Summer on Blossom Street (28 page)

“Hutch” Hutchinson

H
utch was in love. Everyone around him recognized the signs and didn’t have any qualms about pointing it out. Not that he was trying to hide it.

A little while ago—before Phoebe—his sister had attempted to set him up with a girlfriend of hers…Mia, Myra, something like that. He’d forgotten her name just as he was sure she’d forgotten his.

Meeting Phoebe had changed everything. The first time he’d seen her he’d felt the attraction. She was beautiful, and he wasn’t reacting merely to her appearance. Phoebe was everything he’d ever hoped to find in a woman—and she loved
him.
He could hardly believe it.

Hutch was, however, somewhat disappointed that it’d taken Phoebe so long to admit that her fiancé wasn’t dead. But although it troubled him, he could
understand why she’d lied. In similar circumstances, he might have done the same thing in order to avoid embarrassment and lengthy explanations. It’d been simpler this way, and as she’d said to him, the minute her fiancé agreed to pay for sex with another woman he was dead to her.

Hutch wondered about this other man who’d once been a very important part of Phoebe’s life. In the two months they’d been seeing each other Phoebe had never spoken of her engagement or offered up anything but the sketchiest details. All Hutch knew was that the man Phoebe had planned to marry had lied and cheated on her. When the truth came out—the second time—she’d severed the relationship for good. He realized how deeply hurt she’d been by what her ex-fiancé had done.

“I have your attorney on line one,” Gail Wendell said, breaking into his thoughts.

Now that the trial date was approaching, he heard from John Custer nearly every day.

“Hutch speaking,” he said, picking up the phone.

The conversation with John lasted only a few minutes. As soon as he’d finished, he tried to put the matter out of his mind. It was on days like this that he wanted, no,
needed,
to talk to Phoebe. As soon as he heard her voice, his blood pressure seemed to decrease.

Checking his watch, he reached for his phone again. Quarter to eleven. Phoebe was between clients. They spoke two and three times a day now, and even that wasn’t enough.

“Hi,” he said when she answered her cell.

“Hi, yourself,” she said. “Did you talk to your attorney?”

“I did.” Hutch closed his eyes. He loved hearing the
sound of her voice. It flowed over him, easing his burdens, comforting him.

“And?”

Reality returned and his eyes flickered open. “We’re scheduled to go to court next week. There doesn’t seem to be any way around that.”

“I’m sorry.”

No sorrier than Hutch. “I was hoping, foolishly perhaps, that the other attorney would see reason. But from what I hear, Clark Snowden’s confident he can win—and in the process make a name for himself.”

“Snowden?” she repeated.

“Yes, that’s the plaintiff’s attorney.”

“Oh.”

Hutch looked down at a file on his desk that required his attention. One gratifying consequence of meeting Phoebe was that he’d learned to delegate. This evidence that he trusted his subordinates had improved his relationship with his department heads, as well. “What about dinner tonight?” he asked.

“I can’t,” she said quickly. “In fact, I’m tied up for the rest of the week.”

Her rejection shocked him. Until now, she’d always been as eager to see him as he was her. Not wanting to sound possessive or unduly concerned, he murmured, “
All
week?”

“Yes…and next week, too.”

Her voice had grown fragile. “I see.” He didn’t know what had changed, but clearly something had.

“Listen, Hutch,” she said in a tight voice, “our relationship’s happened very fast, don’t you think? Maybe we should step back and analyze what’s going on between us before we continue.”

“It’s been almost two months. I know what I feel.”

“But do you know what you
want?
”

Hutch felt a distinct chill. He had the feeling that she was breaking up with him, but he had no idea why. “Yes,” he countered sharply. “I want you in my life.”

His words seemed to take her aback. After an awkward moment, she said, “I don’t…I need time—to think.”

“About what?” he asked irritably. “Have I done anything to offend you?”

“No, never.” Her voice softened perceptibly.

“Then what’s this
needing time
all about? Isn’t that rather sudden?”

“I…I need to think, I really do. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best.”

Maybe best for her but definitely not for him. Hutch wanted to argue with her, to figure out what had changed, but restrained himself. After all, it was up to her to accept or reject his love.

Phoebe said nothing, and he was shaken by the loss that tore through him.

If she wanted time, he’d give it to her. Pride wouldn’t allow him to press his point or to plead.

“Tell you what,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “When you’re ready, you contact me.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Phoebe.”

She started to speak again but he couldn’t bear to listen. Gently he replaced the receiver and sat staring into space, wondering what had just happened. In the course of a few minutes she’d ended the most promising relationship of his life.

Hutch stayed at his desk for the rest of the afternoon, attacking the paperwork in front of him.

At four-thirty, Gail stepped into his office. “Is everything all right?” she asked bluntly.

“Yup.” Hutch glanced at her. “Never better. Why do you ask?”

Gail frowned, shaking her head. “For one thing, you’ve been very quiet ever since you got off the phone with John Custer.”

Hutch made a show of studying his watch. “Isn’t it quitting time?” he asked. In other words he had no intention of answering her question.

“Which brings me to something else,” Gail said. “You’re usually on the phone with Ms. Rylander about now.”

“I won’t be seeing Ms. Rylander again,” he said starkly.

She didn’t bother to hide her shock. “Why ever not? You’re crazy about her and I know she feels the same way about you.”

“Apparently you and I are both wrong about that.”

The older woman clucked her tongue several times, sounding like an agitated hen. “And you’re going to sit back and do
nothing?
”

“Yup.”

“Oh, Hutch, for the love of Mary, don’t be so stubborn.”

“This wasn’t my decision,” he said.

“Did you at least find out why?”

“I tried.”

“Try harder.”

Hutch lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “As far as I’m concerned, the ball’s in her court. If Phoebe wants to
call me, fine, but I’m not holding my breath.” He sounded resolute and sure of himself, although he didn’t feel either of those things.

Gail hesitated and then, with a final shake of her head, left his office.

As soon as she shut the door, Hutch exhaled, letting go of the pretense, and his entire body sagged with defeat. For a moment he thought about confronting Phoebe and demanding she tell him what he’d done that was so terrible.

He couldn’t think of a single thing to warrant this reaction and felt sick as he contemplated the new fact of his life—what had seemed so promising only hours earlier was now completely and utterly over.

He stayed at the office until nearly eight. Then, with a heavy heart, he drove home. Dinner was a frozen entrée he shoved in the microwave and ate in front of the television.

His phone rang twice but he didn’t pick up. Whoever had called wasn’t interested in leaving a message, which was fine because he wasn’t interested in listening to one, either.

The late-night news flashed across the screen, and Hutch realized he’d been staring at the television for hours, but couldn’t remember anything he’d seen. No matter how many times he went over his conversation with Phoebe, he couldn’t explain her sudden decision—or
was
it sudden?—to end their relationship.

Needless to say, Hutch didn’t sleep well that night or the next. He kept busy at work, met with his attorney and made every effort not to think about Phoebe. He didn’t succeed but pretended he had. The lawsuit occupied his mind when he wasn’t dwelling on Phoebe.

To her credit, Gail didn’t mention Phoebe’s name again, and neither did he. Every now and then he caught his assistant watching him, looking for any telltale sign. What she hoped to find, he didn’t know. Perhaps Gail expected to uncover some crack in his resolve, some indication that he was weakening.

But if anything, Hutch grew more convinced that he simply wasn’t cut out for love or marriage. He’d laid his heart on the line and Phoebe had ripped it to shreds without cause or provocation. If this was love, then he wanted no part of it.

He had a good life, albeit a lonely one, but he was used to that. As for children, he had his niece and nephew and God willing, eventually one of them, or both, would take over the family business. Otherwise he’d sell out, which he might have to do anyway, depending on the outcome of the court case.

Friday afternoon, five days after that last conversation with Phoebe, Hutch left the office even later than usual. It was mid-August now, and in his opinion no place on earth was more beautiful than the Pacific Northwest on a hot summer’s day when the sky was blue and Mount Rainier glimmered like an apparition in the distance.

It was almost nine, but there was still plenty of sunshine. He was walking toward his parking space when he saw her.

Phoebe.

She stood next to his car, waiting for him.

Hutch stopped and instantly squelched the surge of joy he felt at seeing her. He wouldn’t allow her to toy with his feelings. Not again. Apparently this was some game to her. A game he wasn’t willing to play.

He strode decisively to his car, each step filled with purpose.

“Hello, Hutch,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“I can’t do it,” she whispered brokenly. “I tried, but I can’t do it.”

He held his briefcase with both hands and just stared at her. He supposed she expected him to ask her questions or show how grateful he was to see her. He wouldn’t do either.

She frowned. “Say something,” she pleaded.

He shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “You might tell me you…that you missed me.”

He pressed his lips together, refusing to tell her any of that even if it was true.

She raised her hand as though to touch his face.

Hutch retreated a step.

She covered her mouth with one hand and began to sob.

His resolve finally faltered but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to her tears, although it was impossible to remain stoic and indifferent to her pain.

“The thing is, I’ve discovered I
can
do it, Phoebe.” He reached for his door handle. “I can live without you.”

“There’s something you don’t know.”

He stiffened, his back to her.

“Clark Snowden…”

At the mention of the plaintiff’s attorney, he turned to face her. “What about him?”

“He was…he was my fiancé.”

The words slammed into him with a force that was
actually physical. He couldn’t have spoken had his life depended on it.

“I knew if Clark found out you’re the man I love, he’d do everything in his power to hurt you. I—I thought the only way to protect you was to break off our relationship…but I can’t do it. I tried and I just can’t. I’m too selfish and needy, Hutch, and I love you too much.”

His briefcase fell to the pavement as he hauled her into his arms, holding on as if they’d both perish otherwise.

“You should have told me.” His need for her was an ache that shot through him, that burned within him.

“I couldn’t…. I was afraid.”

Then they were kissing, straining against each other, trying to undo five days apart, five days of agony. Hutch tasted her salty tears and kissed them from her cheeks.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered, clinging to him. “Clark will try to destroy you…to ruin the business and discredit you. I can’t stand by and let him.”

“I know exactly what I’m going to do,” he said. “It’s simple. I’m going to win this lawsuit and then I’m going to marry you, if you’ll agree.”

He’d half lifted her from the pavement and with her arms around his neck, Phoebe sobbed her answer. “Yes, yes! Oh, Hutch, yes! I want to marry you more than anything in the world. I want to spend my life with you.”

That was good to hear, because he wanted her with
him for the rest of his, too. Nothing mattered but loving Phoebe. Snowden could do whatever he would; it made no difference to Hutch as long as he had Phoebe.

Anne Marie Roche

T
im walked out to the curb to meet Anne Marie and Ellen as she parked her car outside his parents’ house. Vanessa stood on the porch, waiting, making sure Anne Marie knew she was watching every move.

This had been Tim’s idea, bringing Ellen over to meet his parents. The first time, it would be just his mother and father; later he planned to introduce her to his siblings.

Ellen needed to feel comfortable with Vanessa, too. Anne Marie hoped the air had been cleared, that there wouldn’t be any problems between her and the other woman. Maybe Vanessa needed further reassurance that she had no designs on Tim.

Ever eager to see her father, Ellen unfastened her seat belt and hurtled out of the car and to his side. Without a pause, she threw her arms around his middle,
then immediately asked, “Did you bring your motorcycle?”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

Ellen nodded enthusiastically.

Anne Marie climbed out of the car and waved to Vanessa, who halfheartedly returned the gesture. Even from this distance, Anne Marie could see that the other woman didn’t want her there.

Anne Marie hoped she’d have the opportunity to tell her that she wouldn’t always be accompanying Ellen to Tim’s family events. On this first occasion, however, she felt it was important to be there.

By the time she reached the porch steps, Tim and Ellen were in the garage examining Tim’s Harley.

“Hello, Vanessa,” Anne Marie gave the other woman an affable smile.

Vanessa had crossed her arms. “How come
you
have to be here?” she demanded. Any residual friendliness from their phone conversation had obviously evaporated.

“I felt Ellen needed to know I was close by in unfamiliar surroundings. It won’t always be like this.”

“I hope not.” With that, Vanessa turned and walked into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her.

Not sure where to go, Anne Marie went in search of Ellen and Tim in the garage. Ellen sat on the Harley, the large black helmet on her head. She resembled one of those Roswell aliens, Anne Marie thought with amusement. Ellen saw her and waved frantically.

“Look, Mom! Look,” she cried, her voice muffled by the helmet.

“Who’s in there?” Anne Marie joked, peering through the visor.

“It’s me! It’s me!”

Laughing, she looked at Tim who smiled back. Their eyes held a fraction longer than necessary as they both shared in Ellen’s delight.

Anne Marie had to force herself to glance away. Despite her reassurances to Vanessa, she still found Tim attractive, especially when she saw how happy Ellen was whenever the three of them were together.

Ellen talked incessantly about Tim. It was Dad this and Dad that. She’d taken to calling him Dad ever since he’d announced he was her father. That same night she’d marked the wish off her list. Anne Marie and Ellen had begun putting pictures of father and daughter in the girl’s Twenty Wishes scrapbook.

After a few minutes, Tim helped Ellen remove the helmet and led the two of them inside. “Mom and Dad are eager to meet you,” he said.

His parents—and Vanessa—were waiting in the living room. Tim held Ellen’s hand, tugging her forward. Not wanting to intrude, Anne Marie hung back.

Vanessa sat on the sofa, arms still crossed as she glared suspiciously at Anne Marie—as if to ask what she’d been doing in the garage with Tim all that time.

“Hello,” Tim’s mother said softly. “You must be Ellen.”

“Mom, Dad, meet your granddaughter.”

Ellen sidled close to Tim, looking small and uncertain.

“My name is Mary,” Tim’s mother said, “but I hope you’ll call me Grandma.”

Ellen gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“I’m Thomas, and I’m your grandfather,” Tim’s father told her next.

“I didn’t know I could have three grandmas,” Ellen said in a tentative voice.

Anne Marie felt she needed to explain. “Ellen was living with her Grandma Dolores when we first met. After I adopted Ellen, my mother wanted to be called Grandma, too.”

“Would you rather call me Mary?” his mother asked, glancing from Ellen to Anne Marie.

Anne Marie decided to let her daughter answer that herself.

“I’ll call you Grandma,” Ellen said after a bit.

“That would be very nice.” Mary straightened. “I hope you like fried chicken because that’s what we’re having for dinner.”

Ellen nodded.

“When your daddy was a little boy, he loved my southern fried chicken.”

Relieved, Anne Marie exhaled slowly. Tim’s parents were good people and it was clear that they loved Ellen already. Thomas stepped forward and thrust out his hand. “I’m Tim’s dad, and you’re Ellen’s adoptive mother?”

She accepted it and returned his smile. “Anne Marie Roche.”

“We appreciate your allowing us into Ellen’s life.”

It hadn’t been an easy decision, but Anne Marie didn’t tell him that.

“Ellen seems to be doing just fine, don’t you think?” Vanessa said sharply. This was her way of telling Anne Marie that her job was done and it was time to move along now.

Taking her cue, she started to back away. “I’ll leave you all to become better acquainted. When would you like me to come for Ellen?” she asked.

Tim narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going, are you?”

“Please join us for dinner,” Thomas said. “We’d like to get to know you, too, seeing that you’re the one raising our granddaughter.”

“Yes, well…” Anne Marie turned to Vanessa, unsure how to respond. She wanted the other woman to understand that she knew her place and had no intention of encroaching on her relationship with Tim.

“Thomas,” Mary called from the kitchen. “I need you and Tim to move the picnic table out of the sun.”

The two men promptly left and Anne Marie found herself alone with Vanessa, wondering what, if anything, she should say.

Vanessa released a long breath. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Pardon?” Anne Marie felt awkward standing in the middle of the room, yet wasn’t relaxed enough to sit.

“Just now,” Vanessa elaborated. “When you first arrived. I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Oh, that,” Anne Marie said, pretending to have forgotten the complete lack of welcome. “Trust me, I understand. You’re in a difficult situation. We both are. The only thing we can do is deal with it, right?”

Vanessa didn’t seem persuaded. “I guess, but it’s kind of hard.”

“Yes, it is,” Anne Marie said. “Listen, I’ll stay a little longer, then make my excuses and leave. You and Tim can bring Ellen home later, or if it’s easier I can come back and pick her up. Whichever suits you best.”

Vanessa nodded. “I’ll ask Tim.”

“We can make this work,” Anne Marie told her, “but we need to keep the lines of communication open. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Why should I?” Vanessa said aggressively. “Tim and I are going to be married.”

“You
shouldn’t
be uncomfortable,” Anne Marie agreed. “And by the same token, I want Ellen to feel at ease with you.”

“She already does.” Vanessa scowled, as though she expected Anne Marie to dispute that statement.

“I appreciate how readily you’ve accepted Ellen.” Anne Marie wasn’t convinced that was true, but didn’t want to challenge the other woman.

Vanessa gave the same exasperated sigh she had earlier. “You have no idea how difficult it is, sharing Tim with this child. What’ll happen when we have our own children?”

Anne Marie didn’t have an answer for her. “The two of you will figure that out when the time comes,” she said. It was the best she could do.

“Right,” Vanessa mumbled. “We will.”

The two men returned, and Tim immediately went to Vanessa’s side.

Rather than feel like an outsider, Anne Marie made her way to the kitchen, where Mary and Ellen were chatting amicably.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“Thanks, but I have everything under control. We’ll be eating in a few minutes.”

Ellen sat on a bar stool at the counter. “Look, Mom,” she said excitedly. “Grandma Mary has a crooked little finger, the same as me.” She held her two little fingers together and displayed how they veered off, forming the shape of a V.

“My father once told me they’re a sign of high intelligence,” Mary said.

“Does Dad have those, too?”

“He does.” Mary sent Ellen a smile. She took the chicken from the oven and arranged the pieces on a large platter.

“I can carry that outside if you’d like,” Anne Marie volunteered. She wished now that she’d declined the dinner invitation. It was too awkward for both her and Vanessa.

“Thanks. Ellen, why don’t you tell everyone dinner’s ready,” Mary suggested.

“Okay, but can I show Grandpa something first?”

“Sure,” Mary said.

Ellen dashed into the living room while Anne Marie carried the platter of fried chicken outside and set it on the table. She’d just come back into the house when she heard Ellen scream.

Anne Marie froze. She’d never heard her daughter scream like that. It was a cry of intense pain. In her rush to find Ellen, she nearly stumbled. Heart-wrenching sobs came from the garage.

Anne Marie saw Ellen on the cement floor with Tim bending over her. Thomas stood in the background, his face pale.

“What happened?” she cried, falling to her knees beside Ellen. The girl cradled her arm against her side and was in such pain she seemed to have trouble breathing. Sobs racked her thin body and she shook uncontrollably.

“She fell off the motorcycle,” Tim said. “It was so fast I couldn’t reach her in time to catch her.” He was pale and shaken, too. “I think she broke her arm.”

Anne Marie brought Ellen carefully into her embrace. “Call 9-1-1,” she shouted.

Tim rushed into the other room.

Anne Marie didn’t have a lot of medical experience, but it seemed to her that Ellen was going into shock. That was when she lost it, too. “What’s taking so long?” she yelled, fighting to hold back the panic.

Thomas rushed into the house and returned with a blanket, which he wrapped around Ellen’s shoulders. Ellen’s sobs tore at Anne Marie’s heart and soon her own face was streaked with tears. She rocked Ellen, whispering words of comfort and reassurance as they waited for the paramedics.

An eternity passed before she finally heard the siren. As soon as the medical personnel arrived, they took over, and within minutes Ellen was loaded into the aid car. Anne Marie rode with her; Tim followed in his vehicle.

Thankfully the emergency room wasn’t crowded. Ellen was given something to relieve the pain, then sent to have an X-ray of her arm.

The second her daughter had been wheeled out, Anne Marie whirled on Tim. “How could you let this happen?” she cried.

He shook his head hopelessly. “It was all so fast…” he said again.

Covering her face with both hands, she fought for composure. There was no point in blaming Tim; Ellen could just as easily have fallen at home with Anne Marie.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He slid his arm around her shoulders. “So am I,” he said, pressing his head to hers. “I knew the instant she landed that she’d broken a bone.”

At just that moment Vanessa walked into the cubicle. When she saw Tim with his arm around Anne Marie
and their heads together, she exploded. “I knew it! I knew it! The minute I’m out of the picture you go after Tim…. So much for all that crap about not being interested in him. You’ve been after Tim from the day you met.”

Anne Marie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She blinked in confusion. “What?” she asked.

“You want Tim.”

“Vanessa!” he warned. “Stop it.”

“I won’t stop. Do you think I’m blind?” she demanded. “I saw how the two of you were looking at each other.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

A nurse stepped into the cubicle. “You need to keep your voices down,” she said. “If there’s a problem here, I advise you to take it outside.”

Reluctantly Tim stood up. “Come on,” he said to Vanessa. “Let’s talk about this without half the hospital listening in.”

They left and Anne Marie relaxed a little. She’d had enough of Vanessa’s hysterics for one day. Brushing her disheveled hair out of her face, she closed her eyes and wondered if she’d made a big mistake letting Tim into their lives. Just then, it seemed she had.

Before she could brood any more on the situation, the technician was back with Ellen and a copy of the X-ray. “Looks like you’re going to get a cast,” he said to Ellen.

Her daughter’s face was dry of tears now but her eyes were wide and curious. “Can I have a pink one?”

“I’ll see what Dr. Sawyer has to say about that.”

It took another hour before the arm was set and the cast in place. Ellen looked admiringly down at her arm,
which was encased in a hot-pink cast, and smiled up at Anne Marie. “It still hurts really bad.”

“I know it does, sweetheart.”

Ellen scooted out of the chair. “Where’s Dad?”

“With Vanessa.”

Ellen said nothing, just stared at the floor.

The assistant brought in paperwork for Anne Marie to sign. Once she did, they were free to go. Tim sat out in the waiting area and stood up when they appeared.

Ellen showed no delight at seeing him.

Tim knelt in front of her. “How’s my girl?” he asked.

“Okay. I have a cast.”

“So I see.”

“If you’d take me back to my car, I’d appreciate it,” Anne Marie said wearily.

“Of course. My dad lent me his. All I had at the house was the Harley.”

Anne Marie didn’t
care
who the car belonged to as long as she got where she needed to go. On the drive back to the family home, she didn’t inquire about Vanessa. Frankly, she didn’t care where the other woman was; she was just grateful not to be dealing with her anymore.

Anne Marie sat in the backseat with Ellen and got out as soon as he’d parked. All she wanted to do was escape, to get her daughter home.

“Apologize to your parents for me,” she said, unfastening Ellen’s seat belt. “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Hands in his pockets, Tim stood helplessly by as Anne Marie led Ellen to her car. “If there’s anything I can do…” he offered.