Free Summer on Blossom Street by Debbie Macomber Page B

again.” He nodded emphatically, as if that settled the point.

CHAPTER 7
    Phoebe Rylander
    A t 5:20, forty minutes before her first knitting lesson, Phoebe left work. Clark didn’t know about the class; her mother didn’t, either. Phoebe couldn’t explain why she preferred it that way; she just knew she did.
    It was hard not to answer the constant phone calls and messages, although she realized the sanest approach was simply to ignore them. She should have changed her home number, too, but that was more complicated, or so she told herself. She hated to admit that maybe, with one small part of her, she did want to hear from him. Still, she wasn’t even sure whether Clark was calling because he wanted her back or because he couldn’t tolerate what he saw as her rejection. Winning was everything to him. If their engagement was broken he wanted to be the one to call it off. He hadn’t let up since she’d returned his engagement ring.
    Phoebe badly needed a reprieve. The knitting class offered that.
    Although Leanne hadn’t admitted it, Phoebe was fairly certain her mother had joined forces with Clark’s parents and was doing everything in her power to repair the rift. What her mother, and more importantly, Clark, failed to understand was that Phoebe intended to keep the breakup permanent, no matter how much she wished it could be different.
    Even now, knowing what he did, part of her yearned to believe that Clark didn’t comprehend what he’d done or why she was upset. But she’d told him the first time—she couldn’t have been any clearer—and this time she wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t. Phoebe knew his weakness for paid sex would continue after they were married. It was an addiction; it had to be. Otherwise he wouldn’t go on taking these ridiculous risks. Twice he’d been arrested for solicitation, and heaven only knew how many other occasions there’d been, occasions when he’d been fortunate enough not to get caught. A woman off the streets, no less. If he was going to pay for sex, Phoebe would have assumed he’d want a higher-class prostitute. Unless it was the danger that thrilled him? She sighed. None of this made sense to her.
    He’d promised it would never happen again and she’d reluctantly forgiven him that first time. She’d believed he was sincere—and yet he’d succumbed again. She needed a man who’d be completely committed to her and their relationship. Addiction, attraction to danger, whatever it was, Clark seemed either unwilling or unable to control it. She refused to put her emotional and physical health at risk because of his weakness.
    So far she’d held out. Whenever she wavered, Clark seemed to sense that and bombarded her with notes and flowers and gifts, all of which she’d sent back. That didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he redoubled his efforts.
    Rather than take her car out of the garage at work, Phoebe decided to walk the half mile or so to Blossom Street. She’d brought her brand-new knitting bag, filled with skeins of yarn in a restful sage-green color, her pattern and a pair of needles still in their clear plastic case. It was a lovely evening, but cool enough to require a sweater. Because she was early, she stopped at the French Café and purchased a half sandwich, pastrami on rye with mustard, and a cup of coffee.
    Since the breakup, her appetite had suffered and she’d lost weight. This was the first hunger pang she’d experienced in two weeks, which was an encouraging sign. It felt like years since she’d been with Clark. That, too, was encouraging, and yet…
    She struggled to hold back unexpected tears. The end of her engagement, the end of Clark’s presence in her life, necessary though it was, had brought her such grief. This was so much harder than anyone else imagined, than anyone would ever know. To her friends and her mother she came across as determined and unshakable, but Clark lingered constantly in her mind. It would get better soon;