Summer on Blossom Street
Chapter 26
Phoebe Rylander
“Night,” Hutch said, lingering in the doorway of Phoebe’s condo. He leaned close and kissed her gently. This wasn’t the f irst time they’d kissed that evening. “I really have to leave now.”
“Night,” she whispered. She hated to see him go. They’d spent a wonderful evening, a memorable evening. They’d been together on Sunday, too, but even a day seemed too long to be apart. When he’d suggested they see each other tonight, she’d readily agreed.
It became more and more apparent that Hutch was nothing like Clark. In fact, he was the complete opposite of her former f iancé.
Hutch was thoughtful and caring and funny and different. He made her laugh and had lightened the load of pain she’d carried after her breakup with Clark. And yet she probably wouldn’t have given him a second look if not for the knitting class. That class, which she’d enrolled in on impulse, had opened her eyes in so many ways.
Phoebe didn’t want to think of herself as demanding or shallow when it came to the men she chose to date. Then again, perhaps she had been. Most of the men in her past had been like Clark—
highly successful, established in their careers, urbane and handsome. Hutch was rather ordinary-looking but he possessed those other attributes, too. The ambition and the success. Only he was…better.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, moving slowly into the hall. Meowing, Princess followed him out, apparently as unwilling to let him go as Phoebe was herself. She picked up her cat and held her close.
“Tomorrow,” she said. Leaning against the doorjamb she waited until he was inside the elevator and had disappeared from sight. The time had gone by so quickly, she could hardly believe it was already after ten.
Hutch had met her at the clinic, after a meeting with his attorney. He’d refused to discuss the case, telling her he was leaving the whole mess to the professionals paid to deal with it. They’d rented a paddle boat on Lake Washington before eating at a hole-in-the-wall f ish-and-chip place he’d gone to as a kid. It’d been a lazy summer’s night, interspersed with laughter and a growing attraction. They’d sat under an umbrella table and made excuses to loiter in the early-evening sun. When Hutch dropped her off after dinner, neither had wanted the evening to end. He’d gladly accepted her invitation for coffee, and they’d sat and talked for nearly an hour. But it was dark now, and they both had to work in the morning. Phoebe knew he got to the off ice by six, except for the days he visited the gym f irst. The phone rang and Phoebe hurried to answer it, expecting to f ind it was Hutch. It would be just like him to call as soon as he was in the car. He often did that to say good-night a f inal time or discuss the next day’s plans…or whisper that he missed her. Instead, Caller ID showed that it was Clark. Phoebe backed away from the phone. She didn’t want to speak to him, didn’t want anything to do with him. Her instinct was to let him leave a message. She did, and waited until her phone went to voice mail.
Unable to stop herself, she stood close to the phone and listened as he spoke.
“Phoebe, it’s Clark.” He sounded depressed. “I know you’re there. I also know you don’t want to talk to me. I wouldn’t contact you if this wasn’t important. Please call me back. You’re at the condo, I know you are.” He hesitated, then added in a broken voice, “Please.”
Reluctantly Phoebe reached for the phone, but her hand hovered over the receiver. It was a week ago that she’d gone to the hospital to see his father and she wondered if Max had taken a turn for the worse. After all, he’d implied that he didn’t think he’d live much longer.
Her pulse accelerated. Clark’s father was such an extraordinary man. The family would fall apart without him. She grabbed the phone.
Clark answered on the f irst ring. He didn’t greet her; instead he whispered “Thank you” in a fervent voice.
“Is it your father?”
“I—”
“If this isn’t something to do with Max, we have nothing to talk about.” She started to disconnect when she heard him cry out.
Phoebe gasped. “What happened?”
“He’s got a high fever. They haven’t been able to control it.”
“Oh, Clark.” There was no adequate response to that, no comfort she could offer. A lump formed in her throat.
“He’s caught some sort of infection and that seems to be causing the fever. It’s bad, Phoebe.”
“Oh, no…”
“The doctors called Mother and me to the hospital.”
“Are you there now?”
She heard Clark swallow hard. “Yes. Where else would I be?”
“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know what she could do other than listen.
He spoke over her comment. “I was right, wasn’t I? You were home but you didn’t want to speak to me.”
His question came at her more like an accusation, and she had no intention of answering.
“He was there, wasn’t he?” Clark continued in the same aggressive tone. “This new man you’re seeing. You’re only doing it to hurt me, aren’t you?”
“Who I’m seeing is none of your business.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “I wonder if you ever really loved me.”
Phoebe felt dreadful but there was no reason for it. Clark was slinging guilt at her and she needed to step away, stop being his target. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow this conversation to revolve around him when his father might well be dying.
“Is he a good lover?”
“What?” Phoebe took a deep, shuddering breath. “This con versation is over.”
“No, please,” he begged. “Listen, just listen…”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t have the right to ask you questions like that.”
Phoebe desperately wanted to cut off this call; at the same time, she wanted to learn what she could about Max’s condition. Before she could decide, Clark said, “You can call me any name you like, Phoebe, and I’d probably deserve it, but one thing you have to admit is that I love my dad.”
Phoebe knew that was true. Clark was close to both his parents—although his behavior certainly didn’t resemble that of his father.
“Will you come sit with Mom and me?” he asked, his tone pleading. “The doctors said it would be a miracle if Dad lasts the night.”
When she hesitated, Clark said, “Can’t we put aside our differences for Dad’s sake? Just for tonight?”
“You and Marlene are alone? What about the rest of the family?”
“The crisis appeared to be over. Everyone’s gone—and now this. It’s killing Mom and me.”
Phoebe looked up at the ceiling, still unsure. Then, against her better judgment, she whispered, “All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
His appreciation was almost palpable. “I can’t thank you enough, Phoebe. This will mean the world to Mom.”
Phoebe rather doubted that.
With her purse and car keys in hand, she’d reached the door, then came to an abrupt halt. It seemed to her that with all the connections the Snowdens had, Marlene and Clark shouldn’t be alone. Why would he contact her when he had friends and relatives all over the city?
None of what he’d said really made sense. She hated to be so distrustful, but time had taught her some valuable lessons about Clark Snowden. He’d stop at nothing to get his own way. Now that he knew about Hutch, he’d be more intent than ever on winning her back. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d kidnap her. Despite her doubts, even Clark wouldn’t go so far as to make up a story about his father’s imminent death.
But just in case…
Phoebe decided not to take any chances. Turning back, she went to the phone and hit Speed Dial to call her mother. Three rings later, Leanne answered sleepily. “Phoebe? Is everything all right?”
“Clark’s father apparently isn’t doing well.”
“Oh, no.” Her mother was instantly alert.
“Clark said he’s contracted an infection. According to him, Max is fighting for his life. They aren’t sure he’ll last the night.”
“What can we do?” her mother asked urgently. “Should I put his name on the church prayer chain?”
“I’ll do it f irst thing in the morning.”
“Thank you.” Phoebe felt guilty about using her mother like this, but she knew how eager Leanne was to ingratiate herself with the Snowdens. “Listen, Mom, Clark’s holding vigil with his mother at the hospital. I gather they’re alone. Why don’t you go there with me? Marlene could use a friend at a time like this.”
“Oh, Phoebe. I’m so glad you asked. We can’t leave Marlene and Clark by themselves.”
“Thanks, Mom.” If Max was dying, Phoebe doubted she had the words to comfort Clark’s mother; the relationship between them was already strained. Leanne would be a real help.
“I’ll leave the house in f ifteen minutes,” Leanne said. “I’ll just throw on some clothes and run a brush through my hair.”
“I’ll pick you up,” Phoebe told her.
“You don’t need to do that,” her mother protested. Oh, but she did. “I wouldn’t want you driving in Seattle on your own this late, Mom.”
“Oh,” Leanne said as if she hadn’t thought of that. “Good idea. I’ll be ready when you get here.”
Phoebe waited a few minutes, then got her car from the condo parking garage and drove to her mother’s home on Capitol Hill. During that brief time, Clark called not once, but twice.
“How did you get this number?” she demanded. She could only assume that her mother had given it to him, in one of her misguided attempts to inf luence Phoebe’s decision. He didn’t answer. “I’d only use it in an emergency, which this is.”
He was right about that, but his access to her cell number bothered her.
“I thought you were on your way,” he complained. “You’re still coming, aren’t you?”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she promised. “Has Max’s condition changed?”
“No, nothing’s changed. Hurry, please.”
Pulling into the familiar neighborhood of her youth, Phoebe saw that her mother’s porch light was on. As she stopped in the driveway, Leanne hurried out the front door and slid into the passenger side, fastening her seat belt.
“Poor Marlene, she must be beside herself.” Leanne clasped her hands tightly together. “Have you heard anything new?”
“Not really.” Clark’s frantic call asking her to rush would only upset her mother, so Phoebe didn’t mention it. Besides, he’d said Max’s condition hadn’t changed.