Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

up. “Isn’t that perfect?” She smiled again. “I want to look through your baby patterns later. There’s knitting to be done!”

      As we laughed, the door opened and Carol came in. I was mildly surprised to find she was by herself.

      “Where’s Cameron?” I asked. The baby had been a miracle, one that had happened last year. Carol and Doug had tried desperately for a baby through in vitro fertilization. They had their son now, but he’d been adopted—truly a child of their hearts. That was thanks to Alix, whose roommate had been secretly and unhappily pregnant.

      “Doug has the day off, so Cam’s with his daddy,” Carol explained as she sat down next to Jacqueline. They exchanged greetings and she took out her knitting. It was wonderful to see her. With a toddler underfoot she couldn’t participate every week. If she did stop by, it was during Cameron’s nap-time. She’d park the stroller by the table and stay only until her son woke up. Her child was the delight of her life; he brought her the greatest happiness imaginable. She’d told me that she and Doug were closer than ever, both of them completely dedicated to Cameron. I wanted to tell her to hold on to this joy, to cling to it, because—as I’d learned two weeks ago—happiness can disappear all too fast.

      Carol’s knitting needles clicked rapidly as she worked on her section of the blanket. She was a fearless knitter who loved a challenge. I’d showed her the two-needle technique for socks and she’d basically taught herself the rest. “I heard from my brother the other day,” she said, frowning. “He’s remarried.”

      “You mean he didn’t invite you to the wedding?”

      “No. He let us know after the fact.”

      From the way she said it, I knew Carol was disappointed in him. She’d confided in me earlier about Rick, and I gathered he was a self-indulgent and rather immature man. An airline pilot, he was a little too apt to engage in dalliances with flight attendants and other women he met on his travels. That had, of course, ruined his marriage to a woman Carol liked.

      “I hope this marriage lasts longer than his first one,” she added. “Doug and I mailed them a gift. We rarely hear from Rick these days.” In other words, she wasn’t running to the mailbox looking for a thank-you card.

      She was about to say more when the door opened again and in walked Alix.

      “Whuzzup?” she cried to a chorus of greetings. Alix is … unique. When she first signed up for the class, I was afraid I’d be dealing with a felon. The first thing Alix did was tell me she’d be knitting the baby blanket to satisfy her court-ordered community service hours. Next, she wanted to know if that would count toward anger management. Despite some awkward moments early on, we’ve all come to treasure her. Time and love have worn away the rough edges of her personality. Last year she started dating Jordan, a youth minister she’d known since grade school. I knew the two of them were getting serious, and it wouldn’t surprise me if Alix announced their engagement in the near future.

      Alix looked me in the eye. “I know about Brad. I could have him hurt if you want.”

      I didn’t know if she was joking or not, so I laughed, or tried to. I told her the same thing I did Jacqueline. “I’m okay.”

      “You sure?”

      I swallowed hard and nodded.

      Alix pulled out a chair and sat down with her needles and yarn. I sat at the end of the table, resuming a ChemoCap I’d begun the week before. Smiling at my friends, I tried to imagine the Warm Up America blanket they’d construct. Jacqueline with her lavender-and-pink super-wash wool patches; Carol’s patches in a nice Paton’s baby-blue yarn left from a sweater she’d knit Cameron; and Alix’s variegated green-and-yellow blend, leftovers one of my other customers had donated.

      “I made a genoise this morning,” Alix said proudly. “Those are really hard to do—very delicate. It turned out perfectly. And it sold right away.”

      “That’s wonderful,” Jacqueline exclaimed. “I want to order one for a business dinner we’re having next week.”

      “For you—it’s free. I’ll make it at home.” Alix continued to live in the housekeeper’s quarters at Jacqueline and Reece’s place. She’d originally been hired to help with the housework, but with school and her job, it’d become too much for her. Jacqueline had hired someone else who came in during the days to do the housekeeping, but Alix was still staying with the Donovans to watch the house whenever Jacqueline and Reece traveled.

      “Just think of it,” Alix said, “I get my first real job as a pastry chef, and wouldn’t you know, it’s in the same spot I worked before. Only this time it’s not a video joint, but a classy café.”

      “And Reece and I didn’t have a thing to do with her getting that job,” Jacqueline reminded everyone. “Alix was hired for her skills.”

      “You bet I was. Anyone who tastes my éclairs and cream puffs would know it, too.”

      “Don’t mention those éclairs,” Jacqueline pleaded, briefly closing her eyes. “I’m on a new diet and I’m avoiding desserts—except at dinner parties, of course.”

      “Speaking of diets,” I said, changing the subject, “I’ve got a teenager in my sock class, Courtney, who’s knitting in an effort to lose weight.” I laughed as I said it. “How it works, she says, is that while she’s knitting, she’s not in the kitchen hauling food out of the fridge. And she’s definitely lost a few pounds.”

      “Hmm,” Jacqueline murmured. “It’s worth considering. Keep us posted.”

      “Courtney’s a high-school senior,” I said. “Does anyone remember meeting Vera Pulanski? This is her granddaughter.”

      Jacqueline nodded. “Vera gave me her scarf pattern.”

      “Courtney’s living with her this year.”

      “How’s she doing?” Alix asked. “That’s tough, moving around so much. I should know.”

      “So far, so good,” I assured her.

      “Did anyone else interesting sign up for your classes?” Carol asked, finishing her row.

      I hesitated before mentioning Bethanne. “A divorced woman who hasn’t quite found herself.” I couldn’t help worrying about her. Bethanne had talked about needing a job, but apparently nothing I or any of the other women suggested was suitable. She seemed depressed to me, lacking direction and purpose. All that kept her going was her two teenage children, who’d be out of the house within a few years. Bethanne would be completely alone then.

      “There’s Elise, too.”

      “She’s the retired librarian?” Carol asked.

      “Yes.” I put aside the ChemoCap and cast on stitches for a new patch in an acrylic and wool blend, a sample one of the reps had given me. “I thought she was a bit of a prude when we first met, but I’ve changed my mind. I think she’s simply … self-contained. I got the impression she doesn’t have many friends.”

      “Did you tell her about my Birthday Club?” Jacqueline asked. “She’s welcome to join.”

      I should’ve guessed that my friend, the social butterfly, would be willing to draw Elise into her circle. “I don’t think she’s part of the country club set,” I protested.

      “That doesn’t matter. It’s a good excuse to go out once a month and celebrate. And if nobody in the group has a birthday that month, we choose a celebrity or a famous writer. So in June, we toasted Judy Garland and Dorothy Sayers. We have a lot of fun.” She giggled like a schoolgirl, silly and joyous. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that this was the same stuffy socialite who’d walked in my door a year ago. I attributed the transformation to the fact that my friend had rediscovered her love for her husband and become close to her daughter-in-law.

      “I’ll tell Elise,” I said, but I’d feel