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I suppose, but I was too worried about the lack of walk-in traffic.
    Every knowledgeable person I’ve talked to about opening the store suggested I have enough money in the bank to pay for a minimum of six months’ expenses. I do, but I hope and pray I’ll be able to keep at least part of my inheritance intact. Now that I’ve actually taken the risk, I feel bombarded with second thoughts and fears.
    Margaret always does that to me. I wish I understood my sister. Some days I think she hates me. A part of me recognizes what the problem is: I was the one who got all of Mom and Dad’s attention, but I needed them. I refuse to believe that my sister would seriously think I was so hungry for attention that I wished the cancer upon myself.
    Even more than Margaret resented me, I resented the cancer. I longed to be healthy and normal. I still live my life standing directly under a thundercloud, fearing lightning will strike again. Surely my one and only sibling can appreciate my circumstances and support my efforts to support myself!
    On Wednesday morning, I was knitting a pair of socks for display, my concentration focused on shaping the gusset, when the bell above the door chimed. Thrilled at the prospect of a customer—and potential class member—I stood with a welcoming smile.
    “Hello, there.” The UPS driver walked into the shop, wheeling his cart stacked five high with large cardboard boxes. “Since I’m going to be making regular deliveries to the neighborhood, I thought I should introduce myself.” He released the cart and thrust out his hand. “Brad Goetz.”
    “I’m Lydia Hoffman.” We shook hands.
    He passed me the computerized clipboard for my signature. “How’s it going?” Brad asked as I signed my name.
    “It’s only my second week.” I bypassed his question rather than confess how poor business actually was.
    “The construction will be finished soon, and customers will flock to your store.” He smiled as he said it and I felt instantly grateful and—shocking as this sounds—attracted, too. I was so starved for encouragement that it was only natural, I suppose, but I was drawn to him like a bird to the sky. I hadn’t felt that particular tug in a very long while. Shamelessly, I glanced at his ring finger and saw that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
    This is embarrassing to admit, but my sexual experience is limited to a few groping attempts at lovemaking in the back seat of my college boyfriend’s car. Then the cancer returned. Roger was with me for the second brain surgery, but his calls and visits stopped shortly after I started chemotherapy and lost all my hair. Bald women apparently weren’t attractive, although he claimed otherwise. I think it had more to do with the fact that he saw me as a losing proposition, a woman who could die at any time. A woman who couldn’t repay his emotional investment. Roger was a business student, after all.
    Brian had been my high school boyfriend and his reaction was the same as Roger’s. He hung around for a while, too, and then drifted away. I didn’t really blame either one.
    My breakups with Roger and Brian, if you could even call them that, were inevitable. A few short relationships followed after Roger, but no one worth mentioning. After my earlier experiences, I should’ve realized that most men aren’t romantically interested in a two-time cancer patient. Without sounding like a martyr, I understand how they feel. Why get emotionally involved with a woman who’s probably going to die? I don’t even know if I can have children or if I should. It’s a subject I prefer not to think about.
    “My grandmother used to knit,” Brad said. “I hear interest in it’s been revived in the last couple of years.”
    Longer, although I didn’t correct him. Damn, but he was good-looking, especially when he smiled, and he seemed to be doing a lot of that. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, eyes a woman could see a block away. He wasn’t overly