Free Back on Blossom Street by Debbie Macomber Page A

beginning ofmy ordeal. I wouldn’t allow my friends to see me, either, and later, when I was lonely and depressed, there were only a few who’d hung on. In retrospect, I knew I was responsible for sending them away; I hoped Julia didn’t repeat my mistake.
    All I could do was pray for my niece and give her my love and support. Her arm would mend and the bruises fade, but I doubted she’d ever be the same lighthearted girl she’d been a week ago.
    The car thief had stolen more than their vehicle that day. He’d also taken Julia’s innocent trust that the world was decent and safe. He’d blindsided my sister and Matt, too. Whoever he was, this man had a great deal to answer for.
    “Did the boys in blue find the guy who did it?” Alix asked as she sauntered up to the table in the back room of the shop. That was where I held my classes. She set down her backpack and took out the yarn and needles she’d purchased earlier in the week.
    “No word yet.” Frankly, I didn’t have much hope. The officer who’d talked to Margaret explained that the car was probably on a container ship in the Port of Seattle within a day of the attack. Apparently the new car my sister had chosen was one of the most desirable vehicles on the black market. The whole family had been so proud of their first brand-new car, and this only added to the burden of Margaret’s guilt.
    “If I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Alix muttered.
    I knew Alix distrusted the police. I should’ve said something positive to counter her cynicism, but I didn’t feel like arguing. Besides, it wasn’t getting the car back that was important to my sister. It was justice she wanted. Justice she demanded. Margaret wasn’t one to easily forgive andforget, and she was fiercely protective of her family, especially her daughters Julia and eleven-year-old Hailey.
    The bell chimed a second time and in strolled Susannah and Colette. All three women had already bought the necessary needles and yarn and I’d supplied the pattern as part of the class fee. Because Colette and Susannah were new knitters, most of my time would be spent helping them.
    “Susannah, Colette, this is my friend Alix,” I said. “She works at the French Café, so you’ve probably seen her around the neighborhood.”
    Alix shrugged her shoulder in an unfriendly manner. Her attitude reminded me of the way she’d acted during my first knitting class, when she’d sat across from Jacqueline Donovan. I hadn’t seen this side of Alix in a long while and knew something must be troubling her. Once more I bit my tongue.
    “Colette, why don’t you introduce yourself,” I said, hoping to begin the class on a more optimistic note.
    “Well, I obviously know Susannah and Lydia, and I’ve seen Alix at the café. I’m Colette Blake.”
    When she didn’t offer any other information, I prompted her. “Tell us about yourself,” I urged.
    Colette looked at Alix. “What would you like to know?” she asked.
    Again Alix answered with that halfhearted shrug. “Nothing, unless it’s some little fact you’re dying to tell me.”
    I could no longer remain silent. “Alix!” I snapped, telling her I found her behavior downright rude.
    She had the good grace to apologize. “I’m sorry, Colette, I’ve had a rotten day. Please, tell me about yourself.”
    Colette shook her head. “Actually, I don’t have anything to say. I’d prefer it if we just started the class.”
    “Hey, everyone,” Susannah inserted. “This is supposedto be a fun class. We’re knitting a prayer shawl, for heaven’s sake! Not a bulletproof vest.”
    That made me smile. “Okay, Susannah, why don’t you take a turn?” I said. She, at least, seemed willing to chat.
    “Well,” she began, “as everyone here knows, I bought Susannah’s Garden last September. It’s a real change from my teaching position, which I had for over twenty-four years.”
    “What made you quit teaching?” Alix asked, sitting a bit