomber - Blossom Street

They stopped for a Coke at a fast-food restaurant in the food court. Because she was still hungry, Alix ordered a cheeseburger and fries to go with it.

Tammie Lee took one look at her and burst into giggles. “Make that two of everything.”

“I’m not going back to the same hairdresser.” Alix wanted that understood in case Jacqueline had forgotten her previous reaction to Ms. Desiree.

“I don’t blame you,” Tammie Lee said in a whisper. “Jacqueline wanted me to make an appointment with Desiree. So I did, shortly after Paul and I were married.”

“Did you come out looking like one of the Brady Bunch?”

“No,” she said with a silly grin, “I looked more like Don King. Every time Paul saw me, he laughed. I thought I’d die of pure mortification.”

Their order was ready, and they found a table in the middle of the seating area.

“Tell me about you and Paul,” Alix said as she unwrapped her cheeseburger.

“Oh, Alix.” Tammie Lee gave a breathy sigh. “I don’t know where to start. I never thought I’d leave Louisiana, but it’s amazing what a woman will do for love.” Her expression was dreamy. “I discovered it didn’t matter where I lived, as long as I could be with Paul. The heart takes on a will of its own, if you know what I mean?”

Alix did understand. The fact that she was in this mall was proof of that.

“If you don’t object, I’ll do your hair for you,” Tammie Lee offered.

“You will?”

“I might not have all the training Desiree does, but I’m fairly good. All my friends let me do their hair for proms and such.”

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“It’ll be fun.”

When Tammie Lee drove back to the house, Paul had returned from the golf course. He sat in front of the television with an empty plate in his lap and a milk glass on the end table.

“Hi, Tam,” he said and smiled at Alix. He jumped up from his chair and took the packages from Tammie Lee’s hands, kissing his wife on the cheek. “How’d the shopping go?”

“Great. This is Alix, your mother’s friend and now mine.”

“Hello, Alix.” Paul gave her the once-over, as if he wasn’t sure she was for real. “You and my mother are friends?”

“Yeah, we met in the knitting class.”

“Oh, right.” He nodded. “I remember….”

“I’m going to do Alix’s hair. She’s got a hot date tonight.”

“Sure, go ahead.” His attention had already drifted back to the baseball game.

Tammie Lee was as good as her word. By the time she’d finished, Alix felt like a candidate for Homecoming Queen. Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Alix had to blink in order to believe the image was her own.

“What do you think?” Tammie Lee asked. “I … you made me pretty.”

Tammie Lee slowly shook her head. “You’re already lovely, Alix, but I have a feeling your Jordan knows that.”

Her heart did a little flip-flop at the way Tammie Lee said your Jordan, as if it was understood that the two of them were a couple.

Before long, Jacqueline arrived to give Alix her nod of approval. While Alix suspected she fell far short of the designer dress and fancy hairdo her friend would’ve preferred, she seemed to pass muster. Tammie Lee hadn’t used anything more than a curling iron and mousse, but she’d managed to arrange Alix’s plain straight hair in a natural wavy style that suited her better than anything she’d ever imagined.

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.

“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

Margaret 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.