Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(5)

“Come on back,” Phoebe told the older woman. She hurried ahead of her and drew in a deep breath. It would take a lot of resolve to get through the afternoon.

By concentrating strictly on her patients, she made it to the end of the day. At f ive-ten, she pulled on her jacket and grabbed her purse, eager to escape. Because she couldn’t resist, she checked her cell phone. Clark had left three messages. Refusing to be swayed, she erased each one without listening.

She dared not let herself hear his voice; she was too susceptible. The problem was, she wanted to believe him…. She so badly wanted all of this to go away. That was why she’d impulsively signed up for the knitting class. Knit to Quit. The sign in the yarn shop window had been like a f lashing neon light. If she was going to convince Clark that she was serious—and she was—she’d need a distraction to help her through the next few weeks.

Her hand tightened on her cell phone. Even as her f ingers pushed the buttons to erase Clark’s messages, she yearned to talk to him. She wanted to be reassured of his love, wanted him to offer some plausible reason that would explain his need to seek out other women. However, there were no reasons. No excuses. Nothing he could say would change what he’d done.

“Did you and Clark have another spat?” Bill Boyington, her boss, asked as she started out the door.

The question caught her unawares.

“What makes you ask?” Phoebe had done her utmost to remain professional and therefore unemotional all week. She hadn’t revealed to anyone at work that she’d ended her engagement.

“There were f lowers delivered for you.” He motioned to the receptionist’s desk.

Sure enough, a huge f loral arrangement sat on the corner. She wondered how she’d missed seeing it. Orchids, lilies and roses were interspersed among white hydrangeas; obviously Clark had spared no expense. It occurred to her that they were more f itting for a funeral than a reconciliation. But in many ways this was a funeral and Phoebe felt like weeping all over again. Determined to be strong, she squared her shoulders. “I don’t want them.”

Bill looked at her oddly.

“Take them home to Louise,” she suggested, knowing Bill’s wife would enjoy them.

Her boss didn’t seem convinced. “I’ll bet he spent two hundred bucks on that.”

For a second Phoebe was tempted to forgive him. Clark was so determined, so intent on overcoming her resistance. Still, she couldn’t allow even a small crack in her defenses. She shook her head. “I…I don’t want them. Either give them to Louise or throw them away.”

“You’re serious?” Bill asked, frowning as if this was some weird joke.

“It’s over between Clark and me,” she said bleakly.

“No patching it up this time?”

Phoebe blinked back tears. “No…I really don’t have any choice.”

Her boss patted her shoulder gently. “Do you want to talk about it with anyone? Me or…” He nodded at the receptionist’s desk. Claudia was around the same age as Phoebe’s mother.

“Thanks, but…I don’t think so. I’m still feeling pretty raw.”

Again Bill patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how much you loved him.”

With a trembling hand, Phoebe reached into her purse for a tissue and blew her nose. Anger and indignation would only carry her so far and then the regrets would take over. Experience had taught her that she needed to be prepared, that she needed an action plan to combat the depression she knew would follow.

“Bill, would you do something for me?”

“Of course.” His unquestioning allegiance and willingness to help made it harder to hold back the emotion.

“I’d appreciate it if you told Claudia to refuse anything else Clark Snowden has delivered here.” Her voice broke just a bit when she said it. If she forgave Clark this time she’d lose all selfrespect. Shunning him would take real effort. She’d have to work at it, just like Caroline Dover worked at making her knee function properly. But eventually Phoebe would learn to stop loving Clark. Eventually her heart would stop aching. Bill hugged her as she left, and that brought fresh tears to her eyes. On her way to the parking garage her cell phone chirped again. She didn’t bother to see who it was. A cheery jingle announced that she had a message. As she walked, her feet slowed. Clark wouldn’t give up easily.

He would hound her, send her gifts, plead with her until she weakened. And she just might. She had before. It was hard to turn away from the man you loved, hard to f ight the desire to accept his excuses. This was familiar ground—territory she’d sworn she’d never travel again and yet…here she was. No, she couldn’t give in. She couldn’t falter. Walking by the phone shop, the same shop she passed f ive days a week, she really noticed it for the f irst time. After a short hesitation, Phoebe turned back. Staring in the window, she saw the latest cell phone accessories.

It went without saying that Clark would continue to call her until he made a dent in her resolve. She knew his plan and had fallen for it once before. If she was truly serious about avoiding Clark she had to send him the right signals. Stepping inside the store, Phoebe looked around.

“You’ll need to take a number,” a harried saleswoman instructed her.

“I have a question.”

“You’ll still need to take a number.”